"phonecalls" poems
Stolen kisses
just delicious
swollen lips
straight to hips
Wandering hands
my heart brands
whispered phonecalls
my soul falls
Commit infidelity
I’m paying penalty
my stomach growing
you, not knowing
Consumed by guilt
lust was spilt
can’t look you in the eye
kissing sanity goodbye
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 8:05 AM UTC
If this is love
i dont want it.
long silences and light insults
bear no fun for me
where have we gone?
once so sweet.
i remember you described me as innocent
now i am anything but
where did i go?
you were so kind
your heart glew with passion
your eyes were bright.
happy.
now they are dark
they shine only with lust and jealousy
where did you go?
----------
i believe we are coming to an end
i remember bursting into joy upon your arrival
now i’m wary or your moods
there is no telling which i do not like
your arrival
or your departure
--------
Are we happy?
is this love?
do we want this?
what are we together for?
--------
you said it yourself.
this relationship is stress and trouble
---
i used to make you happy
---
on phonecalls
we would stay up all night
laughing and whispering
now your texts
are almost
-nonexistent-
where did the conversation go?
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
Lime green freezer pops
Swigs of senor Jack Daniels
My body gets hot.
-------------------------------
Jacky versus wine
Will fight to the death tonight
Victor gets a home
---------------------------------
Baby-making songs
(The world tastes like raspberry!)
Jazz flute Godzilla
-------------------------------
Little black cell phone
Glows modern techno at night
Rad leaks in my brain.
(I am now a spidercorn!)
---------------------------------
Idiotic cat
Sole bane of my living room
You should've been a dog
--------------------------------
Woman and man-thing
Flame haired goddess of cleavage
Mid-coitus phonecalls.
---------------------------------
Two shots of whiskey
One sibling revelation
Long night of country.
--------------------------------
Blood-baths, hair stylists
****** eye for the dead guy
Joanne: **** the man.
-------------------------------
A nice hairy man
Smirnoffs, beer pong victory.
Did I do a bad?
----------------------------------
I am drunk on you
And on you conversation
More than on the beer.
---------------------------------
Whiskey sours, full.
Half-nude swimming with strangers.
Attraction repressed.
----------------------------
Oh my pretty beer
You so inspire my mind
I can't stop giggling.
-----------------------------
Hank bones on the wall
A sad tale of pretending
Oh no! Demon feet.
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC
The most you left the house in a week
was a peek out the screen door
All those exposed scurry about out
there and falsely carry your irrational fears
You think they care to judge you ?
Are you reading their minds
from a passing bored glance?
half read pages cracked open spines
books don't talk back or have eyes
You watch tv all day long avoiding
real human contact .
So proud of the few phonecalls
that you make and take
as if you had allowed yourself
to meet outsiders from another world
Stop avoiding life and don't waste time on tv
organize , clear your clutter seize the days
these hopeful fresh days without obsessing
about things you can't change
exchange tv remote for will and action
come alive honestly out of your moonburned
pale skin
pity filled shutin
go with purpose
brave worldly wounds and heal all at once
don't be just a phonecall
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 8:31 PM UTC
forgot to button up
veils,scales, umbrellas
see this dragon rained
couches where dreams are cats
no body
just discarded fur and echoes of purrs
after reading the label it rubbed off
maybe its tasty
pretend until the last drop
apologies repeated sound like dogs barking
attention slowly goes missing
a chair to block anyone from entering
holidays celebrate themselves easily
the grocery aisles let them be known
No wristwatch no calendar
window dressings tell parking lots their stories
faces bloom less then flowers
secret coffeehouses for shameful breakfasts
phonecalls peppered with obvious lies
surprise its your turn
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 10:09 PM UTC
Nobody knows how to say goodbye to anything, even the
sea has ruined edges
leaves its will to a muddy bayou. Our
phonecalls hang onto me after there rings a dial tone, a curly tail
of wires ribboned around my most important parts
thigh, artery, genital. The bed
is the whole bedroom, now. I am handcuffed from the ceiling
waiting for your voice box to quiver again
and am kicking and screaming –
I am heartbroken at nothing, not for no reason but for
nothing. Lovers are not versed in goodbyes
or else we would not be lovers. But I prefer the sensation of
suffocation to cold blankets,
rather heat them up with blood and guts than have a
mattress that has never smelled my *** You do not know how to
ring my neck or drown me in sheets that’ll
just hide hide hide the word
goodbye. If this is your worst trait, not wanting to go,
I am happy to let you love and hurt me until I can float, too.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
I love the 3am phone calls when you pour out your heart to me
Tell me how thing are and how you want them to be
Tell me things about you that many people can't see
I love the 3am phone calls when we run out of words and sit in silence
When you lean on me for guidance
Even though silent, your emotions louder than sirens
Even though I love our 3am phone calls I know you are high
I know you popped some and downed some and when I say goodbye
You won't remember anything the next day
Even though I love our 3am phone calls I wish you'd see this is not who you are not by a long shot
What do you think would happened if you got caught?
Why do you want to throw away all the battles you've fought?
One day during our 3am phone calls you won't be on cloud twenty two
Then I can tell you what I've always wanted to
All the things I've kept inside for the sober you
I love our 3am phone calls and I love you too
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 10:04 AM UTC
Phonecalls
Late nights
Your voice
Taxi drives.
Cocktails
Beers
Apartment heaters
Christmas cheer.
I'm
F
A
L
L
I
N
G
too fast
too hard
for you.
I CAN'T
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Stop.
Stop apologising for him not loving you.
Stop apologising for having
small hands and a loud mouth
and a big heart.
Stop searching for reasons why you're not good enough:
you are more than enough.
Stop expecting apologetic phonecalls
or his car parked outside the front of your house.
He isn't coming back.
You don't want him back.
Girls,
you're so quick to see being a woman
as being weak, used, desperate.
You confuse fragility with weakness;
yes, you are delicate
but you are strong
strong and beautiful
and I promise it will come to you;
I promise that love will come to you.
There will be someone
who is more in love with the fact you woke up next to him
than the fact you fell asleep next to him.
He will love you in ways that fill your lungs
and he will love you because you are you.
There will be someone
that adores your small hands,
someone who considers your loud mouth to be music,
someone that wants to love your big heart.
There will be someone
that considers your body to be valuable art
rather than a mere object.
There will be someone
that doesn't tell people you're 'just friends'.
There will be someone
who is proud to have you.
There will be someone who will love you
the way you want to be loved.
There will be someone who will love you
and cause you to finally love yourself.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
no matter the distance
or all the missed phonecalls
and unread texts
in a way
a small piece of my heart
will always belong
to you
my first love
and first heartbreak.
Esther L. Krenzin
Sep 4, 2021
Sep 4, 2021 at 12:42 PM UTC
We never entered into the
'No you hang up. No you hang up'
Game.
Instead we raced to end phonecalls.
Refusing to admit love.
Playing our own game.
It stopped when you cheated.
Games always stop when people cheat.
And it took some time to find a new game.
But one was found all the same.
Still teasing,
Still against eachother, rather then as a team,
Until you tired of games.
You wanted more.
Happiness had to have meaning now.
And so that game stopped.
And now the world seems dreary,
And it bores me,
But it's real.
And next time maybe I won't play games.
Next time.
Maybe next time.
Feb 5, 2010
Feb 5, 2010 at 3:00 PM UTC
it's kinda ironic how i could think about thousand things when we were apart but suddenly couldnt think any when i meet the sunlight reflected in your green eyes turning them into some kind of wonderland and i got lost just like that
and i dont think you have any idea how unfair it is for me
How you could talk about your day, while i stutter bc your presence leaves me breathless
How you could order your favorite latte, while i'm lost in the idea of leaving traces of my fingers on your skin
How you could wrap your arms around my shoulders, while my ribs collapsing from the thought that you'd leave your scent all over my clothes
How you could crawl to your bed tonight and dream about seasons and falling stars, while i'm wide awake, dying to know if you ever say my name in your sleep,
i scream yours every single night.
It is so unfair that i built my world around you
It is so unfair that for me you'd never become an old photograph even decades from now
It is so unfair that being with you makes me forget about
every touch
every goodnight kisses
every strands of hair
every soul
every summer
every pair of eyes
every rooftop talks
every six hours straight phonecalls
every car rides
basically the life i had before you walked in.
ps: i'm sorry.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
the first time you decided we should stop talking,
my heart handled it pretty fine.
one hundred and eighty two days later,
when you decided again we should just be friends,
my heart was ripped to shreds.
that day,
i asked three thousand and twenty six strangers on the internet,
how i could get you back,
but the most common answer i got,
was that i couldn't.
i never really ever imagined my life without you,
and your texts at 1 in the morning,
and the phonecalls that would last for hours.
right now i feel like a shadow.
opaque and lost,
wandering around,
looking for something,
that no longer exists.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
1/29/2015
princeton thursday night
all out of coffee
and, sitting by wood slats of the
sad sunroom i
smile at a dead beetle
set the record down on
helen forrest and all she does it talk about
how she loves so madly
the sun sets on the west
sourland bramble downwards the cul-de-sac ridge
was in my line of sight long walks
but pulmonary bruises like the radiators
and that was in what? october? april?
no. april's too early
i close my eyes in bed and
i still hear that ****** song
enraptured i sink back and
i open again i open!
i can't afford to die or lose
same thing, just yet
i have dorms to sneak into and
cigarettes to put out,
more lifetime flatlines to complain about and
drain pipes to stand next to and
grass to sink into when it thaws and
unexpected phonecalls from past men
to receive.
month long in absentia you never called me first and now
i gotta go flip this record over, man.
stand up down the stairs off the bed
remind me not to blink for too long.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
Distances and cardboard boxes;
Maybe I like to move.
The coffee was good today and toasted bread with salted butter,
Was perfect.
I have been feeling loved and alone lately,
What's with the neighbour's loud dog and
dishes that don't wash themselves?
Crazy —
the dates I don't go to.
It was romantic, what the girl I didn't meet said to me.
Distances and unanswered phonecalls;
Maybe I just
like to move.
Stuck in traffic;
I found it beautiful how against bright lights,
you were just hair, nose and chin.
Anyway.
The pile of dishes in the sink is making me sad,
But still
the coffee was good today
and toasted bread with salted butter,
Was perfect.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
For me,
love was
my favourite
pale yellow chiffon dress
or may be
my light brown hemp neck less
Brightness of diamonds
placed closely on my fingers
Or darkness of black lines
around my eyes
Love,
may be smiling, giggling or crying over long phonecalls
Or spending hours and hours
and someone’s savings
in a overcrowded mall
Tell me.
how could I realize love can be
more than my imagination,
and your life
It could be choosing
sleepless nights in dark forests
filled with pointed stones
when chances to throw your body
over a cushy bed
in a warm room
is still on
How could I know
how it feels
to take a bullet
directly on your chest
only to
protect the soil on which you were born?
And we, whom you left
in our five star rooms
to sleep peacefully
watch movies with bowls of popcorns
will never understand
what you did for us
even though
we are not related with relations
Today
When I saw you
sleeping peacefully
in the arms of tricolour
and 21-gun salute
could not touch your ear
Today when
thousands of bodies like me
with tear filled heart
raised their hand
I realized
my heart can never love the way
your heart does
and
your soul can never be touched
with my prayers
because
I have never been there
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC
She wasn't storybook pretty
She wasn't even the plain kind of pretty
No mary sue or timid thing
She was weepy phonecalls at 3am
And smashing plates in kitchen sinks
She was thunder and lightning
Bright and burning
And you couldn't catch her if you tried
She was destruction and it was not
Beautiful, but it was enchanting
The type of girl who stole breaths
Simply for the enjoyment of watching
Us mere things gasping for air
She was a galeforce wind in winter
You couldn't look away,
And she couldn't stay
Even if she wanted to.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
It affects her:
The calls, the messages, the smirks, the frowns, the curses, the white lies, the missed phonecalls, the skipped dates, the whistles, the hoots, the whispers, the stares, the anger, the harsh truths, the words they use to describe a human being that just happens to have a little extra **** to her body, the comments that come from those of the same *** about a body that could be perfect but why bother if there's no one to be perfect for?
It affects him:
The blank stares, the condescending voices, the cheers, the tears, the jeers, the insults, the absent father, the oblivious mother, the useless job, the harrowing boss, the old flame, the aches, the pain, the fact that he can't seem to make things work right when it could benefit him, the assumptions by them that he should be strong enough to carry the burdens of 12 others plus his own.
We need our girls to be smart but not so much that they become overconfident
We need our men to be strong and tears are meant for boys
We want our girls to be pretty
We want our boys to be handsome
We want our girls to understand their role in society and that they must not cross an arbitrary line made by those who fear them
We want our boys to grow up and understand they must provide, provide, provide and if they don't it's a sign of weakness
We want our women to provide children but oh no no no they must not work, where is the father?
We want and expect our men to be fathers to children, but not the ones born out of wedlock
We want, want, want but never ask our children anything because while we've strived hard to help their brains grow
we don't actually want them using that knowledge
We oppress our own people
And wonder why we see little success.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
phonecalls on facebook ******* trigger me
transports me back to last semester
like some sort of sick boat ride
to the magic kingdom
perverts dressed as mickey mouse
asking if i want a selfie
and i get angry.
angry that i can't use those little plastic eraser guards
we used to make patterns on paper with
as children
to erase your fingerprints from my flesh.
i rub at them regardless,
smudging away at my own contour lines
losing contrast,
value,
scale
my repeating shapes are starting to look a lot
like a pattern my mother wore
reflecting off her red cheeks
as she laid on the couch late at night
her arm over her face.
and i'm terrified,
honestly.
i'm terrified of the damage i've yet to assess
once i make it outside myself
i'm on my way out
this month
and there's only a few days
of october
left
my mother spent the month of june watching fruit rot on the countertop
before she put it all in garbage bags and left
and that is how i feel
late at night
when peace evades me.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
Frying pan to fire,
Escape into a trap,
Of course the grass is greener,
'til you stop and lay your hat.
She monitors your phonecalls
and every move you make -
You will always say it's greener
In your prison with no break.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC