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Jules Jan 2019
what my forays into online dating offered me that wasn’t s*x; european coffee beans, a film camera from the 70s, a workshop on ceramics, chicken parmagiana, bottles of blueberry lemonade, thai food that isn’t spicy, help with calculus homework, notes on gen chem, all the Star Wars movies, a book about magic: the gathering, a ride to an nba game, museum visits, nature walks, impulsive road trips, stories about their exes, silly anecdotes, photos of their pets, quality memes, awkward hugs that felt good.

such small intimacies, never blossoming into something bigger yet still imbued with meaning..

filled with what-ifs, if-onlys, and almosts.
Ellen Joyce Oct 2013
Still
A pregnant pause
Breath bated at thirteen
No line, check again, no line, check again, no line
And breathe
Just breathe through your nose it’s all fine
And seethe
***** rising, eyes streaming, toilet splatter splash back
Lack of self-worth self-respect at the end of a fist smack
My mouth bled from the depths of my womanhood
Then stopped.

And I was only thirteen
And then the doctor tells me I'm only sixteen
Then only eighteen, twenty one, twenty five, twenty eight
And the weight of dismissal in the onlys
Is the heaviness of my shameful heart.

Still
A pregnant pause
Breath – shallow, quickens
as the doctor, in his superior tongue tells me I have a shot in hell
Hell – that’s what this is
A pit of horrors where a man who spread me wide, looked inside and saw nothing
Dried his hands, and sent me on my way
to drown in a sea of bumps and gurgling infants to see a man who tells me
fertility treatments have improved.

Still
A pregnant pause
Swallowing Clomid to the tune of the patter of stomach cramps
And the dampening of hot flashes searing through my empty *******.
Then came two laparoscopies - and a new suction of hope from my heart
Teeth bared to the penetrating needle of the appropriately named Pregnyl
Poured into my body till I ache and bloat.
Nothing positive to note so he takes the Follistim and pushes it in
Till the weight of reality anchors in to my hips and spreads
Taking hold of my lungs, rasping my breath
And I call time.

Still
A pregnant pause
tears abruptly erupt whilst singing nursery rhymes to my nephew
I hand him to my mother and pour out the truth.
She says nothing.
She then tells me she has a friend whose niece’s best friend was infertile
And then one day BAM pregnant.
And there was no discussion only false hope.
As friend after friend tells me of some distant hopeless case that came good.
And my (insert obscure relation here) couldn’t have children but then
BAM a boy
BAM a girl
BAM twins
BAM triplets
BAM a ******* maternity ward filled with unlikely sprogs.
And still

A pregnant pause
A crushing aching longing that beats in rhythm with my heart
A longing that cannot be told as it is, for what it is
Because what it is, is what it is.
Sandra Mar 2012
Sometimes there is no rhyme … no reason
We skip, break into dance.
The light is fantastic.
Our trippy smile complacent
Circumspect is the altered state,
of a world as it mutters its beat with the always of our heartfelt song.
We run our fingers under the hot tap,
numb gathers, swelling in ****** ripples infinite.
And still there is only a sensation of love.
Hindsight is the cold light of day we splash on our if onlys.
We lift yesterdays garb over our head and closet it as a memory.
The sun shines mourn as sad roams in displace.
And while we link hands with a share of spirit; renew,
everything falls unbelievably into place.
Yet we know deep down, where we truly live.
Sometimes there is no reason …no rhyme.
Filmore Townsend Feb 2013
these feet, a rambler's. wanderlust
soles tied from genetics of the epi-
kind. his feet did ramble so as these
now do. his difference, he trek'd with
steel shunt in arm. he trek'd slums'
floors. grit-ingrain'd skin, pox'd wh-
olly and now pushing onlys. pushing
ash against the walls of Death's
container. body aged thru time,
more than doubled - more like
end'd - by that refined infusion.
these feet, a rambler's. walking forth
existences' hundred-mile wilderness.
his feet had also, and his feet defer'd
before sixty-six. these continuing
onward searching ancient trails. loo-
king to start another day, looking
for to never quit seeking another
day before the unlit walls of Death.
before the darkness consuming
of depths never known, always near.
these feet, a rambler's. of well-worn
leather. relinquish'd of cares, desire
or ambitions by brambles strangling.
blood running by access of natural
means. slate ****'d soles, crevices
open'd of the crust throwing chal-
lenges toward the sky. heights im-
aginable if only to forsake lazed
calves. heights set for disappearing,
where tracks never lead. no wrong
side in non-existence, no wrong
sight for the rambling feet worn lea-
ther.
Yuki Jan 2019
Myself loved to play hide-and-seek.
That game went on for six years
I almost started to believe
that I lived in it.
My happiness used to hide in any place –
behind my smile most of all,
so that nobody could find my sadness
underneath it.
I’ve always had this weird cough
since I was fourteen.
I sometimes thought that
maybe,
somehow,
it was my own sadness trying
to find its way out of my mouth,
just to suicide itself on the pavement.
Tired of being in the dark
but too scared of the light.
The first time I said out loud
I was gay,
I cried so hard.
I used to think I was
ill,
dysfunctional,
twisted.
But once my father asked me:
«Who can tell what normality is?».
Today I am twenty years old and
I’m who I have always supposed to be.
Myself has grown up
it doesn’t play hide-and-seek anymore.
I am finally able to say
that the true meaning of “Pride”
is to not be ashamed
of who you are.
It’s to be thankful
for you you are
with no ifs or buts or if onlys.
It’s to look in the mirror
and see not a burden,
neither a failure.
Instead a heart and a soul
from which you find strength and love.
I have spent so many years
committing hate crimes against myself.
Now I’m working so hard
on loving me and
it’s not ******* easy.
But here I am
out of the closet
enjoying the light
I’ve been missing.
Roy Esnarom Mar 2015
it's lonely at the top
i see it in my mind
i take it it's the same for you
so i won't waste your time

take me to the top
then take me down a step
your ones and onlys come and go
i'll make you half a trap

i want to be your 'something'
possession or a guest
you'll sometimes have your ones
i'll be your second best
around 3/4/10

moved here from wordthingies on blogspot
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2015
~~~

set aside
the 31st day of every month,
even if not on Gregory's calendar,
in actuality,
it's an always monthly revelation

this 31st day
of everyones life,
is a set aside,
to

set aside

the regrets that
Halloween haunt,
those overly generous ghosts,
goblins, too eager to remind and provide,
the tainted candy aplenty of
failed past deeds,
and worse,
the misdeeds

- the quantity insufficient
of unuttered "I love you"

- the lost, unrecoverable bidding of farewell finales failures,

- leaving unsaid that which
weakness delayed,
sadly now, a ticket voided
by an eternal expiration moment

the lost boys of opportunities
who live in the endless hell of
isolation in the Never-to-be-Land

- the right course we chose to
unsee

- that person we should never have
let go of

- for the easier, less costly,
charm of the error self-deceptions

- the damnable accursed if-onlys,
visible only in the rearview mirror of dreams
that with nightmare blended,
now can only go
one-direction,
forward

- attempt escaping,
both slow and quick,
from the maximum security prisons
built to be inescapable,
where you offer yourself
daily meals of only the stones of pain,
hopes skin-scratched off
as irretrievable lost,
poisonous diet of radioactivity

you own these regrets and
do not deny,
letting them go to partial freedom
even harder,
even worse,
now, when compared
to the bitterness of the
of original errors past committed

no absolution-complete,
these persistent insanities,
found in our possession,
unable to be defeated

and yet,
the thought,
a passerby muttering,
perhaps
by sharing, ours, yours,
mine,
we will uncover where the yellow brick road
to redemption commences

~~~
have oft confessed

the sadness of the
loss of living children, ex's,
who cannot forgive mutual trespasses

wasted anger that won't cease,
bile-ing and piling up,
like ten pound weights ankle permanently fastened to
the bitter buds of your tongue

the security of every wrong fork
incorrectly chosen,
calculating, over-valuing,
safety over risk

for within the chances untaken
lived the far better possibility
of a life without regrets

struggle everyday to
not allow the days
tween the first and the thirtieth,
to infect
the 31st day

this monthly maker reserved for
confession and atonement
and forgiveness granted by pardon
by you,
the one absolute ruler

for sentences that already deserve release,
if only for time served

all ready for forgiving,
and if yet still deemed unforgivable,
be eased by the the finer quality of
the humanity of
the overlooked blessing
that in the
never forgetting,
are deep buried in the roots of
caring...

~~~

October 31, 2015
7:10 am
NYC
http://blogs.webmd.com/art-of-relationships/2015/10/burdened-by-regret-how-to-break-free.html?ecd=wnl_men_102615&ctr;=wnl-men-102615_nsl-promo-4_title&mb;=zNOFoqgNPBRY1krNNKlXzhXFE73IOX1cv%40KF%2fM%2fVd7s%3d


You carry the weight of a regret – maybe even a bundle of regrets – that you just can’t seem to put down. Perhaps in your more honest moments, you think you don’t deserve to let it go. By carrying it around, you feel you’re doing a kind of penance. But somewhere inside you realize that carrying it around is not doing you or anyone any good. It’s not making the situation right for others. And, it’s not making you a better person. Still, walking away from the regret seems impossible and, perhaps, irresponsible and uncaring.

This dilemma is more common than you might think. Being human practically comes with a guarantee that you will do things you regret. Even if you haven’t been able to move on, others do. They find a way to come to terms with their regret, freeing them to enjoy life. You can do this, too, if you choose to face your actions and the human error behind them.

If you struggle with regret, you may have already taken a step in the right direction by taking responsibility for what you did or didn’t do. It’s important that you acknowledge this responsibility – or “own up to it” – without making excuses for your mistake. It’s okay, and even important, to understand the reasons for your actions, but that does not excuse you.

At the same time, though, it’s important to balance “owning” your actions with acknowledging and accepting that you’re simply human. Everyone has limits. There are some things you can’t, or simply don’t, know – that’s just part of being human. And even when you do know better, you will sometimes make errors in judgment. You will, at times, act emotionally and irrationally. You have weaknesses and flaws and you will make mistakes.

Think about the friends, children, or other family whom you accept and love despite their imperfections. Your acceptance of them as human is the same feeling you need to practice for yourself. Because, in reality, your mistakes are a testament to your humanity, not your failing as a person.

Even as you come to terms with your regret, you will still feel upset about it – whether that means you feel guilty, sad, or some other emotion.

Here are 5 steps you can take to help you start working through those feelings.

1. Don’t deny or suppress these emotions. Allow them in. They are part of you. Just as you would soothe an emotional child, choose to soothe yourself.

2. Tell yourself that you will be okay. Act compassionately toward yourself. You might go for a hike in the woods or take a long, hot bath.

3. Reach out to a caring and supportive friend who can help you feel better.

4. If you can, make amends. Say you are sorry. Do something kind for the person you hurt.

5. If that’s not possible, you might commit to helping others in similar situations. For instance, if you realize that you haven’t been there to help loved ones through troubled times, you can choose to help those  in need now.

Maybe those you’ve hurt will forgive you. Maybe not. Maybe it’s less about what others think and more about your own disappointment in yourself. Whatever the regret is that you carry, you are ultimately responsible for lightening your own load. You must see that you are more than just the mistakes you’ve made.

You may never feel good about the thing you regret. But you can still feel good about being you.
Filmore Townsend Feb 2013
standing the foot’s placement,
standing firm upon ground –
inner part of the firmament.
lasting two days, feet free’d in
levitating affects. mind, the
utter blank canvas. color
me complacent, color me adjacent,
color me a complete loss. irreparable.
two feet in place of a once four.
foundation, strength to build tall
some structure of love for my
blonde-hair’d beauty of the Midwest.
saw in ‘er somethin’, more nothin’
than anything. and this foundation’s
anchor stripped. two feet in place
of once four. irreconcilable, color me
a complete loss wanting all the
little honies, in the raw. healthier
that way, what with the better part
wanting no part. wise men, the one’s
seekin’ their own wisdom. their words
are ‘high-holy’, their ears catching err
syllables. feign deaf if their syllables
are not the ones being annunciated.
pushing past yesterday,
hoping this force can turn perpetual
motion, to the county line. away from
prying eyes with hundred reasons
to ****. don’t stop till the cops come
in, and don’t stop till the cops come
in.
–if you’re Jesus Christ, man,
  i’ll be the ******* anti-Christ.
then coffee nulling images of shotgun
splatter. trying to rise. blasting now to
obviate noise of the morning coming,
–came here looking to be a pastor.
  kinda fell off the deep end since.
right, right.
–zombies back into the picture.
  better by the side.
back into the picture with life, with love,
with an eighteen car garage. lonesome,
something like that. to be awake when
the sun rises again. rising to explain a
hipster’s crystal sky. the eyes never
lye, don’t forget what’s been done.
don’t defend the trailing fallacies or
absences. and we’ve become un-
welcome, become destined, being
unfriend’d. but even these cats may
look at a King, though they’re in
some disgusting race to the end.
cops comin’ in, cops ******’ on
everything adjoin’d the scene. truly,
they’re some different form of hipster.
hip sir?  nah, sir.  nothin’ at all, and
don’t get got. smash those erry day
low prices with a strange fascination
for fascism. play it, play from the
******* heart, play to tear the *******
sky apart. to set out in tearing to destroy
the welfare ghettos. true Americana,
this welfare culture. with powder’d
nose and quivering lungs. reflections in
the pupil, a vain mirror for the souls
of others. a feel of miles, a feel of being
lost as its own adventure. nothing more than
a kid from Califax, a kid pushing onlys,
a kid smoking Marlboros to cure
hangovers, a kid with enough life for
years worth of days.
Bunhead17 Dec 2015
If only your mother would have loved you right,
maybe then you would know how to love a women.
If only your father would have stuck around,
maybe then you would know how to be a man.

Ifs and onlys all akimbo
leaves me confused, my heart in limbo
what is what and who is whoodoo
love is love, not gris gris voodoo


But I wouldn't expect
for you to know that when,
you don't even know your own worth
If only you knew that you aren't worthless

Can't make excuses for my mama
she carried on without a comma
but i never knew my dad
the best father I never had


Maybe if you knew your father then,
you would be more forgiving, more loving
If only you knew how much you meant
to your mother, your father, this world

If I truly meant something
perhaps it would mean less suffering
my momma loves me, that I know
but my dad got drunk..and just said no


If you only knew....
But I guess that you don't.

Maybe I never, ever will
but I let my heart, find love..still
if there's some way I can treat you better
teach me how....show me, to the letter


I wished that you loved yourself
then, maybe you would know how to love

I can only pray you'll show me,
take the time to get to know me


I can't show you.
You'll have to figure it out
I can't show you how to love yourself
Only you can

I am a work in progress
merely a work in progress


I can't help you if you
won't let me in or forgive me

Here is my invitation
my forgiveness
my welcome mat
please......enter this wounded heart


If only you knew...
that I was wounded too

I can heal your wounds
wipe away your tears
just let me inside,
your heart is where I long to live


If you look on the inside then, you might find
a scared, insecure and lifeless girl.
The girl I've spent most of my life trying to hide.

*Oh, but you are so full of life
the kind of girl who could be my world
no need to fear life any longer
grab onto my heart and we'll both grow stronger
no more hiding...who is beautiful
it's you, it's me...so beautiful
and as for insecurity
i'll believe in you & you believe in me
If only you knew...
Copyright 2015
(Just meaningful words)
drumhound Jun 2014
She draws Crayola green meadows
in which she frolics and laughs
snuggling up to her
imaginary daddy whom she colors
in unstraight multi-hued stripes
accessorized by a large
unselfish heart in brick red
proudly erupting from his chest.
Her sepia brown-blob puppy is
rediculously happy,
just like her
holding the perfect father
she has always dreamed he is.
Together they stare at
blue construction paper skies
and cotton ball clouds
discovering sailing ships,
famous people heads,
and all the animals they will see
on the day he comes
to take her to the zoo.

~

He labors intently within the lines
coloring subdivided spaces
in one direction just the way
he would teach her
if she were here.
Pressing into the bold
outline on a tiger tail
he hears her giggle in his thoughts.

He closes the book
each page fully given life
placing it on the teetering pile of
earlier masterpieces
filed beside his desk
where he and his daughter stored
the art they created
on regular dates they never had.
He rises on the ritual of completion
toward his omnipresent closet
full of stacked and redundant "if onlys",
each one shaped as
a 64-count box
purchased and purchased again
with every book
he intended to share
on their next wax pencil excursion.
On his toes,
one more "if only" goes to the top.

He still colors.

She still dreams.

~

An Orange/Red sun drew itself
out of the bleacher tiered palate
and hung high betwixt
her cottonball clouds
29 years from the start.
Daddy holds his daughter in deep embrace
while a secret artiste' paints
a tiny translucent drop
on her quivering cheek.
The diligence of construction-paper prayers
are answered in the evidence that
there is no crayon for clear...
it is a tear,
and we are really here.

(I love you my precious girl, with every color in the box :-))
Ryan Carney Nov 2016
Stuck wanting something more,
Stuck knowing I can do better,
Stuck living and feeling all alone,
Stuck to my depression like glue.

Stuck to my "what ifs" and "if onlys",
Stuck to thinking about the past,
Stuck feeling like less than a man,
Stuck feeling my heart be broken again.
Written 11/11/16
Ashley Grey Dec 2015
If Only
A thousand words I wish to say
But only silence is heard
Feelings to share, a message convey
But I don't say a word
A ton of things I would do
To show how much I care
So much I would give to you
If...I really dared

All the thoughts I think of you
Deeply held within
Concealed completely without a clue
It'll look, as it's always been

If only I could but show
How you make me feel
If you would only know
What I can't reveal
If only you knew the ache I felt
The day you shut me out
The pain and sadness that I dealt
When we walk the parting route
If only you knew the memories it brought
When I saw something you'd like
Everything about you I never forgot
Hidden in my heart so tight
A thousand word "If Onlys" fill my mind
Wishing you felt this way too
A thousand words I would find
To say "If only you knew."
Derick Van Dusen Dec 2010
Forlorn and hating life
The swine that feels the sudden strife
Has come and gone on tomorrows wings
Has fled this place of hopes and dreams

A time thus robbed and cant obtain
A simple freedom to sustain
When this life has payed its final debt
The reaper comes to collect

An eternity  goes by before we notice what is gone
And then we see what we couldnt see
What was there just yesterday is gone for good
A life wasted trying to get back what we never had

A single tear a cascade of weeping uncontrolled
All the past comes rushing back
The memories so hard forgotten a flood of wasted time
Wasted again in this emptiness nothing to cling to

Fear of losing the only grip obtained through constant struggle gained
Fear of dying alone without ever saying goodbye
Fear of fear and all that is misunderstood
Fear of living in this cold lonesome dingy place

A ragged man  pulls himself out of bed
Only to face another day of being alone
Only to be rejected again by those who once knew him
Only to suffer another cold night without comfort

A ragged man tries to find another meal
Only to spit on and beet down and made to go away
Only to try and stave off the pain in his emty stomach
Only to find a meager half eaten burger

A vet who risked his own life
So we could have the things hes trying to get
So we could complain if we dont like it
So we can try and change what doesnt work
Not too be spat on and made to go away

I didnt ask him to do what he did
I never knew him so what difference does it make
Im not the one who spit on him
It wasnt me who beet him down

All those it wasnt me's and I didnt do it
That has all been said before
but how many times have you passed a man on the street holding a sine that reads:    HOMELESS  DISABLED VET
                     PLEASE HELP GOD BLESS
and just passed him by without a second glance or thought of him.
You may as well have spit on him or beet him down or told him to go away.

All the what ifs and if onlys he's already asked himself
So this ragged tired man gets wasted again.
Wow 05 really
Meghan Feb 2012
Something once so sweet,
has turned oh so sour.
Past confidences and trust,
now used to exploit and gain power.

Using each other to survive.
Although each one is abused,
neither can die.

Each month becomes tougher,
for one to thrive the other must suffer.

He is now weak and he is lonely.
False memories of happiness
induce feelings of regret.
He now lacks purpose,
he now lacks sense.

She recognizes his agony and remembers the pain.
She provides minimal attention to barely keep him sane.

No room in a heart that has used up all its tears.
Conditioned to resist through past abandonment and fear.

He takes what she gives him,
although lacking satisfaction.
If only he could break down her walls, and once again, find true attraction.

Embarrassed and discouraged,
passion twists to resentment.

As the anger harbors,
he becomes independent.

He breaks away,
in need of a more gracious host.
She was almost ready,
she was so close.

In panic,
she cracks,
Her barriers fall apart.

What if that was the last chance she had to reopen her heart.

She is weak, she is lonely.
Unrealistic dreams twist her previous intents.

She loses all purpose.
She loses all sense.

Power hungry he basks,
in his temporary independence.

While she yearns,
she begs,
for more sufficient attention.

Her hopes diminish.
Despair exchanged for rage.
As her dependency falters,
his power wanes.

Stuck again he wants her.  
He needs her to feel alive.

She won’t give up control,
she holds tight to a fake pride

They both chase that high.
The adrenaline of that first kiss.
An unattainable sensation,
that is entertained through a string
of if onlys’ and what ifs?

The cycle is vicious,
will it ever cease?

This is not love,
it is a parasitic disease.
Donna Arden Jun 2014
I sketched a story around my battle between rain and it's contemporary, the wind,
last night.
Drawings outlined with a harsher  pencilling , some  softer in lucidity.
Can it be,
the entirety of ones journey
from birth till death
is all in the lines of pencilling.
I pencilled my story ,
reinventing possibilities,
what ifs,
if onlys..
Would things have turned out differently ........
Somehow ...
My sketch came out beautifully
.....entirely what it's all meant to be.
Chalkings .......

DK
June 2014
Megan Feb 2013
Whoever said that the eyes are
the windows to the soul
had obviously never seen
a set of poetic hands.

As they tumbled
syllables into songs
like waterfalls
roaring a powerful
“Hallelujah.”

Hands drenched in blood
decorated with scrapes and bruises
grasping for memories long repressed.
Memories only brought back
when their pen grazes the
inviting blank canvas before them.

2 o’clock in the morning
crying to no one in particular
as their heart slowly
but however, beautifully
bleeds onto the canvas,
crinkled around the edges
because it’s taken awhile
to get these words out.

Whoever said that they eyes are
the windows to the soul
had obviously never gotten a glimpse
of the complexity that is
a poet’s mind.

Minds crammed with the
hurts of yesterday,
the dreams of tomorrow,
and the change they wish to bring about.

Different experiences call certain memories
from subconscious to conscious
as their dreams slow dance with doubt.
And their ideas for change
are wasted on ears
filled with fingers of ignorance.

Still they press on, in a
beautifully, depressing battle
of desire versus dejection.
Hoping a single phrase
will strike the ear
of someone who needed to hear it.
And touch
the heart of someone who needed to feel it.
Because the potential to reach
the unwilling,
the unable,
and the unwanted,
is worth the uphill struggle.

Whoever said that they eyes are
the windows to the soul
had obviously never experienced
the power of a poetic heart.

Hearts strong with experience,
but cautious because of it.
The unrelenting beat
as it is used, stepped on,
and thrown away.
Do you hear it?
Ringing in your ears.
Unable to escape from
it’s heartbreaking
melody of “what ifs”
and “if onlys.”
Hiding behind
walls of regret
and instances of deceit
where it was once stolen.
911 was called,
but they were
cardiac arrested
for allowing this break in to occur.
An accessory to their own pain.

Whoever said that the eyes are
the windows to the soul
had obviously never met
a poet.
Danielle Rose Jun 2013
Fallen she screamed at the disgrace she faced
and at all those terrible things she couldn't change
Remembering sharp if onlys and could've beens
Presently watching time slip through her fingers
The price of one more lesson learned
One more burn
One more unspeakable discern
To derail or sink the remains of a ride stocked full of
lofty declarations and false pride
As she wrenched toward the sky questioning why
All feeling died
and from the ashes something sinister was born
Kristi D Feb 2014
I don’t regret breaking up with you,
Because our relationship wasn’t a healthy one,
Not for me.
But I also don’t regret loving you.
Love isn’t something you should ever regret.
It is one of the most beautiful and rewarding things in the world,
Even when it is for someone who really doesn’t deserve it.
I don’t doubt that you meant it when you said you loved me,
Because I think that you thought you did.
Love just didn’t mean the same thing to you that it did to me.
And that’s okay.
Everyone loves differently.
It may not be easy to understand why people act the way they do,
When they claim to have such deep feelings for you,
But I guess it just comes down to trusting that love works in mysterious ways. Maybe we didn’t work out,
But I learned a lot from you.
I learned how to appreciate someone who truly deserves my love.
I learned that you can’t force someone into a relationship
Because you have unrealistic expectations for what the two of you could be.
We were simply a summer fling that got dragged out too long
Because love meant different things to us.
I’m writing this now because you texted me last night,
And I’ve spent the past 24 hours thinking about “what-ifs” and “if-onlys”
And then I realized that I don’t really miss you anymore.
I still love you,
Because love isn’t something that just goes away.
The only difference is that I love you for who you are
And for what you taught me,
Rather than for who I wanted you to be.
So I want to thank you,
Because even though you hurt be badly,
You taught me more about love
Than a thousand good relationships ever could.
LaLa Lea Mar 2012
I kiss you, I
  kiss you, every night, I
  kiss you;

in a dream that makes this 3-dimensional reality
seem flat:  I touch your face, and
speak my thoughts out loud.

     [and the sparks are there: red, orange, I swear]

I sigh -
breathing warmth into frozen words I
keep locked up in the light of day; oh, but
at night, I dream of
            -  the nevers
            -  the what-ifs
  ­          -  the if onlys

Sustained by these solitary hours, and
under deep cover of moonlight and stars, these
evenings become my playground, and I
              become what I could never be.

  I dream; and when
  I dream —

I kiss you…
You know who Oct 2015
I step onto the mat
the sudden softness springs the other awake
the one born of pain misery and focus
everything deafens
the world blocks out
its me and them
whoever wins the better
no complaints no if onlys ones stronger
ones weaker
everything blanks out thought included
it slows you down reaction after reaction
wistle blows your hands raised
the beast quiets
till called on again
Meg McCluskey May 2010
It feels like nothing can mend the broken pieces of your heart--
Left here to be trampled upon.
Only he can fix it…but he is nowhere to be found…
Far away in a world that you may never enter,
A world that separates the true love of two sweethearts,
As if to play with them like dolls.
“You may love,” it says,
“But know that you can never be together,
For I keep a strict, binding contract
Made long before you met.
You are forever bound to your life here,
And that will never change."

It hurts…you know things
Could have been different.
Doubt begins to fill your head,
And soon you begin to hate…
Hate God for doing this to you…
Hate yourself for ever letting yourself end up this way.
Hate that there is nothing that can change
All bit of hope is lost, like nothing you do
Will ever change what is.
“Maybe I could…”
But there is no end to that sentence,
For what you could have done
Is too far into the past to revive.

“If only…”
But you learn that if onlys make the pain worse--
For knowing what could have been
Doesn’t change what it is now.
Thus once again you are left with nothing.
Nothing but hurt…pain…tears…
Brokenness.

Perhaps there is a way to change this nasty fate…
But God only knows how…
You think that if it is meant to be,
Things will work themselves out…

One can only hope.
© 2010 Meg McCluskey
Nat May 2015
lies heavy upon me

in the mashed potatoes to my left
the beer on my right

the "if onlys"
and
"what ifs"
that weigh on my heart

the
"i'll get up and run!"
followed by
"****, i'm too tired."

the
"help me,
come to this,
i need you,
don't forget the early meeting,
we need you,
come over here now,
help me."

step by step by step by step by step by step

the day progresses

and ends in a
beer to my right
mashed potatoes to my left

i will always run

tomorrow.
Candace Jun 2014
Suddenly, two decades have passed, and she still hasn’t felt what the grown-ups used to call “growing up.” Not that she’d ever been one to imagine castles in the sky or knights on white horses, but she did imagine a bright future, one where she had friendships like the characters on TV seemed to have. They laughed and had adventures together and dropped by each other’s apartments and got beers every night. She imagined she’d have a job as an artist or a writer or a baker or something. The details were so blissfully vague, like watching a Spanish soap opera in soft filter. But it’s two decades into her life, and she feels sadder than she thought she would at this age, beaten down by life like she’s nearly done with it when all she wants to know is whether she’s going to have a job after she graduates. She makes semester-long friendships that end when the class does. She wonders if she can pay her bills on time. She thinks about the future in terms of the number of years it’ll take her to pay off her student loans. She thinks of her future as not much more than a long series of what-ifs and if-onlys.
Ember Evanescent Dec 2014
Just take The Risk, risk The Chance,
Even if the cost is Lonely
Because nothing tastes as bitter
As what ifs and if onlys
Just thinking, I guess. This is not so much with regard to things like "oh, just try drugs and alcohol once, just try the dumb physical stunt one time etc." I mean take the risk emotionally, because THAT is real bravery and a hell of a lot more of an adventure like love-wise, friend-wise, trust-wise, etc.
wisteria Nov 2018
i google it at 3am because
lightless blue shadowed rooms can cover secrets
and lies.
and the glance up, look away quickly and blink blink blink

like it never happened, can hide behind my eyelids for now. because
tainted thoughts don’t qualify for pity
and wake up headache stare into space isn’t a question of how are you, it’s why are you this way?

i don’t know, i say.
i’m sorry, i say.

that my brain clutter is too much of not the right stuff and my eyes don’t look dreamy like you imagined
they would be. dripping caramel swirls and covered with a golden starry sky.
that all i have are unsteady hands and undecided eyes and uncertain everythings.

and because yes, i live
in oblivion but that doesn’t mean i enjoy it.
or that i like staring at the shine bright white between us
or the dot dot dot of our thoughts . . . willing the what ifs and if onlys to come true because

the clouds move faster than i do. hot glue face to window
until you say my name           soft on the edge of your lips

because what would happen if i hung by anything more than a thread

i google it at 3am because how else am i supposed to know.
my blood is floating with question marked uncertainties and

blurry,, blurry vision.
uncertainty
Carla Marie Oct 2014
Hate the mornings
That I awake with regrets
Open my eyes
With weight on my chest
from
If onlys… and
I wishes…
til
eyes  squeeze shut
to not start my day
by futilely wishing
life was some other way
So face down in my bed
Sigh deeply and pray
But never say a mumbling word…
Jabber Alexander Sep 2015
the withering connections
between me and you
grow as we no longer
see eye to eye
nor heart to heart
like a siamese pryed apart
our relationship consists
of conversations based in
remember whens
and if onlys
Wind Lass May 2019
Shifting landscapes of us
I am yet to get used to.

How many times have I wandered between
The many “what ifs” and “if onlys” and “I wish’s.”
How many times have I actively slapped my very own hand
When it invariably reaches for you.

The reaching is a selfish hungry thing.
I crave you when I am disappearing.
Even though I loathe how I define myself when I’m with you,
She is better than the unknown
That is chasing and gaping at my heels.

And that isn’t love.

Thirsting after comfort and memories
Thirsting after somewhere to belong
Is not love.

It is hard to admit
It is hard to choose to walk away
Every
Hour
We
Are
Apart.

And that craving
Of how you made me feel
The warmth
The connection
The love
A love I have never seen nor tasted before
A love I did not know how to treat
Is always being denied

And cruel suggestions
And those closest to me doubt my choices
Like they would have any part in the consequences of the choice
I would live with everyday.

I don’t even entertain the white day anymore
I used to spend hours building our life
Stacking our goals into the shapes of home
The mansions in my mind
Were never here to stay

Do I seek a grass of an unattainable green?

I lay in the dark, many hours after we ended the call.
I will myself to cry.
The pain boils in my chest and aches in my bones.
But I lay in silence, trapped.
Are we not even worth tears anymore?
Is this when the grieving stops?

I fear seeing you now.
Because I am half bloomed.
The branches we grew on and nurtured
Are drying and snapping away in the breeze
I fear you will not like me
If you see the stranger I am now
Foreign and thorny to the touch.
Will you still think me pretty?
Will you still want to touch me?

No matter how close I get to the edge
To giving in and sprinting back to you
To beg on my knees for your forgiveness
To ask you to help us bring back the love,
No matter what
I can not reconcile and justify
The hatred I held
For who I became when we loved.
Loathesome and breaking
Hair knotted against my scalp
My angles softened and blurred
Till I became more invisible to the world
Than I have ever been.
We stopped the world on its axis
Our minds grew old
Our bodies ceased their progress
And only came alive when we set each other alight.
No,
I can never return to a halting.
Dust is preferable to ice.
Frozen and still
To the death.

I am wind and rain
I must move to live
And life rises in my gusts.
The waves of creation
Roll across new paths
For I am alive again
Wind snapping in the sails
Rising on the seas
I soar to new skies.

The missing comes
The loss never leaves
Maybe I’ll always want you
But you’ll never be good
For me.
I think I’ll be ok someday.
pt Nov 2020
everything that brings me solace ends up suffocating me
my home, my body, my mind, my love and my solitude
with no deadlines, no where to go and no where to be
it's hard to escape the lies you tell yourself
these walls are collapsing on me
it's hard to run away from your thoughts when you are locked down in your house
the if onlys,
the promises you made to yourselves when time was slipping though your fingers
comes haunting you back when you have all the time in the world
but i'm learning
with the world falling part it's just another first world problems
but i'm learning
finding new favorite corners
watering my mother's plants
i'm learning
to be grateful
learning
to live in my father's house
and with myself
Cassidy Mae Dec 2015
there's a buzzing in my head
right between my ears
it's white noise
terror and stress and anxiety
a snowstorm of emotion
bubbling over as i wait
patiently
(not so patiently)
for my life to move on
will i?
won't i?
am i
okay?
it's running down my spine now
placing knots here and there
making my neck tight
and my back rigid
into my stomach it carries on
more knots now
i'm a tangled mess of
negativity
i'm trying
(i'm failing)
five more days
just five more days
then i'll know
five more days
of sleeplessness
of troubled thoughts
of what ifs
and if onlys
and should haves
is my body going to turn against me?
have i made it my enemy?
will i become the very thing i fear:
black
and cancerous
and full of anger and regret?
i do not want this
i do not want this
i do not want this
my new mantra
whispered over and over in the dark of my mind
i do not want this
Abbigail Nicole Apr 2017
vacuum the internal organs with the rest of her emotions, why don’t you?
feel free to do what you want with her heart, as it was voluntarily given
steal it, free it, throw it on the ground and stomp in accordance to its beat
“love me like the guillotine does a pulsing neck”
what is this some cult ritual or a valentine’s day charade?

driving down i-35 with night swim blaring so loud that her ear drums burst
would rather be deaf than forced to hear another boy’s silence
closing her eyes for a few seconds at a time
a whirlwind romance of seventy miles per hour and oncoming traffic

memories flash like a warning sign, find a replacement
black screen, white light, muffled voices that sound too dramatic
what once brought joy, now grates upon her shot nerves
a cruel irony reserved for her

blame it on the hormones, or that’s what she tells herself
tape your mouth to prevent outpour, organize thoughts to fake control
what ifs, what could have beens, if onlys piercing the barrier of sanity
sitting, searching, staring at the wall until her eyes blur the invisible lines
G Lachlan Curry Dec 2019
everything carries me to you"
my handwriting
her body
the perfection in simple affection causes a chain reaction
that's taken back, back before I knew the breath that will breathe upon my neck
...even back then my imagination of future foundation between us was seeming to be just a future of imagination and dreams.
no one seemed to make sense in the senseless nonsense we carried on with, yet we did it regardless
life lessons learned of Truth and pain and beauty and hate
the rage in wrong decisions always made opposite of our floating hearts that caused eyes always unable to ever depart from
simple stares that tore through bodies in hallways just to be noticed for brief moments
it was (and must I say about 2 life times ago) did I wondered where all this passion did go- till a slick Indian summer night my eyes caught reflection through liquor stained sidewalk puddles with an incidental interaction rebirthing all attraction of my soul.
my breath, along with all confidence i carried that night (and possibly years past, )vanished and left
at the moment when glances glared there were no longer the fire eyes staring like stars I had expected.
how could one think the same Jean jacket cigarette stink with hints towards a kiss looked more like a jab in my jaw as only absence in silence crawled from my mouth.
that night you carried past me and it
was as haunting as if you walked right through me.
how was I so numb to society I couldnt even feel my soul missing?
my soul missing, reminiscing of backseat young lovers kissing,
now pulling at each seam of anytime line I tried walk back up hoping for forgotten hope.


then instantly and all embarrassingly (but only to me) did I tightwire walk across town
looking for flight as my counting crows count down died down and flamingo dancers with grey guitars became pretty words that had amused but no longer moved because it wasn't the chorus or vocals -it was what was tattooed to my mental that made a muse -I remembered moving too and waiting to swoon but too soon did it come and go
I bet to lose and had to chose and chosing at 17 (so confused) was the worst thing my heart strings detaching would have to do.
but as years past and each pretty picture with a thought of "what if" past by my nightmare life I made of "what ifs", simple secret lines would drift and sometimes whisper
they would whisper and make the air more crisp than sea shore breeze on chapped lips (bring me back to where we would kiss) how could this be
happiness
uncertain for most is unimpressively the most renowned and complimenting place horror hangs hollow in fog shaped mirrors cracked with regrets...
but taped up, scared, scarred and silent so often terrified of my own inside voice -i paddled to Hades by choice- chasing cars from lyrics once with mixed with meaning , purpose, souls teeming and consciously tangled it seemed i began to drown in misery tag teamed with desparity cold and screaming.
the darkness only getting worse
the "if onlys" playing from start and starting over every time I roll over trying to sleep for more than a few minutes but to myself I always keep -I kept- I raged I wept, I broke down and then burnt myself alive to see if i could even for myself, maybe, mourn.
but one morning by some saving grace
a backyard walk to get some space led me back to your face.
so serendipitous at first thought
waiting for reality crash upon me and once again remind me of this life i fight and often lose.
but losing you again wasnt something I could bare to do...
even as I quitely awaited the gates of my misfortune to close I couldn't close my eyes with out you staring back at me. like fire in rain and a baptism cast in colors uncaught by even perfect prisms
this hell of a prison I understood as life decisions didnt have to bind the beauty beyond the cage once affiliated with.
wishing this poison carried a separate antidote for falling deeper for you again
I washed sin from within with whimsical laughs 800 miles away and breathtaking conversations spaces to far away.
all over
all over
all over and for once out of every second chance that could take a stand and stand the chance
I'll chance it all 3000 fold and over flowing to feel this overpowering presence of my hand written fairy tale dark Knight existence.
these grey eyes blue again, these blue eyes looking straight at you again
knowing what place is meant for me to fit in
my fears fidget themselves out of cares because all I can care about is this.
this moment even if not forever will never go treated unnoticed.
unrecognized or pardoned pushed aside or lost in the way side - my high tide, let me sink to the bottom of your soul for a second and fill your lungs with love again floating on top of waves crashing and flying past any hazy grey dismal day that spark you the way you are meant to glow.
where ever you go
everything carries me to you
not just your kiss but the dreams of your lips
not only your words, but the world you've found that forms them
it's more than your perfect imagine I've imagined asleep more than a million times
it's the smile I see when you are genuinly thinking about me
it's more than the giggles and good times awaiting to no surprise but fights and cries that haven't happened but will bring us closer and much stronger than... stronger than, stronger than the destiny that was meant to (so clearly now seen) be for all eternity
grains of sand cannot grasp the ineffable number of any type of anything trying to describe the unfathomable perception of clarity in your beauty and love.
my eyes will never burnout again
my will is for you and cannot give up again
my lips and skin are made only for you
my heart beats solely to match rhythm with your pulse so I know my way home
and my words will always uplift you and shine on you like the stars and sun
so you always feel safe and blanketed even when the light is gone and the day is done
I loved you yesterday
I love you today
And I'll love you forever and always
This poem is written to a woman who loves me and loved me since high school. We had a deep connection I never replaced. I always wanted to be with her but settled for comfort at the time. Now 15 years later we are still madly in love and have the same bond and relationship that brought us together when we were young.

— The End —