"ghosting" poems
Unom ka bulan na ang nilabay
Sa unang pag wave nako sa imo ug pag HI
Akong kasakit, kagool, ug kalaay
Napulihan sa ngisi, pagkakita nako sa imong reply
Nakahinomdom pako sa una
Moving on ko; naay nagparamdam sa imoha
Abi jud nako ug kamo nang duha
Apan sa dihang gi-ghosting ra diay ka niya.
Mao to, niulpot akong kasingkasing sa kalipay
Paramdam dayon ko, wala nako nagdugay-dugay
Nagahamdom na mapansapin nimo ko bisan gamay
Ikaw naman gud ang gipangita sa akong kasingkasing kanunay
Dalawampu, baynti, o twenty
Bisan paman ug unsay tawag nato niini
Para sa ako adlaw ni na naay dakong bili
Sa atoang panaghinigalaay, mao ni atong monthsary.
Karon, boot nako isulti sa imoha pag usab
Na ako, dili magbag-o sa akong mga saad
Dili teka biyaan, tinood ni walay sagol ilad
Ubanan teka ug dili nako buhian ang imong mga palad.
Jun 22, 2020
Jun 22, 2020 at 8:05 AM UTC
_“I dont know”_
was my response
when you asked me if
I still love you
the world stopped
for the both of us
as I wondered on the thought
of me, being selfish
or being true
and yours upon the
realization that
_maybe, just maybe_
my love for you
is fleeting
neither of us was speaking
and the silence echoed
through the depths of my head
and you uttered
_‘oh’_
that moment, I knew
that you gave up
on me, and my inner
indecisiveness
I crumbled upon
the guilt of telling you
those words, so instead
I let my tongue do
the talking and said
_'maybe'_
cause it was never hard to say
but it is always hard to face
the reality of being responsible
to someone
as if I have to breathe
through somebody’s pair of lungs
and scratch the loneliness
with someone else’s fingers
we parted
I changed numbers
cause I had to stay afloat
on the clouds of solitude
free from attachments.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 6:14 PM UTC
Today the winter is not as chill, nor as gray. An azure depth backdrops the "fade"-to-white and the eyes remember what to see beneath patterns that shift and flow. You hear your footsteps and ...feel the silence leave your mind.
"Inside A Snowdrop..."
Driplets - droplets
pitter and pat
echo and float
...and the sun is here
its touching
tracing
edging patterns smooth and
flowing.
Feel the air
- its fingertips grasping
finding each bit of you all at once
...teasing and tickling your cheek,
nose THEN down the throat
filling and growing 'til
becoming an exhale
becoming you out and upon the world.
Feel as each hair lifts and spreads,
gathers and becomes waves eddying and rising free
freefalling and floating and rising again -
riding the unseen exhales as the world
- your world - flows by-and-by
grasping and tasting life
grasping and BEING life for all the other exhales
to find and feel and be felt in turn.
Reach - palm up...
wait
...wait
then
catch a miracle!
- a world within worlds within -
a snowdrop
a single glass to gaze in-and-in
to focus - deep
deeper still
... 'til
I see you
...behind my eyes
and the shadows and shades
surround and enfold
tightening
tighter still...
holding me
gentling me
becoming ...me.
I am lavender ghosting in the air
the taste and sweetness of your skin
the softness of each lil hair flowing by
the lips that found their home on mine.
Breathing is one long purr
and life is gently kneading into the softness
...of you.
Chris
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
I though he carried the light
where words would illuminate
driving me to a euphoric ******
a man without a face or a trace
unhindered in a double live and lies
a bubble of psychotic psychic surety
his passion was an addiction
my reservations moved a notch
addicted to a body of ideology
the stances of philosophical terms
uncovering ancient possibilities
the unfelt mysteries of history
veiled in icicles of pretence and lies
as if a Marxist, a closet bourgeoise
The stoicism of present bargains
questioning Socrates and morality reasons
a fatal dose ,examining the unexamined
as colourful as his mind blew my inner glow
he was lost in sad and low dialogues
afraid to face the earthly shallow shadows
yet his spirits moved deep within mine
and it paralysed and fed on my energy
and his delusion became my seduction
but he woke my inner poetic tongue
letting it caress all his inner wounds
A shadow hiding behind Frankenstein’s
a sly monster who lied to my eyes
ghosting in with the a pen that weakens
romancing with letters of a fiery doom
a penpal whom I met within my lowest
but whose words lay in a deep unending quarry
his warmth I could never ever tell
his kiss only a draft on the dewy grass
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
this is a letter to all of those
who stumbled upon my dull eyes
and poetic words
i apologize to those who participated in
whispered i love you's and dreams shared
for watching from afar as your cared for me
a half of a whole
you held my body, empty
my soul scooped out of myself
like an acorn squash during winter months
nothing left but the skin
and my soul out among the wildflowers
searching for the missing parts of me
searching for my home
i placed my body in your hands
letting you sip the wine that made up me
drizzling you in honey, in sweetness, and in light
for i knew you would protect me
scrawling poetry into the broken bits
the unfiltered bits
you would cause me to feel something on cold winter nights
i am sorry that when my soul stumbled home
bringing home the bits that were missing
that you were left alone
standing in the dark under streetlights
unsure of where you went wrong
broken promises and dreams in your hands
drowning in your own love
suffocating on your sunshine
cursing yourself for loving too hard
i am sorry for hurting you
but thank you for loving me
even when i left you lonely
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
.
*And so he sits
once more
folding his life
into an origami box.
Paper walls,
cellophane ceilings.
Counting out syllables.
Sequenced
to twist-fuck the mind.
And quietly
he sits
ghosting the room.*
© Pagan Paul (04/03/19)
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 5:55 AM UTC
on a night where we're not quite in
our right minds
we say all sorts of different things,
and who knows how much of it
either of us really means?
but regardless of genuinity,
we said what we wanted to
and in the end, it was for the benefit of who?
then when it came to me, you didn't even say
you had to go.
you were up & done;
~freshly satisfied and ghosting like a pro
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 7:18 PM UTC
I'm sorry to all the people I hurt while I was hurting
I'm sorry for last minute cancelled plans
And ghosting your text messages
You've done nothing wrong I just can't get myself together enough to answer you right now.
I'm sorry for all of my triggers.
And that sometimes my triggers, triggered you too.
I know I have a lot of them, I know it is frustrating
Believe it or not I've actually come a long way with them though...
I'm sorry for the days i was too irritable and short with you
I understand it wasnt fair.
I'm sorry that the things that upset me, most of the time wouldn't upset other people.
I'm a very emotional person, this is a blessing sometimes but also a curse.
I'm sorry I see things black or white.
I've been hurt so many times, I've built a wall for people in the grey areas.
You're either all the way in, or out of my life completely.
I'm sorry this comes off as dramatic, and unrealistic.
But if you know me well enough, you'd understand why I see it this way.
Regardless of all of this, I'm sorry that I pushed you away because of it.
Because of my, me-ness.
So far away.
When really I needed you right here.
But this is what I do when I'm hurting.
I hurt you because I'm hurting.
None of that is fair.
I'm sorry if you were one of those people.
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 3:29 PM UTC
It was a moment of painful despair
Typing between tears and gasping for air
Convinced there was no one left who cared
This was my final, desperate plea
The call for help, so hard to see
My broken heart rejecting life in me
Deleted moments after my posting
I felt the world - "worth ghosting"
And very little expected opposing
What was the point anyway?
But then, your words reached out to mine
Chased away the screaming in my mind
Cradled my shattered soul in kind
And over the course of weeks, befriend
Refound purpose; continued me to mend
A feeling of trust that cannot bend.
Saved from a monster from deep within
My will to live, once so paper thin
Gratitude for you, where could I ever begin?
Sep 27, 2022
Sep 27, 2022 at 11:27 PM UTC
My home is not a product
My room is not for sale
My stove is not a bakery
Nor my yard a barbecue
My country is invaded
These strangers in a strange land
Their horses stomp their hooves
As if they own the stables
Their prostitutes stomp
Their heels and ****
In the bed I make each morning
I continue ghosting on the porch
The sun is not my friend
Nor my enemy
He is a battle over my home
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
Whispers ring in my ears,
There is the faintest ghosting of claws along my back,
I shudder, gasping for a hope of self respect.
I watch them,
Perfect little pair.
Holding hands and sending covert smiles,
No lip touches and nuzzling,
Just being close.
They're absolutely flawless in how awful they are.
You know...
She drove four hours from maryland alone,
To see her...
And you won't even drive an hour to come see me...
Or return my messages...
Or tell me how you've honestly ever felt.
And yet?
You still tell our friends about how in love with me you are...
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
Not ready
That's what you told me
Yet you're already dating someone else
Not even a month after
I feel like I should be mourning
But I think I dodged a bullet
You still call other girls for hours
Even though you have a girlfriend
You still cuddle with others too
So in hindsight thank you for leaving
You gave me temporary pain
For a lot more happiness longterm
So thank you?
I still hope you suffer a bit for the ghosting though
After all I am a petty *****
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 2:21 AM UTC
When upset, it’s relieving to hear the voices in my head,
The whispers guide my deranged mind to the intentions of never fixing situations,
Instead, it takes me to the land of make believe,
Where I live and continue to repeat,
The cycle of excuses to conceal the history of reality.
Battle wounds and scars pierce right through me,
Viewing the ghost within,
I keep my distance from those attempting to come in.
Time and patience will help me heal from the internal pain they say,
However, I confide in ghosting, while disregarding the feeling of void in my heart.
I remain blind to the difference of things,
Self expression, communication and social integrity make it difficult for me to see,
The truth in where liars lie.
But still, I persist,
Despite the fact that in all forms of reality, I’m struggling.
I attempt to pretend like life is going good and my mentality is okay,
This guilt only allows my body to relapse yet again.
Unintentionally and subconsciously, I’m hurting,
The people who “care” for me.
Instantaneously, the late hours control my eyes to remain wide awake,
Oftentimes, I go numb enough to not speak,
I stray away from the support team behind me,
In order to, stay away from the demon externally taking a hold of me.
Soul is too open to close,
Bones and touch are too cold to take,
It’s true, our ends were never meant to mend,
Due to my expectations of plans never set in place.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
As fridge-rator to beer in the head between the ears adorned with flashy widgets with which to trap the hoes he hopes that he can pull into his poles. His gravity whips wide so hands find and feel up erthing that gots the tail, he wants to rail so hands out he walks and tilts to one side and back holding his glass. Two fingers limp around the rim, dipping his fingertips into the juice like he wants to dip into you, pinkies as he holds your head forcing you to **** like you want his come as much as he wants to come. Then when done zips up, runs out, ***** sayonara", switch rerun mode without emotion. He floatin. He floatin. He gloatin.
Head on the couch back making tired, one eye open scoping everyone's glow as they move, when up he comes sittin in my face, spittin what he thinks I want him to say, I'm like, **** guy control that tongue, you spray like that always I'm afraid I won't take that wild **** as tool is to you as to yo ***** Right ******* ****** spittin harder in the lean up perhaps the lead up to fist flung to react. "Man you too loose, I gotta tell you, I've got just what you do." "Your uh ****** Man watch ya flavor of language, I got just enough ****** left to get hard and stomp you, heel first in boots bought to stomp, pre-emptive to deal with the bullwhip effect where first you droolin to **** me, then retract like a bowstring because my ***** resembles a **** "What you want, ***** You wan **** this **** for real?" (For real?) He floatin. He floatin. He floatin the room, he ghosting.
Lick my lips, cept it's not a tongue. For this purpose it's strobe lights, in light show, and like snow, black and white between sheets of plastic TV screen on get settled into my flow, rip back and forth like prongs on a fork on your ******* blindfolded and scolded right angle, bent like an L-shape repenting for **** by taking the ****** flash cards, held up on headboards, trying to teach you metrics and standards lacking in you to tune you into the lifestream, no empathy and no tact to show, remember this hell well while you sail through life preying, I'm praying and making marks in meat coats. But he floatin. He floatin. He gloatin.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
It’s winter and we’re sitting on the bench
And snow is falling and I’m cold
But your hands are twice the size of mine
And I think that maybe as long as they’re wrapped around me,
I’ll be okay.
We talk about her and you say that you lost your innocence there
But you lost your heart here.
You brush your thumb over my cheek to wipe away a stray eyelash
You hold it out for me
“Make a wish”
Its summer now and it could be the way your laugh sounds
Or how you let me try to count every strand of hair on your head
It could be the way you hold my hand and pull me down to the grass
Just to kiss me.
It could be those ripped jeans that you swear you’ll replace
It could just be that this summer boy isn’t my winter boy.
And I think you know that I don’t mind, and that I love the laughter in your eyes
And the gold of your skin.
You hold out a dandelion towards me
“Make a wish”
It’s winter again and I’m laying in your bed
And our legs are twisted together with the sheets
Maybe my clothes are on your floor, but all I know is that they aren’t on me
And that you just were.
Maybe it hurts me that you aren’t the summer boy,
Maybe that’s like a stab in my heart each time I think of it.
So maybe you know that somewhere deep down,
And you try to make it better and I try to let you.
You hold me and you make me laugh and you say the right things sometimes
But I guess sometimes isn’t enough.
So you let me slip past you,
My fingers ghosting over your bare torso and your breath a whisper in my ear.
“Make a wish”
It’s summer again and it could be just because it’s my birthday
But no one here is him, not the winter boys and not the summer boy.
But you’re here and you’re different from them,
So maybe I’ll let myself get carried away in your words again.
And I’ll lay in a bed with you and I’ll let you play with my hair
But darling, you aren’t him.
And I love your words and the way you write me breathtaking things,
But his smile was the only thing that could ever steal my heart,
And keep it.
I remember sometime that night,
In the middle of the music and laughter
Someone shoved a cupcake towards me,
With a candle lit right in the middle
And said “Happy birthday”
“Make a wish”.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
I woke up to find you still lingered on my tongue,
even though you left so long ago,
I felt your kiss every time I puffed on a black american spirit
and I felt your hands every time the river waters embraced my waist.
I would have gone anywhere with you,
if you wanted to trek the biggest, coldest, mosquito eater infested mountain
I swear to God I would have followed you.
I wanted to trace the cupids bow of your upper lip every night
before I went to sleep.
I wanted to take your hand and put it against my cheek
and kiss every single one of your fingertips
because they create magic
because everything you do is magic.
The feel of your soft hands ghosted on the small of my back
as I tried to push your face out of my mind
through empty bottles that make me miss you even more.
I've loved before and I'll love again,
but what would I give to love you and only you for the rest of my life
and I'll wish on every shooting star
and every fallen eyelash
that some way some how,
I'll kiss you goodnight
and help you fight your nightmares that I know come so often.
I'd never want to see you unhappy,
and I swear if you let me hold you,
I'd never let you go.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Thou leanest to the shell of night,
Dear lady, a divining ear.
In that soft choiring of delight
What sound hath made thy heart to fear?
Seemed it of rivers rushing forth
From the grey deserts of the north?
That mood of thine
Is his, if thou but scan it well,
Who a mad tale bequeaths to us
At ghosting hour conjurable -- -
And all for some strange name he read
In Purchas or in Holinshed.
2k
I never quite understood the meaning of the word lonely.
the quiet of the word ghosting through my lungs
creating a safehouse in my skull
comforted by the spirit of liquor in these dry riverbeds for veins
This plastic sky is viewed from a colorblind childhood
sometimes there are no villains
the side walk chalk is a living outline,
decorated in ferocious shades of grey.
Loneliness isn't romantic,
there is no pride in being proud of your ghosts.
how ever friendly they may be
I am fluent in apologies
I am a crumpled paper pipe bomb,
Loneliness is a mother tongue
its salty words burn my jawbone,
its jaded point dug deep into my teeth
We can only tread water for so long
until we are swept under the tide
where the silence will break
the crown of our collarbones
The joke’s over,
we live to look regret in the face
loneliness, is a jagged edge of a word
its barbed wire cuts deeper than people ever could.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
I'm fat.
I'm weird.
I'm annoying.
I'm not pretty.
I'm crazy.
I'm obsessive.
I'm a chatter-box.
I've stolen things.
I lie.
I've lied to my parents.
I've lied to my friends.
I've lied about myself.
I've lied to myself.
I'm pathetic.
I wish that I could be a butterfly,
just pop into a little cocoon and transform.
And come out a brand new creation.
The old me tossed into a recycling bin,
and changed into something better.
Maybe...
One Day.
Think about it.
No one really like caterpillars.
They're fat and fuzzy.. like me.
But....
What if I'm already a butterfly?
Maybe I'm still in my caterpillar form,
waiting for the right time to change,
But I'll change!
I won't be a leftover.
And I won't be forgotten.
People will really see me for once,
and I won't be ghosting through crowds.
But until that day...
I have to accept me, for me.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
"my soul to keep"
this prayer
elegant, simple complexity,
comes me haunting,
every evening,
this notion,
a faint ghosting,
repeatedly reappearing
and nightly leaving,
disappointed,
from between my crumpled, sweaty bedsheets,
departing with a demanding unsatisfied, incessant,
coated with a diabolical, unfeigned challenge -
write of me,
relentlessly commanding,
right me
only,
no notions,
come realized,
no poem body, resolved solutions,
are easy offered up
your inner voices,
fettered and deterred,
begging you,
screaming,
this one,
defer, defer,
for better days,
for better poets,
who require
no assembly instructions
cannot improve upon it
my distress, sensed;
the lady of the house,
over the shoulder peering,
sees the moody poem title that
has self-selected to core this poet's core,
for endless torture,
raining down ruinous lamentation
she, ever softly spoken
*"good man,
your soul,
your poems -
both mine to take
and
mine to keep
this title,
this poetic obligation
fulfillingly, fittingly,
my responsibility
mine to write
mine to keep
mine to right
mine to mine
for its
bejeweled contemplations
render easily unto me
what I have Caesarean seized,
pried lovingly and forcibly
from thee within
though seemingly rightfully thine,
title has passed,
legally, tenderly,
into your lover's arms
banish poet thine troubled assembled,
ensemble senses,
this particular poem's journey
and the soul that bears it,
released and relieved,
for now,
mine to take,
mine to keep,
and
thy soul,
in mine to dwell,
and
mine to complete"*
~
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 8:35 PM UTC
Hey great-grandma,
You haven't written in 7 years. My heart is hissing, what does that mean? Why won't it stop going so fast? It's beating the **** out of me, grandma. I can't keep up with it.
Dearest great-aunt,
Hey, where've you been? I've been stuck throwing up my lungs the last few weeks. Coffin shopping is a lot harder than it looks aunty.
Dear uncle,
You haven't even asked about my hospital trip. Nerve pain. Yeah, I'm okay, but I don't want to say "I love you" to my boyfriend tomorrow. No, he didn't do anything wrong. He just forces me to swallow antacids until my eyes roll back and I die. How long? A year and a half, we started dating February tenth. It snowed.
Hello me,
You haven't shown up in a while. Please call.
Love,
No Body
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 3:58 AM UTC
Its been two years already
Didn't hear a word from you baby
Think we're good at ghosting each other
Or why wouldn't we hang out together?
Feels like there wasn't even a thing
Like all I felt or said went into nothing
How did all these moments just fade away?
Like it had never even existed?
It felt so real felt so lit
Little did I know
That it wasn't it
Anymore.
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 11:18 AM UTC
lie down embroidered in the cool darkness
startling signatures dotting infinite oblivion
capsizing a raging fiery glow transition
singing of great chorus daunting premonition
anticipate the halt of breath prior
the splinter in time where the trees
gander the melodious swell intimate
the slumber left behind to the well of day
that fraction of a moment
my bedroom window encompassed
upon softest pastel pallets, kissing the breeze
soothing the scars and ceaseless throb
amazed, drinking in the spilling of sunlight
clouds streaking the stains eradicating, pulsing over
nature chirping and sighing with that of sage
lucid bliss settling gently on defenses in my chest
and as the day swirls and falls, pulses and cringes
coming home, bustling with stings pinching
thoughts gone quite tired and violent
the sun descends, and night begins
shadows cast, swimming in direction
like a flood of acoustic strumming
and wink of yawning black cat
the world softens and slows
lives retreat and flowers sway in the breeze
aching hearts and bitter limbs rest in sheets
linen of softest cloth, woven by threads
a comfortable place to rest my head
and the day descends and night takes full
crickets crying and mystery lurking
fingers soothing the spasms in my brain
with every turn of page, the stroke of brush
resting with the sliver lurking
everywhere I go, ghosting in echoes
reaching out with eyes quite closed
mind swirling with undefined competence
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
Was it easy was it hard
For our friendship to discard
Did you have to was it needed
When our friendship you conceded
Did you smile or did you cry
Ghosting me with no goodbye
Did you laugh or did it hurt
When you left with no alert
Do You wonder do you care
Leaving me beyond repair
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
I see you’re gone. Turned your back again. Left me just that little bit more. It frees me. Frees me to write again. You see, I’d stopped. I didn’t want to affect you any more. I didn’t want you to feel compelled to come here and wallow in my pain. So I’d resisted the urge to write. But now you’ve severed that cord. Were you set free? Do you feel this? I’d be surprised if you feel anything anymore. Ghosting me is your super power.
This place is mine again. For me to write. Alone.
Apr 22, 2022
Apr 22, 2022 at 8:17 AM UTC