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Iskra Aug 2018
Laying in my bed curled up
Acid in my throat because I didn’t eat
Clenching my fists around my blankets because I can’t sleep

Are you thinking of me?
Laying in a tent, uncomfortably,
Snuggling close to your fluffy white dog or your younger brother to stay warm.

Are you missing me?
No. Not the way I’m missing you
You’re not thinking of me the way I’m thinking of you
And though it means the world to me that a beautiful soul like yours is friends with a storm cloud like me, it shatters my heart into thousands of sharp, jagged pieces that you’re
~ just ~
my friend.

“I’m sorry but I need to know, is it mutual? It’s alright if it’s a no, I can handle it, I just want you...to be honest”
A pause...
Then the raindrop falls.
“Right now, it’s a no”

Ripples.
Right now.
Right now.
Right now.
No.
No.
No.
STOP.
I care about you so much, I know I need to let you go, so you would never read this, and I would never show anyone this.
It’s all swirling around in my chest, faster and faster until it explodes, word ***** and tears.
I love you.

I didn’t tell you I loved you, only that I had feelings for you.
Why bother? It would’ve made things more painful for me, more bitter for you.

But I can’t show you this.
I don’t want you to change.
I don’t want you to change the way you speak to me, to change your mind when you’re about to type a heart emoji,
to stop yourself after just saying “goodnight” and leave out the “baby”

This is my undoing, not yours, and I want you to keep letting me be your anchor, your shoulder, your shield, my open arms waiting to catch you when you tumble from your flight.
I can’t keep loving you, I can’t stop loving you.
I want to stop feeling at all.
Thank you all so much for all your compassion and the amazing comments. Your kindness brought me to tears. I’d send hugs and healing (if I could) to those of you who commented because you’re experiencing the same thing right now, and I promise you, even though it hurts like **** now, it does get better.
8/22/17

I can't stop thinking about you. Since the first moment I met you you're a constant in my head. Why? What is it about you that leaves a lingering effect? I don't want this. I keep dreaming of you, it isn't always the same. You're the closest thing to me in some, in others you're the furthest thing I can see that's still in focus. Round and round and round and round you spin in my head. I don't even know what exactly I'm thinking of when I'm thinking of you. I spend my time thinking about not thinking about you and I'm caught in a loop of you. I hope you're ok, I hope you’re safe, I hope you've eaten today, I hope you sleep well, I hope you're healthy. When will these feelings and thoughts fade? How can I spend so much time thinking about someone to whom my existence is much too much to even acknowledge? I don't hate you for this, but it still hurts. All my 11:11's are spent on you. I wish clarity, I wish stability, I wish happiness, and I wish love for you with whomever or whatever it is...

-JCM-
jenna Jul 2018
dear you,

i’m in love.
yes. you were
waiting, i
bet, for this.
this time, though,
it is not
what you would
think. it’s me
this time, not
you, although
it’s still you,
but not in
the way it
used to be
you. it’s my
fault this time,
my doing,
my painful,
pitiful,
suffering.
it’s you in
the sense that
i cannot
control you.

this time,

it’s your mind and your thoughts
the things that slip off of your tongue
the words you put, pencil to paper
the ideas that come out in your songs

it’s your eyes and your sight
the careful observation of beauty
the need to bask in warm, pure light
the stare you give me, rarely now

it’s your movements and your touch
the hugs where you grip my shoulders
the times where i’m drunk and playing with your fingers
the warmth you give off and your gorgeous smile

none of them
are mine to
have, to take
to keep, to
love, to break

i miss you
and to go
and detach
to break what
we have, that’s
the hard way
out. but i
am trying
to help me.

i feel the
same way i
did when you
said i was
wrong about
this. about
how i feel.

i try to
not panic
and quiet
sob in the
bathroom at
3:27 am
every night.

i’m hoping
disposing
myself of
you, means that
the dreams will
go away
too. but if
they stay,
i’ll give you
a quick call.
probably
a text, to
be honest.

i love you,
unhealthily,
with every
part of me.

keep in touch,
please.

love,

me.
it is better to regret doing something instead of not doing it at all.
Nesma Aug 2018
Dear me,

I hope this letter finds you kind, I hope it finds you at ease,
I hope it finds you as you were born.. a soft spring breeze.

I am writing this letter to inform you that your time is not up, that you still have space to unfold, that you are a continuum that doesn’t have to settle for the broken uni-verse where you were unraveled.

You, love, are not limited to your synonyms.

You, love, can develop into a hurricane that doesn’t dwell in a farmer’s cabin.
You, love, can develop into a hurricane that travels between the back of your mind and its front.
You, love, can develop into a hurricane with a FedEx envelop for a title.
You, my love, can develop into a hurricane that transports your memories from the backyard of your colon to the backside of this letter.

You, love, can develop into a sandstorm speaking the names of the Saharas to your left and to your right.
You, love can develop into a sandstorm that does not blind the sufi midnight traveler.
You, love, can develop into a sandstorm that travels beyond the desert.
You, my love can develop into a sandstorm carrying a water-well for the thirsty.

You, love, can develop into an ocean that doesn’t stand in arrogance where there is land.
You, love, can develop into an ocean that waxes and wanes to the rhythm of the moonlight caressing you.
You, my love, can develop into an ocean that doesn’t erode the rocks standing on its shore.

You, love, can develop into a soft spring breeze that makes a home of all the other seasons.
You, love, can develop into a soft spring breeze that gently ****** through a baobab tree trunk.
You, love, can develop into a soft spring breeze that playfully tickles the arms of a refugee on her bus to camp.
You, my love can develop into the synonyms you are not limited to.

Kindly find attached to this letter the love your father has tucked in bed a long time ago and never double checked on it.
Kindly find attached to this letter the understanding your mother stored in the kitchen cabinet she is too short to reach.
Kindly find attached to this letter the forgiveness you have tried to grow out of sunflowers seed every winter.

Sincerely,

Yours.
Cress Rosario May 2014
I saw you standing there
I know you cannot bear
With weary eyes and skin so dry
You looked down wanting to cry

You want to hide in unknown places
Kept running away from your fears
Covering up your ears
To the words you don't want to hear

Storming days suddenly passed
You didn't moved until the sunlight flashed
You looked up and surveyed the sky
Finally found a reason to smile
A new chapter in life is a simple reason to keep people stronger than before.
Jo Barber Apr 2018
Like I loved coffee,
that's how I loved you.
Like the first cigarette of the day.
Or like a Beatles song
blasted on the radio
during a road trip
to nowhere in particular.
Like each slice of coffee cake,
cinnamon and pecans
delicately, deliciously curled
into every little streusel.
Like Spring,
when the snow melts into water
and runs, rushes
past yellow-colored, polka-dotted rain boots
on a sun-soaked afternoon.
I loved you like I love you;
simply, completely,
without frills and without doubt.
I love you.
Feedback?
Hannah Hernandez Dec 2013
To my love,

I'm writing you this because I can't take it anymore. You are so perfect, and it's driving me crazy. Every time I see you I get butterflies, I have gotten to the point where I am now used to it..but I can't stop thinking about you. You're golden brown eyes, the way they look at me as I walk by you, or the way they sparkle perfectly in the sunlight. Your voice, which gives me such relief when I hear you. And your smile, I have never seen anything so handsome in my life. I think it's bad when I see you, but when you smile my heart drops. My heart goes into my stomach, and it beats faster then ever. The way your eyes squint when you smile, and your small but perfect little dimples. I have never felt about someone the way I feel about you. People say it's just my emotions, or that it's just a little crush..but if this is a crush, this is the longest crush I have ever had. At this point I don't feel as if this is a crush. You can't feel this passionately about a crush. I'm in love with you. I can't even explain how I feel about you my feelings are so bundled up and twisted. All I know is that when you kissed my cheek, I felt something inside of me that I have never felt before. When I see you with another girl, my heart breaks because I know someone can make you happier then I can. If only I could have you all to myself, to be able to kiss you whenever I want, I would give anything for. This may be just a phase, or hormones..but all I know is that I have never loved someone the way that I love you.
Racquel Davis Jul 2014
Supreme Love,

Through a land of barren fields, leads to a nourishing tree, that rhythms in the wind like a heart of bleeding green.

There, you will find me, prostrating in its lingering boughs, gazing into your sky with smiles of Eros.

A nightgown of innocence awaits you in the lotus, falling amongst the constellations of my parallel.*

©Copyright 2007 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
Edited 11/24/16
Nat Lipstadt Mar 5
letter to elana

for the poet elana bell

~

in a different cafe,
on a Manhattan streetscape where once, years earlier,
violence was the purview of West Side Story gangs,
ruling their internecine non-intersectionality territorial blood lines supremely

nowadays, violence replaced by the frenetic
noises of Lincoln Center theater goers,
student dancers, actors, musicians and poets joining the throng
of those who sup and run,
all hearing their own frantic
curtain calling, saying, announcing,
music dance voices words require your obeisance,
needy for a mutual worshipping reassurance fiat that:

life can be made transcendent
if even for just 90 minutes or 120 pages,
or a 3 minute poem reading


this city of millions requires billions of poems that spoon stirred  
and yet, almost always fail, to squeeze, all of the human essence that is in its ultimate source, clarifying nyc tap water,
containing the storied remnants of a hackable continuous,
single human stanza cell osmosis - a blockchain like no other

two poets sit side by side each in their own lapsed dreams,
she, a published poet of prize and rank, ^
he, a rank amateur whose only prize is his unpublished anonymity,
poetry, is his just a nightly soul cleansing,
an imported remnant of his Marrano piyyutim ancestry

one turns to the other,
in the inexplicable daily crazy miracle
of city fashionistas

in a city where stealing a parking spot, or the
forced squeezing creation of a subway seat space
where physics proves none exists,
are oft the roots of slashing and stabbings faithfully reported
on the 11 o’clock news,  
and trust and/or other encouraging words
are seldom heard and even less demonstrated,
the make-no-eye-contact of Camus’s L’Etranger anomie is the
normative, paranormal, paralysis cloak of we city separatists

“Can you watch over my electronics and stuff?”

Sure says the grayed and grizzled,
an all life long veteran of nyc,
judged to be trustworthy
based on a few seconds of being upsized and downsized,
a car wash (exterior only) perusal
despite a
“no direction home, like a compete unknown, a rolling stone,”  
this signage, yellow star permanently chest-affixed,
conveniently ignored, as it seems impossible
thieves don’t look like me,
don’t likely in their possess,
a distinguished head of gray hair (yeah, sure)

a thank you reward of (or did I imagine it) a lean-in,
a momentary head on a shoulder,
the chit chat now grows earned and earnest,
she confesses her cardinal poetry profession,
eliciting an ‘Oh Boy’ utterance from the poet
of a thousand names
and a thousand textual emendations

a fastidious nyc boundary is brief crossed for one short meal,
till the end when time sensitized IMRL intrudes and
the showtime calls out,
if not now, when? if not me, then who?

I read her poetry later in the praying supine first position of
three AM, and laugh with delight, at the contrast and no compare,
the styles clash and tho the stories told
are both writ in the aleph bet script,
there ends the Ven diagram overlap and
into the night’s coming of a Elvisian blue suede coverlet,
we both disappear, and if not for this recording,
history says, you old man confused, never happened,
just an imaginary poetry ink blot dream breaching...

~

postface:
another poetry book is no longer homeless,
comes to shelter upon my shelf, close to Angelou, far from Whitman,
now all the book’s nooks eyes collectively
reassessing the new old-owner, parsing his syntax,
undecided if his readership is worthy of them,
concluding that all these books are the
man’s owned roughened stones,
to be placed by human hands on the
serpentine curvature of his literary tombstone,
and until all stones fully read,
they all agree,
will they and he
be fully freed,
smoothing his legacy’s edges
Feb. 21 -March 5, 2019
NYC
another true story

^ https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elana_Bell
Britney Lyn Sep 2017
My name is Britney. There were about 5 of me in high school so you would always have to ask which one. They were all spelled different because we were different.
Brittany and her boyfriend were the perfect couple, she was prom queen and she had a killer body.
Brittanie was short, longest hair in the school and a smile that lit up a room.
Brittney was a volley ball player, she ran track and was more like the boys than anything else.
Brittani was quiet, she read books and took a lot of art classes.
Me, I was sad. That's all anyone knew about me.
I would stare at the floor stuck in thought, cry almost every day and have mental breakdowns in the bathroom.
But no one knew why, only me.
I want to die now. I want to end my story while every one else's goes on.
I want everyone to know that I never stopped being sad, and when they hear the news that Britney died, everyone will ask which one but no one will remember me because I never left a mark.
I'm sorry I was always the sad girl. I'm sorry ai never stopped.
Advent Oct 2014
i only write in the middle of the night
while the stars watch me
waste ink of blood
dripping from the veins of my brain

i only write in the middle of the night
while the moon guards me
as i write the message of my soul to the universe
solely dug from my heart

and suddenly everything comes back to reality
the sun sets high
illuminating the pitched black sky
and i wonder,
will i ever enjoy the daylight
while carrying the burdens i hold inside



a.t.
Zane Apr 2017
You held me in your loving arms as i wept
So sure i had found my way home after my long journey in through frozen land.

Now i'm turning to ash because i stubbornly refused to see that the warmth i thought i needed had left me on fire.
Then you threw me in a coffin,
Nailed it shut with your grin and covered it with the dirt of your promises.

Do you remember way back when?

I still remember the hotel room where I sat.
Fleeing the hand that gripped you.
I gave you words,
they were inadequate. Couldn't admit that I
abandoned you.
My fear grew, ever stronger. My delusion cast about me, a blanket to my conscious mind.

Remember further back when we were all smiles, blind to reality?
I sat with eyes closed for awhile. As if days don't turn to months to years.
Except, I forgot it ends like this.
Blue veins, cracked upon a pale surface.

That's me.

Seeing me.

And you.

For what you are.

For the first time.
Kabelo Maverick Jun 2014
Love...still a token of existence, your Merciful Testament made time so distant. The Heart of Man is now hollow and dark, living is a mere breath of chance and luck. Our Planet has lost its Heroes now, ask our parents, all the Bikos now lay on pillows coz of the Ones and Zeros. I still Love my World and your eminence Lord or maybe you to Priests and Presidents more. These words are not to be written once again, they exist only in the truth and light of this page once and never again. For I'm not proud of the latter...people's vices as hate surfaces, you would expect something better. Kids perish, always in harm's way, deem the manner...nowadays, parents are kids on an Aids' ladder. Envision the World and Pray, when you see through the eyes of a Kid who's a bit fatter.

Food shortage on the News footage while we hold our plates, carnage and wars killing our foliage, we hold a future without days. As vanity reigns, I fear our image will grow mutant. Ancestors will abandon our sanity ways like a school headed by students, weak and lucent. I pray for core amends dearly and hope for better trends Earthly and in the Sea, so this Letter can just be a lonely message in a bottle drifting away steadily in the deep...


Sincerely yours,
Oasis
Letter from ©asis.
Heartfelt.
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