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Atomika Sep 2018
Today I got a heartache, it wasn't so bad
I told her my feelings but she just look back
It ain't even that hurtful, it ain't even sad
I just got to work out some things that I lack

Today I got a heartache, twice I think too.
Crushes aren't my strong spot. But I know what they meant
When they said no, I smirked and just say thank you
For their honesty and for my further development

Today I got a heartache, it stings now I know
I was hurting a lot and in progress, I reap what I sow
Doubts start to drown and I begin to fall
Should I keep on going or should I just stall.

Today I got a heartache, it was subtle and clean
But the girl is not bad, she was not mean
She said I am sorry and things will be just fine
I don't know if that's true. down the line

My head suddenly fell down, and I start to frown
How can I turn this around, I know that I should not be a clown

Today I got a heartache, a devastating one for sure
I was really rooting for myself, I got myself to endure
All those efforts and all those what I make
But she suddenly have someone now, and that I can't take

Today I got a heartache, it seems so repeating
When I try to change myself, I just keep on believing
But again it fell flat and all went bad
Will this continue while I am being sad?

Today I got a heartache, it's dreary and frustrating
I should get over it, I should just say it's okay
But the feeling is gone and I am in dismay
From staking everything, now I feel nothing

Today... I got a heartache, and I broke my own promise
It seems it always happens, like a cycle that keeps repeating
The feeling of affection I long, and that is now I miss
Please help me remember what is love and what should I believe in

But the cycle continues until someone saves me
Yup, this is just normal for me. I always get heartaches for the ******* I am.
Angel Jul 2016
There are three types of heartaches

Heartache #1
The heartache where you were never loved back.
He’d look at you and smile but you know the sparkle in his eyes isn’t because of you.
He’ll hug you goodbye but you can smell the scent of her perfume as you snuggle your head into his neck.
He would turn away and you’d look at him as if he was the most celestial being you’ll ever see and you’ll remember, the way you look at him, is the way he looks at her.

Heartache #2
The heartache where you strive to make their life a living hell.
You’ll break his heart and realise when it’s too late that you’ve broken yours in the process as well.
So while he is sitting next to you because he has no other choice, you hum the song that he dedicated to you just loud enough for him to hear, and you’ll know it’s driving him mad.
And you’ll wear the shirt he said he loved on you as you pretend to run into him, whether it’s walking casually in the hallway or chatting with someone who happens to be right near his locker.
You’ll find a new boy to smile and laugh with and you’ll know he is in the distance watching, remembering how he used to be the one that got that smile out of you.

Heartache #3
The heartache that never goes away.
The one with the mesmerising blue eyes and smug smile that could devour your soul in a heartbeat.
It’s the restless nights of talking about all your fears, dreams, insecurities; everything that makes you, you.
It’s the way you let yourself be vulnerable as he touched your naked skin.
He’ll hold your hand and make promises he never intended to keep.
He’ll make you believe every word he says is true.
He’ll make you see that planting flowers in your lungs is so much better than destroying yourself.
But he’ll fail to tell you that once those flowers die, you wont be able to breathe.
They all hurt
Molly Feb 2015
Dear heartache,
I cannot say that I know you well,
I have never been in love
But I have loved,
Have loved deeply and quickly and without question,
Have loved quietly and cowardly,
Have been loved back.

Dear heartache,
I just wanted to know why you're still
Hanging around here,
Why you keep dropping by
When I have guests over,
They never stay once you show up.

Dear heartache,
I've only known you on the surface,
Have never known the right questions to ask
But I have memorized the structure of your being,
Can describe the color of your eyes down to every fleck of red-brown,
Can still feel every callous on your palm when I think about you,
You have become so commonplace.

Dear heartache,
I think I know what you're doing,
Think I have thought my way through your facade,
I think you are in love with love;
Think you have been following her around for so long
That you couldn't bare to let her go now,
Think you always show up too late,
Show up just as she walks out the door.

Dear heartache,
I cannot say that I know you well,
Cannot say that you have made a home for yourself
Somewhere within me,
Can only stand within your reach
And hope that someday while you are chasing love
She will find me.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
Wistful tears melt down my cheeks.
Nostalgic of our infinity together.
I kept myself intact, wholly yet new, and now without the pitiful distractions, I must reflect upon myself, alone.
Debilitating heartache
Bleakening one’s life.
Pining to relive and forget the past.
Everything still so crystal clear,
so picturesque in nature.
The smells, the sights, the feelings.
How could I have let it slip away?
Did he ever speak of me?
Ever talk about me?
Or did he just forget the joyous days we spent together under the heat of moment’s madness?
Am I the only one homesick for not my house, but for the person that broke me?
My lip twitches as sentimental recollections start to overflow and spill, creating a puddle of emptiness, longing, and heartbreak.
Debilitating heartache.
Watching the clock tick down seconds I've wasted
waiting for you.
nd Apr 2019
when I was still a younger me, let's talk when i was 19 or 20

heartache can be caused by losing a boyfriend

you know the pain right?
you know how hurt the pain is, right?

when I turned 21
the same kind of heartache still there
different man, different story, same heartache

still when I was 21
it happened on August 2018

I lost my grandpa, he passed away

heart attack, they said

it was hurt so bad and i can barely breathe
it felt hurt, but different kind of heartache.


then October 2018,
same thing, different person, happened

I lost my best friend on a plane crashed

it was terribly hurt

it felt hurt, but another different kind of heartache


and after that,

losing a living human is nothing but a pinch on my cheek.
if they're still alive, then you're not losing them.
David Scaggs Feb 2021
Love is the most beautiful cause, with heartache being the ugliest effect.
Love speaks from the heart, with heartache tearing everything apart.
Love is patient, kind and understanding. It's always forgiving, and non-judgemental. Love has no end, it's simply, infinite.
Heartache is destroyer or worlds, eating, consuming everything in its path. It's the most dangerous obstacle, as it trips people up, making them tumble to the ground, creating injuries beyond repair.
We aren't the same after heartache, yet with love, we are our best selves.
Love is expensive, with us paying the cost, but heartache charges dues, to everyone but you.

D. Scaggs

Andy Chunn Aug 2020
I never thought the pain could make me feel this way
Getting over you will take some time I hear them say
I thought that I’d forget you, control my life and make
The memory of your sweet love, a harmless heartache

I was not brand new to love, I’d had a round or two
But no one ever made me feel the way you always do
It’s not a harmless heartache when it burns you deep inside
This heart feels every memory and knows the tears I’ve cried

If I could bring her back again I’d never let her go
I’d treat her like a queen now that I know the things I know
You’re playing with the hottest fire, you think your heart won’t break
Then you’ll see you can’t escape the harmless heartache

Just a harmless heartache, I’m feeling here tonight
You’d still be here with me, and we’d hold each other tight
But you say I’ll be better off, and so just for my sake
You left me here alone to bear my harmless heartache
annabel Oct 2016
this is (not) a heartache poem
you or the way
your eyes stood glossy and
your mouth silent
in large crowds of people –
demeanour slowly playing
over me
time and time again,
even when i swore to myself that i would
shut you out
for good
like your smile stuck in my brain,
it kept coming

please understand that there is (no)
heartache here
because this is(n’t) a
about how i spent my life in
filled with every beautiful,
word i could think of
while you lived in
shallow, broken
how i could see you perfectly
through the flesh and bone and *******
nobody else knew about.

could you see
how much
i longed for you to
take me in the way i
was –
speak to me in the carefully rationed
words of your
stories –
anything that could’ve
brought me closer to you but instead,
only burned
in the wildfires of all you
cared about?

did i end up in those fires too?
were you so certain that i would just
how you stopped sending me
the texts
that i waited
oh-so long for?

were you so certain that i
would have
let you slip away so easily
after the way you lead me to
there was something
between us?

well, i did(n’t),
yet, just the thought of it
me to remember how
you were the brightest star in my universe but
was just a mere speck of dust
in yours.

this will (not) be another poem
i dream about
watching every bone in
your body cave in
feeling your breath
against my ears
but (no),
trust me, there is (no) heartache
that i have
for you
or anything you ever did
in the last seven months we spent
that always left me dreaming
on a prayer -
but never listened to.

i know you didn’t want me.
i know you didn’t care.
i was just another one to you.

this is (not) a poem about
how i’m now
because you left me
even though
you weren’t mine –

for where i am
now is(n’t)
love n stuff.
I have kissed boys


People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know
adalicia Feb 2019
crowned herself with a heartache
she can never be in euphoria
has something gone wrong
looks like she have lost her way

crowned herself with a heartache
with numbness and memories
a torture that was intense
she needs peace

again crowned with a heartache
the bubbly presence
that disappeared easily
craving for acceptance

crowned with heartache
her tears that kept on rolling
a heart that keeps on tearing
with darkness that overtakes a soul.

and now just crown her with a heartache
that she’ll use as a story to write
with just words on paper and yesterday’s stanza
torn and scattered on the winds

Jordan stenberg Dec 2012
The feelings of others are up then down my heart follows

what i want  and what i care for i don't have a choice if i had a choice i would wait

But since the heartache attacks me like a disease i hope your happy  but i suffer from heartache

well i 'll heal from heartache always sure i never had it leave my system time for a change

for this ache to go away i'll need you to help me to live life to the fullest i would give everything up to change your mind

Wayward Jul 2018
What is it about you that haunts me?
I let you go so I can set you free.
You meant everything to me and we were forever,
But it isn't our time to be together.  

I was completely lost before I met you.
You gave me reason to live and direction to follow.
But now we're back at square one,
And the loneliness has already begun.

I promised you I'd never leave.
You promised never to let go of me.
Yet here we are, far apart in distance and in thought.
I wonder how we'd be if we hadn't fought.

Blocking is a blessing, and you used it well.
I regret my decision, now I'm in hell.
A life without you, is no life at all.
I just wish you'd pick up my call.

With several attempts I lost faith.
I think it's goodbye, this is our fate.
I'll always wonder if I made a mistake,
If I could've avoided all our heartache.

                                                     ­             -Wayward❤
I didn't really know how else to let go of my emotions. Its really bad, I agree, but I needed some sort of an outlet for the hurt I was feeling. Much love.

It's really sad that so many of you can relate to this poem. I'm so sorry for whatever you're going through. Stay safe loves!
Madison Jul 2013
There comes a day in your life where you meet someone special…
You try so hard not to admit it but you just can’t hold back the way you feel…
I like you.
You get all those feelings…
Those butterflies you can’t stomach,
That heart rate you can’t put at ease,
So baby …
Sweetheart with the beautiful smile. Sure, I loved sleep
But dreams couldn't compare
Not to talking to you until my mind screamed for rest
And the butterflies in my stomach settled
Darling with the endless amount of love…
your love could fill the oceans and climb the tallest trees,
but could your love belong to me someday?
Be given to me?
Can you feel the way I do for you?
& Boy, sometimes I tangle my own fingers
Closing my eyes, losing myself in a daydream
Where your voice is more than an echo in my mind
And I even believe for a few seconds you're still here
Lover, who writes me poems,
You should know I write you too.
I write about you until my fingers ache
And still after that I keep writing
Because there's just some people you could write about forever
And baby, you're one of them.
And boy who played me a song,
Sweet sounds bow down to my ears,
And the way you play your guitar…
& the way I daydream about kissing your lips...
I can’t wait until the sparks of your tongue burn my mouth
send electric shocks through my body
Cutie… with the funny jokes,
You make me laugh.
Today you made me laugh,
like you always do,
you’re the only one who can now a days.
Baby, with those sparkling eyes,
Your eyes haunt me whether I'm dreaming or not
And what haunts me more is the fact that
I can’t have you now
because you ruined it
It hurts to think about it,
So I have to block you out.
Play your songs to someone else,
Read your silly lines of heartache to someone else,
And go find… someone else.
Veronika Nov 2014
Goodnight, the fire burns brightly
Goodnight, you kiss my forehead lightly
Almost paternally now
- We were lovers

Goodnight, clinging to the sheets by your side
Goodnight, heartache in this house tonight
Someday we will forget
- We were lovers

This distance will turn my blood cold
A grave look on a pale face of youth
If I could shrink the ocean to be close
Would you save me anymore
Love became an ugly truth

Goodnight, the fire burns brightly
Goodnight, I held on to the moment tightly
Almost in retrospect
- We were lovers
Sydney Reed Sep 2011
Hello Heartache
I wish I could say that it’s nice to see you again
But I’m afraid to say that the last time we parted
I never expected to see you standing at my door again
Tell me old friend why are you here?
Because I’d thought we’d said goodbye for good
But I guess I was wrong
Or I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this song

I’m not going to be your baby doll
I’m not going to dress up real pretty and look fine all night
I’m not going to be your ***** little secret
Because my heart is worth oh so much more than that
I’m not going to be the quiet whisper in your ear
I’m not going to be the one who wipes away your tears
I’m the voice resounding in your head
Telling you just how dead wrong you went

I’m not going to be the sweet dream you return to night after night
Because you left me here
Enveloped in a nightmare
And I don’t understand how you can just stand there and let me put this blame on me
Mix me up a sweet medley

Hello Heartache
I wish I could say it’s nice to see you again
My heart might ache but it’ll never break
It’ll take more than the words that you said to cut me through
I won’t be torn to pieces
Screaming from the rooftops
Never understand exactly what you did to me
Never understand how I got to be here welcoming Heartache back into my bed

“I don’t want to be off with you”
But being off is all we ever do
Off the target, off the market
I’ve stopped waiting for all my dreams to come true
No- I’ve simply stopped dreaming off you
When I’ve finally found something real and something new
The Dreamer Teen Aug 2013
It's been nine years now. Nine years since the angels took you away. Nine years since I stood at the home, looking at your peaceful face; eyes closed, a ghost of a smile gracing your lips. It doesn't seem that long. It seems like yesterday you were calling me your little princess; I'm still that little girl at heart. The one who believed she would grow up to be a beautiful elegant contessa. I don't have many memories of the times we shared as I was only young when you passed. In fact, sometimes I struggle to picture your gorgeous, smiling face telling me stories of your past of advice for when I grew into an elegant older woman just like you were then.

I was only 6... 6 years old and I had to go through the pain and heartache of having my nan cruelly taken away from me. I'll be 16 next year. I'll be having my prom next year. I will be leaving year 11, getting my GCSE results and starting A-levels next year. So much has happened in these 9 short, short years. There is so much more to come and you won't be here to share it with me. My graduation from university, my first career move, my marriage, my children... Your great-grandchildren. You won't be here for the good times, the bad...The happy and the sad...

There are certain qualities about you that I will always remember... Being made banana sandwiches every time we went round to your house! Having a Sunday roast with you and Granddad every single week! Your 60th birthday (I knocked Zack down and felt so chuffed!) The last birthday you ever spent with me... You made my birthday cake that year... If I remember correctly, it was a princess castle with all the Disney princesses stood around it! You told me I deserved a cake because I was a beautiful princess also.

I know you will be looking down on me and the family just to make sure we are alright! I just hope it's a smile on your face and not a frown! I hope I have made you proud nan... I really do. I hope you Rest In Peace nan and I will never forget you. Forever in our hearts and minds. 15/06/2004... We love you nan and always will. <3
Feelings passed and hours are gone.
Distracted by these demons
Of right and wrong.
Anxiety now at its prime
Id wince and cry
Or count the hours to the time I'd die.
Alone I feel, within this space.
Slicing my arms in disgrace.
Her face still stuck in my mind.
Her eyes, her hair, her lips which I find...
So tempting.
But I am only wasting my breath.
Shaking hands with ideas of death.
Hoping this pathetic pain will subside.
Till then this heartache is by my side.
Haven Collie Oct 2015
with tobacco sitting open
in dusty papers on our kitchen table,
still warm from the glow
on your mint and cedar skin,
and with the sky cloudy and quiet in our window,
you kissed my crooked mouth
like the ghost hand that held the door open for you.

Heartache is an actor,
mumbling his soliloquy on the wide empty stage of my tongue
while the people in the back complain that they can't hear.
when people speak of a love not returned,
if you're lucky,
you can still hear a thin warm ribbon of blood
wrapping around teeth,
almost undetectable,
and the name hangs heavy in the room
like silver tinsel after christmas
if the  still oozes hot, black heartache
or else it is a wound that has scabbed over.
the lover is left lying like
a ribbed dog on a dry path,
summer's dust coating organs and throats
purple and bruised,
church bells ringing through tall grass.

but you heard every word that Heartache was saying.
you smarted away from me,
as if I had bitten you.
I think maybe
you could taste all of this war
waging among the rafters
in the high ceilings of my mouth.
and all I could taste was copper pennies
for months after you left.
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
It's delight which flows without measure
from the assurance that through every circumstance
and detail of my life God is ever beckoning and drawing me
into deeper intimacy with Himself, ever whispering to my heart,
“Come closer still.”

Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.

It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.

There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
He will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.

And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.

Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.

"You have made known to me the path of life; You will fill me with joy
in Your presence, with eternal pleasures at Your right hand."  
~ Psalm 16:11

"O God, You are my God, earnestly I seek You; my soul thirsts for You, my body longs for You, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. I have seen You in the sanctuary and beheld Your power and Your glory. Because Your love is better than life, my lips will glorify You. I will praise You as long as I live, and in Your name I will lift up my hands. My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise You. On my bed I remember You; I think of You through the watches of the night. Because You are my help, I sing in the shadow of Your wings. My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me."  
~ Psalm 63:1-8

"It was good for me to be afflicted so that I might learn Your decrees. The law from Your mouth is more precious to me than thousands of pieces of silver and gold."  
~ Psalm 119:71-72

"'Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth...'"
~ Hosea 2:14-15
Angela Bennett Mar 2013
You were there when i needed you,
you watched me night and day.
My life was in your hands and
you held me so close, that
i never wanted to let you go.
You were my hero
shining in the sun,
And i was your moonlight,
so silent and still.
Though my love,
was so true to you.
You made me so blue,
by cheating my heart away.
It was as clear as day,
But as i was your moonlight.
I didn't stay for the dawning
Of my heartache.
You were my light
which has now burnt out.
And i am a symbol.
A symbol of the silence's screams,
that are too loud to hear
by the human ear
but may be heard by
the moonlight beams,
the rays of mourning souls
who's hearts were taken,
and are now left to roam in peace.
Where no man can disrupt
The heavenly silence,
Of the screaming heartache.
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
It's at the point of desperation that the soul finds its deepest desire,
and in that desire lies everything of which true life is made.
Perhaps the first and central question concerning surrender
ought not to be, “What am I willing to give to God?”
but “What am I willing to receive from Him?”

For it's only in the realization that I have nothing to give Him and
He has everything to give me that true humility and surrender come.
If I would simply receive all He offers me and let Him fill me up
I would have no room in my hands to hold onto anything else.  
But how often it is that we won't receive it until everything else is lost.

It's the secret and inexpressible dreams of the soul
which are the hardest things of all to let go and the last to go.
When they are finally gone we have nothing left to run to but Him,
and when we do we find that He is the beginning,
the end and the center of every secret dream.

Ah, blessed Peniel—that mysterious and holy ground
where heartache collides head-on with romance,
that deep and shadowed land where we struggle
with God and with men and we overcome,
that painful yet glorious place which we may leave limping
with a wrenched hip but we do not care, for we have seen God’s face—
like Jacob, may we not pass you by without being forever changed.
Genesis 32

Kitty Prr Sep 2013

What did I lose?
It was never mine to start with.


Deep aching need
"Know the difference between want and need"
My fathers words ring loud and clear.

Fair call Dad.
I can live without romantic love,
Without intimacy
So that would make it a 'want'.


Dr Phil "Anger is a surface emotion,
There is always hurt of fear underneath"
(=Heartache and Heartbreak, can't have three the same)

**** you Cat!
You over analyze!

Blah, yuck and horrible stuff.
Feel like crying.

Awesome Annie Nov 2014
She's carrying around heartache,
It's tucked deep into her pockets.
It's heavy weight causing her to stumble.

That light up ahead is for her.
But insecurity causes doubt.
Whispering oh so softly her name.

Others fogged perception forces her to scream.

But all they hear is noise.

Not the heart bursting forth.

Not the over flow of sorrow she sometimes can't contain.

The light still shines bright.
All her beautiful soul has to do..

Is pick up her head from her knees,
and empty her pockets.
Nigel Morgan Nov 2012
As a woman, and in the service of my Lord the Emperor Wu, my life is governed by his command. At twenty I was summoned to this life at court and have made of it what I can, within the limitations of the courtesan I am supposed to be, and the poet I have now become. Unlike my male counterparts, some of whom have lately found seclusion in the wilderness of rivers and mountains, I have only my personal court of three rooms and its tiny garden and ornamental pond. But I live close to the surrounding walls of the Zu-lin Gardens with its astronomical observatories and bold attempts at recreating illusions of celebrated locations in the Tai mountains. There, walking with my cat Xi-Lu in the afternoons, I imagine a solitary life, a life suffused with the emptiness I crave.
In the hot, dry summer days my maid Mei-Lim and I have sought a temporary retreat in the pine forests above Lingzhi. Carried in a litter up the mountain paths we are left in a commodious hut, its open walls making those simple pleasures of drinking, eating and sleeping more acute, intense. For a few precious days I rest and meditate, breathe the mountain air and the resinous scents of the trees. I escape the daily commerce of the court and belong to a world that for the rest of the year I have to imagine, the world of the recluse. To gain the status of the recluse, open to my male counterparts, is forbidden to women of the court. I am woman first, a poet and calligrapher second. My brother, should he so wish, could present a petition to revoke his position as a man of letters, an official commentator on the affairs of state. But he is not so inclined. He has already achieved notoriety and influence through his writing on the social conditions of town and city. He revels in a world of chatter, gossip and intrigue; he appears to fear the wilderness life.  
I must be thankful that my own life is maintained on the periphery. I am physically distant from the hub of daily ceremonial. I only participate at my Lord’s express command. I regularly feign illness and fatigue to avoid petty conflict and difficulty. Yet I receive commissions I cannot waver: to honour a departed official; to celebrate a son’s birth to the Second Wife; to fulfil in verse my Lord’s curious need to know about the intimate sorrows of his young concubines, their loneliness and heartache.
Occasionally a Rhapsody is requested for an important visitor. The Emperor Wu is proud to present as welcome gifts such poetic creations executed in fine calligraphy, and from a woman of his court. Surely a sign of enlightment and progress he boasts! Yet in these creations my observations are parochial: early morning frost on the cabbage leaves in my garden; the sound of geese on their late afternoon flight to Star Lake; the disposition of the heavens on an Autumn night. I live by the Tao of Lao-Tzu, perceiving the whole world from my doorstep.
But I long for the reclusive life, to leave this court for my family’s estate in the valley my peasant mother lived as a child. At fourteen she was chosen to sustain the Emperor’s annual wish for young girls to be groomed for concubinage. Like her daughter she is tall, though not as plain as I; she put her past behind her and conceded her adolescence to the training required by the court. At twenty she was recommended to my father, the court archivist, as second wife. When she first met this quiet, dedicated man on the day before her marriage she closed her eyes in blessing. My father taught her the arts of the library and schooled her well. From her I have received keen eyes of jade green and a prestigious memory, a memory developed she said from my father’s joy of reading to her in their private hours, and before she could read herself. Each morning he would examine her to discover what she had remembered of the text read the night before. When I was a little child she would quote to me the Confucian texts on which she had been ****** schooled, and she then would tell me of her childhood home. She primed my imagination and my poetic world with descriptions of a domestic rural life.
Sometimes in the arms of my Lord I have freely rhapsodized in chusi metre these delicate word paintings of my mother’s home. She would say ‘We will walk now to the ruined tower beside the lake. Listen to the carolling birds. As the sparse clouds move across the sky the warm sun strokes the winter grass. Across the deep lake the forests are empty. Now we are climbing the narrow steps to the platform from which you and I will look towards the sun setting in the west. See the shadows are lengthening and the air becomes colder. The blackbird’s solitary song heralds the evening.  Look, an owl glides silently beneath us.’
My Lord will then quote from Hsieh Ling-yun,.
‘I meet sky, unable to soar among clouds,
face a lake, call those depths beyond me.’
And I will match this quotation, as he will expect.
‘Too simple-minded to perfect Integrity,
and too feeble to plough fields in seclusion.’
He will then gaze into my eyes in wonder that this obscure poem rests in my memory and that I will decode the minimal grammar of these early characters with such poetry. His characters: Sky – Bird – Cloud – Lake – Depth. My characters: Fool – Truth – Child – Winter field – Isolation.
Our combined invention seems to take him out of his Emperor-self. He is for a while the poet-scholar-sage he imagines he would like to be, and I his foot-sore companion following his wilderness journey. And then we turn our attention to our bodies, and I surprise him with my admonitions to gentleness, to patience, to arousing my pleasure. After such poetry he is all pleasure, sensitive to the slightest touch, and I have my pleasure in knowing I can control this powerful man with words and the stroke of my fingertips rather than by delicate youthful beauty or the guile and perverse ingenuity of an ****** act. He is still learning to recognise the nature and particularness of my desires. I am not as his other women: who confuse pleasure with pain.
Thoughts of my mother. Without my dear father, dead ten years, she is a boat without a rudder sailing on a distant lake. She greets each day as a gift she must honour with good humour despite the pain of her limbs, the difficulty of walking, of sitting, of eating, even talking. Such is the hurt that governs her ageing. She has always understood that my position has forbidden marriage and children, though the latter might be a possibility I have not wished it and made it known to my Lord that it must not be. My mother remains in limbo, neither son or daughter seeking to further her lineage, she has returned to her sister’s home in the distant village of her birth, a thatched house of twenty rooms,
‘Elms and willows shading the eaves at the back,
and, in front,  peach and plum spread wide.
Villages lost across mist-haze distances,
Kitchen smoke drifting wide-open country,
Dogs bark deep among the back roads out here
And cockerels crow from mulberry treetops.
My esteemed colleague T’ao Ch’ien made this poetry. After a distinguished career in government service he returned to the life of a recluse-farmer on his family farm. Living alone in a three-roomed hut he lives out his life as a recluse and has endured considerable poverty. One poem I know tells of him begging for food. His world is fields-and-gardens in contrast to Hsieh Ling-yin who is rivers-and-mountains. Ch’ien’s commitment to the recluse life has brought forth words that confront death and the reality of human experience without delusion.
‘At home here in what lasts, I wait out life.’
Thus my mother waits out her life, frail, crumbling more with each turning year.
To live beyond the need to organise daily commitments due to others, to step out into my garden and only consider the dew glistening on the loropetalum. My mind is forever full of what is to be done, what must be completed, what has to be said to this visitor who will today come to my court at the Wu hour. Only at my desk does this incessant chattering in the mind cease, as I move my brush to shape a character, or as the needle enters the cloth, all is stilled, the world retreats; there is the inner silence I crave.
I long to see with my own eyes those scenes my mother painted for me with her words. I only know them in my mind’s eye having travelled so little these past fifteen years. I look out from this still dark room onto my small garden to see the morning gathering its light above the rooftops. My camellia bush is in flower though a thin frost covers the garden stones.
And so I must imagine how it might be, how I might live the recluse life. How much can I jettison? These fine clothes, this silken nightgown beneath the furs I wrap myself in against the early morning air. My maid is sleeping. Who will make my tea? Minister to me when I take to my bed? What would become of my cat, my books, the choice-haired brushes? Like T’ao Ch’ien could I leave the court wearing a single robe and with one bag over my shoulders? Could I walk for ten days into the mountains? I would disguise myself as a man perhaps. I am tall for a woman, and though my body flows in broad curves there are ways this might be assuaged, enough perhaps to survive unmolested on the road.
Such dreams! My Lord would see me returned within hours and send a servant to remain at my gate thereafter. I will compose a rhapsody about a concubine of standing, who has even occupied the purple chamber, but now seeks to relinquish her privileged life, who coverts the uncertainty of nature, who would endure pain and privation in a hut on some distant mountain, who will sleep on a mat on its earth floor. Perhaps this will excite my Lord, light a fire in his imagination. As though in preparation for this task I remove my furs, I loose the knot of my silk gown. Naked, I reach for an old under shift letting it fall around my still-slender body and imagine myself tying the lacings myself in the open air, imagine making my toilet alone as the sun appears from behind a distant mountain on a new day. My mind occupies itself with the tiny detail of living thus: bare feet on cold earth, a walk to nearby stream, the gathering of berries and mountain herbs, the making of fire, the washing of my few clothes, imagining. Imagining. To live alone will see every moment filled with the tasks of keeping alive. I will become in tune with my surroundings. I will take only what I need and rely on no one. Dreaming will end and reality will be the slug on my mat, the bone-chilling incessant mists of winter, the thorn in the foot, the wild winds of autumn. My hands will become stained and rough, my long limbs tanned and scratched, my delicate complexion freckled and wind-pocked, my hair tied roughly back. I will become an animal foraging on a dank hillside. Such thoughts fill me with deep longing and a ****** desire to be tzu-jan  - with what surrounds me, ablaze with ****** self.
It is not thought the custom of a woman to hold such desires. We are creatures of order and comfort. We do not live on the edge of things, but crave security and well-being. We learn to endure the privations of being at the behest of others. Husbands, children, lovers, our relatives take our bodies to them as places of comfort, rest and desire. We work at maintaining an ordered flow of existence. Whatever our station, mistress or servant we compliment, we keep things in order, whether that is the common hearth or the accounts of our husband’s court. Now my rhapsody begins:
A Rhapsody on a woman wishing to live as a recluse
As a lady of my Emperor’s court I am bound in service.
My court is not my own, I have the barest of means.
My rooms are full of gifts I am forced barter for bread.
Though the artefacts of my hands and mind
Are valued and widely renown,
Their commissioning is an expectation of my station,
With no direct reward attached.
To dress appropriately for my Lord’s convocations and assemblies
I am forced to negotiate with chamberlains and treasurers.
A bolt of silk, gold thread, the services of a needlewoman
Require formal entreaties and may lie dormant for weeks
Before acknowledgement and release.
I was chosen for my literary skills, my prestigious memory,
Not for my ****** beauty, though I have been called
‘Lady of the most gracious movement’ and
My speaking voice has clarity and is capable of many colours.
I sing, but plainly and without passion
Lest I interfere with the truth of music’s message.
Since I was a child in my father’s library
I have sought out the works of those whose words
Paint visions of a world that as a woman
I may never see, the world of the wilderness,
Of rivers and mountains,
Of fields and gardens.
Yet I am denied by my *** and my station
To experience passing amongst these wonders
Except as contrived imitations in the palace gardens.
Each day I struggle to tease from the small corner
Of my enclosed eye-space some enrichment
Some elemental thing to colour meaning:
To extend the bounds of my home
Across the walls of this palace
Into the world beyond.
I have let it be known that I welcome interviews
With officials from distant courts to hear of their journeying,
To gather word images if only at second-hand.
Only yesterday an emissary recounted
His travels to Stone Lake in the far South-West,
Beyond the gorges of the Yang-tze.
With his eyes I have seen the mountains of Suchan:
With his ears I have heard the oars crackling
Like shattering jade in the freezing water.
Images and sounds from a thousand miles
Of travel are extract from this man’s memory.
Such a sharing of experience leaves me
Excited but dismayed: that I shall never
Visit this vast expanse of water and hear
Its wild cranes sing from their floating nests
In the summer moonlight.
I seek to disappear into a distant landscape
Where the self and its constructions of the world may
Dissolve away until nothing remains but the no-mind.
My thoughts are full of the practicalities of journeying
Of an imagined location, that lonely place
Where I may be at one with myself.
Where I may delight in the everyday Way,
Myself among mist and vine, rock and cave.
Not this lady of many parts and purposes whose poems must
Speak of lives, sorrow and joy, pleasure and pain
Set amongst personal conflict and intrigue
That in containing these things, bring order to disorder;
Salve the conscience, bathe hurt, soothe sleight.
Ava Lennon Dec 2020
Wonderful Heartache
When did I go wrong
When did I start thinking about you all night
I'm still wondering if it's all right
I'm worried about you, you keep me awake at night
Did you not know?
Yeah I feel as though I'm about to snap
Does it really show?
I always told myself I might bend but not break...
You don't know but your breaking me
Oh why can't you see
It really hurts I feel drained
Trying to get you too see, hard to keep it contained
Starting to feel gloomy like it has rained
But it's wonderful cuz I know my heart works
Even when all heartache does is lurk
I can feel my heart burn within
Sometimes heartache will sneak up on you like sin
Or it could have never been
But for me heartache is a win
Wonderful heartache
Shashank Virkud Oct 2011
Tears are flowing like the riverside
we're sitting by. I won't ask why
but I'll dry your eyes tonight.

I'll stay with you 'till
the day breaks.
This is honey for
your heartache.

I won't hate you
for your mistakes.
This is honey for
your heartache.

Face is glowing, all starry eyed,
bluer than sky. I know that I
don't want to see you cry tonight.

I'll run with you
when you can't wait.
This is honey for
your heartache.

I'll stay with you 'till
the sun breaks.
This is honey for
your heartache.
Awesome Annie Jul 2014
The sweetest of words escape your lips and leave me breathless.
Butterflies flutter inside,
fill day dreams with your static covered voice,
So smooth and masculine.

Never have I been so drawn to the corners of another's mind,
wanting to fill myself into the creaks of your heartache.
I could heal you....
shower you in affection and adoration.

Your brilliance captivates me,
leaving me wanting more.
I'm to caught up in what ifs...
What lingers between that I can't confess,
is that I'm afraid,
I could get completely lost in you.
Andy Cave Jun 2012
The heartache is settling in on my soul
the pain that I'm feeling it's taking its toll.
I'm tired, worn down, so very much broken
my heart was your key, your personal token.
My world went tumbling, crashing so fast.
This love so cherished, I wished it had last.
my way or the highway
my way or the heartache
my way or minus the highway
my way or minus the heartache
minus the heartache,minus the highway
minus the soul,minus the heartache
minus the soul,plus the soul

minus the soul,plus the heartache
the mind,body is a plus of the soul
minus the soul,minus the body,plus the mind
plus the mind,plus the body,minus the soul
minus the soul is plus the body
the soul is at peace with the mind
the soul is at peace with the body

the mind caress the soul
the mind caress the body
peace caress the mind,body,and soul
peace is at peace with peace
the body caress the body
caress caresses the mind,body,and soul
at peace is at mind,at peace is at peace
my writing is called philosophical writing. i only uses middle ages words,words from the renaissance. for instance words liked gracious,extravaganza,etc... this poem is about peace minus the mind,body,and soul. i don’t add capitalization’s on my writing.
Sam Hammond Sep 2018
In silence and heartache,
The air has turned dire.
Our smiles were combusted
By miseries fire.
Its smoke has enclosed us
Within our own sphere,
Though soon you'll be leaving.
Leaving me here.

For long I'd accustomed
To being alone.
No need for direction.
No need for a home.
But one day you found me,
Your hands full of love,
And lips full of comfort
Which smiled just above.

Now loneliness taunts me
Whenever you go.
You take with you more than
You ever could know.
My happiness follows,
Forever it's yours.
In silence and heartache,
In rises and falls.
To her
Brandon Jan 2014
There's so much depth to your eyes
The way they squint and tug at your frown
When you wake up wearing your bed head
And see me about to drown
Do you think it will be worth it
To close your eyes again and sleep in?
If tomorrow never comes
Then we'll never have to leave this bed

But I'm a fool of yours
For every word I've never said
And if it comes from me inside out
To tear away your clothes
And see the beauty in your dance
Then I'm here baring my teeth
For a taste of your romance

So write the saddest thought you have
Write your biggest fear
Now tell me darlin
What do you really have to lose?
Is it the thought that's too close
For you to hold dear?
Clutching heartache like its a fashion statement
The point of this
It's all exaggerated
You're the perfect specimen of who you are
You're the empty hole in my heart

It's another night and we're playing with knives
Getting sick on absinthe
You hold your words to my throat
And ask for the truth
Wanting me to lie every step of the way
There's danger in the way you love me so dearly
It's tender
I surrender
Don't cut any deeper
There's only so much of me I can hold on to
When I'm around you
Surrounding myself with the buttons off your dress
I know I've made a mess
And bathed in bleach
But I wanted that dead hue
Only to entertain you

But I'm a fool of yours
For every word I've never said
And if it comes from me inside out
To tear away your clothes
And see the beauty in your dance
Then I'm here baring my teeth
For a taste of your romance

So write the saddest thought you have
Write your biggest fear
Now tell me darlin
What do you really have to lose?
Is it the thought that's too close
For you to hold dear?
Clutching heartache like its a fashion statement
The point of this
It's all exaggerated
You're the perfect specimen of who you are
You're the empty hole in my heart

Why do you call it a fault
When I make you smile?
Why do you call it a lie
When I take your hand in mine?
Is it something I did
To make you wish me dead?

So write the saddest thought you have
Write your biggest fear
Now tell me darlin
What do you really have to lose?
Is it the thought that's too close
For you to hold dear?
Clutching heartache like its a fashion statement
The point of this
It's all exaggerated
You're the perfect specimen of who you are
You're the empty hole in my heart

And if it comes from me inside out
To tear away your clothes
And see the beauty in your dance
Then I'm here baring my teeth
For a last chance at your romance
Tu Me Manques is French for you are missing from me
berry Apr 2014
this is an open letter to anyone who has the audacity to try and love you like i did.

dear whateverthefuckyournameis,

i apologize in advance for spilling my boiled blood on the hem of your skirt. what you need to understand, is that you are standing on ground previously reserved for my feet, so forgive me for any bitterness that seeps through the cracks in my clenched fists. i don't hate you, but i can't be your friend. you probably don't know about me, and if you do, let me commend your bravery. i have a tendency to set my problems on fire, and in my bouts of anger everything looks flammable, especially girls with paper complexions. i'm sorry. i have never been one to walk away, so i don't know how to explain to you the holes in the bottoms of my shoes. but i have been further than you will ever go. this is not supposed to be an angry letter, but lately that's the only thing coming out of me. i don't even know your name but the thought of your hands reaching for him makes we want to break them. i will douse your dreams in gasoline and strike the match against your cheek. but i know that's not right, see, the poison crawling out from the end of my pen belongs to a scarier version of myself i try not to know. my heartache is an insatiable war cry in the dead of night, that will stop at nothing to shatter all your windows. it shames me to admit that i've found a sort of twisted satisfaction in using passive aggression to breach your armor. i am sick with missing a set of arms i was not privileged enough to know. i speak with all the grace of an atom bomb and wonder about the rubble at my feet. you are white picket fence and i am barbed wire. some girls are lions, some are lambs, and i learned to love, teeth bared and snarling. one of the only things that keeps me going is the hope that one day i'll learn how to love something without making it bleed. i may have never been his, but for a time he was mine, so please understand why i taste acid when i think about your mouth on his. again, i am sorry. i know it is not my place to be so full of resentment, but there is a part of me that sincerely hopes it bothers you to know he dreamt of me before you were even a thought. there is a side of me that thrives on the image of the color being drained from your face when you read this. but i am trying to learn how to be softer. this letter is the manifestation of a self-inflicted war that has been raging in my chest since he first told me about you. you will try to be good to him, and you might even succeed. if you ever find yourself singing him to sleep, like i did, don't ask if he wants to hear another song, just keep going until his breathing slows.

- m.f.
hkr Oct 2013
while heartache has left me
it still lives in
the threads of your hair woven
into my carpet with the stain
from when you puked up
the alcohol
we bought together from
that bottle on the shelf we
had *** against and
then left the ****** in
the trash can
that still sits next to
my desk
where you taught me definitions
of words like 'wanderlust'
which still slip into my
small talk and
when i'm not careful
they come out sounding more
like heartache.
my line breaks are wonky but i'll fix them when i'm feeling technical again.
ephemeral Feb 2015
If the x-axis represented
the year we met, and
the y-axis represented
the year we stopped talking,
our point of intersection
would most likely be (14,15).
And sometimes, it seems so unfair.
Sometimes I wish
we were parallel lines, and
we never met in the first place.
Other times I wish
our lines coincided, and
we had an infinite number of solutions; an infinite amount of time
to know each other.
But our relationship is beautiful,
too, in it's own way.
We're two lines with
a plethora of things in common, and our lives got to cross
for just a small amount of time.
We got to find each other,
and then drift apart again.
But I'd rather have one point of intersection than none at all.
I'm not really sure if my graph makes very much sense but it's okay because I like the general gist of the poem. Please feel free to leave feedback in the comments below (-:
The song for this one is "into your arms" by the Maine.

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