"rosaline" poems
why do you act like hamlet,
all depressed and grieved,
for your own heart shuts me out,
and it's you who's deceived?
when did you think like othello,
murderous and violent,
irrational with decisions,
making me suffer with guilty silence?
how did you turn into macbeth,
from the silky words that grace your lips,
to the venomous fangs you bit back at me,
stinging like burning, sharp whips?
because i thought you were romeo,
with your adventurous soul and romantic antics.
now you've faded away,
with all your heroic tactics.
wherefore art thou, romeo?
don't call me juliet,
if i'm just another rosaline.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
Gone with the wind is his old desire
Bright flowers of love bloom in his spring
Once who ruled his heart’s empire
I’ll die for Rosaline – he no longer will sing
Tenderness of this new flower
Bewitches heart and mind of Romeo
Charm of looks on both sides in power
Lovely Juliet and him, the magnificent duo
Alas! She is nothing but blood of enemy
And he, her enemy’s next of kin
In abstract lies the idea of him to see
To express to Juliet his love, and her heart win
Juliet’s love for Romeo is no less than him
Opportunity to meet her lover, for her more fleet
Infinity of time and power of love come to brim
Rise of sun to meet, overcoming the danger, so sweet
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
A girl by the name of Josephine
was once destined to be a great queen
married off to a prince, a boy
but never let her true feelings show
for she was in love, this was true
but not with the prince, a boy
her true love she could not enjoy
there were stolen kisses
snuck out at night for passion so vicious
don't get caught my sweet Josephine
for the two of you they will get in between
you see Josephine's love was forbidden
with a girl by the name of Rosaline, so it's best to keep hidden
they spent countless nights enjoying eachother
with no cover but the warmth of the two lovers
but eventually everything must come to light
during an encouter of the sweetest kind
a night of moaning and arching of their back, everything felt so right
when the prince, a boy
caught both of them in the middle of their throws
while the girls were still clutching hard at the bed
he screamed ****** ****** "off with her head!"
So the his guards grabbed Rosaline
and led her to the guillotine
Josephine looked at her lover for the last time "Rosaline"
her deep brown eyes,golden skin, a girl so divine
before the blade was let loose, not even a scream
Josephine swore, she cried a whole stream
she drowned in her tears of sorrow and pain
the girls blood on the floor it did stain
when Josephine took her last breath upon the pool of her tears
she felt Rosaline's hands around her waist and her breath in her ear
saying "My sweet josephine, don't worry I'm here."
She believed that Rosaline did not die at the guillotine
but they died together without fear and completely serene.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 2:16 AM UTC
I believe that fairy tales are just that: fairy tales.
Magic doesn't exist, and of course imagination is just that: imagination.
Something not real, an internalised, idealised creation.
Happy ever afters,
and Prince Charming hero's,
are just a lovers fantasy notions.
But we are there,
You know,
at that stage where Romeo is madly in love with...Rosaline.
Those evil family relations surround us and a wicked stepmother who overrules.
Girls everywhere are obsessed with being the fairest of them all,
Eagerly anticipating a dark and handsome: Mr. Tall.
Waiting on that fairy godmother to appear,
but its already too late because the wolfs already had his dinner,
and a sleeping beauty has yet to be kissed out of her nightmare.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
We all know the story of Romeo and Juliet
But this is the untold story of another fair, beautiful Capulet
Rosaline as you may come to know
Met her demise at the hands of a Montague
She was the first object of dear Romeo's affection
But for dainty Rosaline, Romeo was not her selection.
He desperately tried to win her gaze.
She would only give hints to her hearts twisting maze.
Faithful to her vows of chastity
Another Montague held her key.
Benvolio stole her heart and won her affection
From first glance she was swept away, a true connection
Like the gentle lullaby of a nightingale
Her soul composed a symphony on his instrument could play
Kissed like the petals of a rose by the morning dew
A simple touch of his hand created a overwhelming sensation only they knew
Secretly inseparable, hidden romance
Their houses would not understand, so they took a very risky chance.
Until the day of that faithful fray between Capulet and Montague
Rosaline was caught in the crossfire of the two
Trying to keep the peace she lunged ahead
And at the hand of her true love she was dead.
He had not even a heartbeat to react.
Blinded by hate, a moment he could never take back.
Plagued by loss and despair
As if his lungs had been drained of air.
As the life left her eyes
He died inside.
Tragedy washed over their houses.
And in the end,
Hate won the war,
Love was left mangled and destroyed.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC
At preschool last morning, when first class began
Our teacher Miss Fortune, has entered the den
And promptly asked us, the pure younglings
To write on the devil that make us do things
So teacher sat down, and we tykes got engaged
And committedly filled page after page
As we took up an oath, us the urchin, the youth
To speak the whole truth, and nothing but truth
So first rose the young boy Timothy Veet
And confessed all the text that he etched on the sheet
How last week he attended the birthday of Sheila
And got high on some hemp, and two shots of tequila
As he sat, quickly stood his companion wee Tom
And he told how he broke to the principal’s home
Where he gingerly snatched, like a cat burglar
A computer, some cash, and antique silverware
But who took the whole cake, was shy Rosaline
As she stood up and gestured to Billy, her kin
And with timid resolve, and an ear-to-ear grin
Said: “He is the devil that makes me do things…”
Miss Fortune, chalk white, and clearly distressed
Was rushed on a gurney, to the ER no less
Our innocence wither, like a flower well hidden
So why keep insisting on calling us children
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC
I’m from hopelessness,
Where self-mutilation looks classy.
I’m from defenselessness,
Where bruises turn red instead.
I’m from the Land of Oz,
Where the long winding road seems endless.
My glittery shoes seem broken though.
I’m stuck in a world I don’t deserve.
My sorrow evident, my suffering clear.
Life’s not so bad when your living in fear.
I’m from frustration and envy,
I just don’t know why.
A comfortable lifestyle is easy to come by.
Stuffed bear by my side, he swallows my tears.
I’m from the moments I spend, hiding away.
I sympathize with Rosaline,
How was she to know?
Snubbing Romeo would be so disastrous.
Or Snow White, so close to death;
Yanked back by an uninvited kiss.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:41 PM UTC
And now I leave you
For today
With Juliet
Romeo you will stay
We will remain friends
But never the same
As the day before
When you said
"I love you Rosaline"
but then night turned to day
and you had a new love of a different name
"It is the east, and Juliet is the sun"
Yeah Mercutio told me you moved on
So good bye Romeo
Take care of your heart
For today is the day we part
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 4:27 PM UTC
I.
do you suppose of the three
rosaline got the best deal?
not ending in tragedy, but in obscurity
because i've realized how poisonous
girls are
they sit and settle like concoctions
waiting to be stirred up
II.
i will absorb her under my skin
until she turns my face red
and finger nails blue
until she chokes the air
from me and all I can taste
is her
i will shed my skins through sunrise
and pledge my beating bleeding heart
to juliet at sunset
III.
i can multi-task
i can die
i can live
i can love
i can
[do it all]
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 11:16 PM UTC
Albany Rosaline Smith.
On Mondays Albany went down to the store to get milk.
Her mother always gave her twenty five cents.
Twenty for the milk,
And five for some candy.
All the boys she passed along the way would tell her how she was
Genuinly beautiful.
And she knew it.
Albany was gorgeous.
On her sixteenth birthday she let Bobby Fisher
**** her under the oak tree
Out back in the feild behind the pond.
"You're something special there, Albany,"
He told her.
She knew it was true,
But it was a nice gesture,
So she let him **** her from behind this time.
Albany became Misses Fisher two years later,
Three weeks after graduation.
It was just the thing to do back then.
They had four kids,
And she was a good mom.
Mathilda, Lizabeth, Marcus, and Temprance.
Three of which were Bobby's.
One of which was the town physician's.
Bobby never knew.
He was a mill worker.
He was not very bright.
But Albany was.
Bright and Beautiful.
She died at the age of forty-two.
She was ***** an killed by the doctor.
He was also the mortician,
So no one questioned it.
It was a small town.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
Albany Rosaline Smith.
On Mondays Albany went down to the store to get milk.
Her mother always gave her twenty five cents.
Twenty for the milk,
And five for some candy.
All the boys she passed along the way would tell her how she was
Genuinly beautiful.
And she knew it.
Albany was gorgeous.
On her sixteenth birthday she let Bobby Fisher
**** her under the oak tree
Out back in the feild behind the pond.
"You're something special there, Albany,"
He told her.
She knew it was true,
But it was a nice gesture,
So she let him **** her from behind this time.
Albany became Misses Fisher two years later,
Three weeks after graduation.
It was just the thing to do back then.
They had four kids,
And she was a good mom.
Mathilda, Lizabeth, Marcus, and Temprance.
Three of which were Bobby's.
One of which was the town physician's.
Bobby never knew.
He was a mill worker.
He was not very bright.
But Albany was.
Bright and Beautiful.
She died at the age of forty-two.
She was ***** an killed by the doctor.
He was also the mortician,
So no one questioned it.
It was a small town
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
The figure lurks behind my lidded eyes:
His back is all a-hunch and he is mad
With thoughts of you. But often when he lies
He dreams as slender silver as you had.
Your beauty haunts the belfry of my head
And Shakespeare’s darkened lady’s takes a glare.
The sun was Rosaline and I was dead
The day I searched for you and found you there.
The river ran too quick against our days.
My love for you, which never found its wife,
Heard clear those words you said upon the chaise.
The words, "I could not do", which were your knife.
So here am I with no chance to rephrase;
You wounded me with words. I took your life.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 8:16 AM UTC
romeo,
i've forgotten where we met
i think it was at some party?
you were with your friends that night and you were just someone who caught my fascination that time
the next thing i know your face was lit up from laughing at a lame *** joke i told that you deemed witty
and the night went on, we got in your car and drove aimlessly
there's a mixtape you made playing in the background- later on i found out that was your way of introducing me to your favorite bands
my heart badly wanted to get out of my chest the whole time- it was so loud inside, knocked up by all the anxious flutter you sent unknowingly through me, the weariness i had from willingly entering a stranger's car gradually melted
i was relieved that we actually had a conversation despite it being casual and light
i remember the way your eyes glimpsed at me as i got out of your car
and not even ten minutes have passed when you sent me a text saying, good night sleep tight
but i didn't really catch sleep not until it was 4 in the morning, an hour after i finally calmed down the slightest bit
and we took it from there and all the moments we've had are tenants in the hotel rooms tucked in the lone corner of my brain (i keep coming back to them)
it was all too fast and i was falling and it just couldn't be because what if i havent gotten in your car that night
if this wasnt written by the stars or some great force but just black ink over the lines of some doomed fate?
and it doesn't make sense and history repeats itself and everyone knows this is a tragedy where you'll come after me and it'll be the end of the both of us
i had to leave
i had to save you
because this was never supposed to happen
it's supposed to be romeo and rosaline or some other girl
but right now you probably found your rosaline in a pack and a bottle in your hands
and im sorry for causing you pain; you dont deserve to hurt
now i remember:
it is east where we met;
but quite frankly i am not the sun
-juliet
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
My heart is like a broken bone – it could be fixed, but will it ever really be the same as it once was?
Now,
I don’t believe it can be fixed anymore.
I feel like the sunset in black and white - losing the colour from my life, all because she never wanted me.
It’s as if she- the sun- has burnt out and left me – the blue moon – without a drop of light to warm me and bring back the colour I had lost from being alone.
If the stars were to align the same way, then there could be a beauty like her, but then without her smile, there are no stars in the sky, no light in my heart, nothing to look for in the lonely nights that push me to the ground over and over again.
If I were to look up from the stab wound in my chest, it would be to see her hand at the hilt – a devious smile painting her face with all the colours she has kept hidden from the world.
As the blood from my heart drains to the ground below me, I would drop to my knees, and paint the ground in crimson - my last colour left.
My blood would paint the story of my love for her, before my life is stolen away from me.
And yet the true irony of it all would be the love I hold for her until my last breath- and not even then would my feeling fade.
Long after my life has ended, my heart would still belong to her. It would still yearn for all the intricacies of her being.
Pandora’s Box has released itself on my heart, tearing at it as if it were a hungry lion attacking a peaceful gazelle.
I am forever drawn to her, as if my soul was trapped in her eyes.
The gods have turned against me, making my shadow grow, letting itself bleed through my veins and into my soul.
A soul with no colour should not be a soul at all.
I am forever burdened with no muse, no passion.
I am a lone wolf, destined to lose my life without a love in the world.
No one to care for, no one to remember in the long nights.
No one.
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC
You held me captive around your arms,
Put me in peace within your essence,
Align me close to your heart with your perfection,
I see roses falling down your face,
My heart fainted before such beauty,
Rosaline!
What a beautiful name,
Like the beauty you posseses within your heart,
You drunk me slowly killing me with the framework of your beauty,
Rosaline!
You're a queen above queens,
"Tu eres mi Reina"
Your love is greater to persue me when i'm lost,
In temptations of your eyes you give me hope to recover,
For you are my rose,
"Rosaline".
©22 July 2017 - South Africa
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
We met in the midst of dust motes floating around the old chalkboard-classroom of University Hall. You introduced me to Amber – your close friend, I thought – and your thirst for after-tutorial Starbucks between 11:20 and 11:35 a.m. After all, what did it even matter to be five minutes late to class when we will all one day be so; what did it even matter if none of it ever really does when the curtain drops, when the record ends, when the symphony of consciousness rises to a close. So you went for Starbucks, and I walked to lecture alone – vying for that front-row chair so that I might ease the pain in my hips – and watched, noticed you in the months afterward, through red winter parkas and brown spring attire – until we met again in the odorous lab of second-year microbiology, and you drew me into your world of friends, of housemates, of late-night wine and cheese gatherings – until my heart – that soft, useless thing – quickened its beat upon hearing your stories of ex-crushes and Halloween near-hookups with a would-have-being-a-bad-decision girl. You drew me into you, you: an everyday girl, who in my daydreams was hardly so; I latched onto you and pulled myself out of that dark, solitary hole – because you were there, you were there, you were always there. I let myself be swept away by that river of friends, of daydreams, of late-night phone calls about life, the universe, and your complaints about organic chemistry. I turned a blind eye, because the illusion was far better than the solitude, better than watching my life collapse again into that small, small state. I let slide it all: the apathy, the sleep abnormalities, the ****** innuendos, until I texted you a few nights ago, two minutes into a rising panic initiated by the realization that my ex had killed themselves – a discovery that later proved to be untrue – and you replied with laughter and an inability to help. You just don't know; you just don't see that to complain of your ex-girlfriend's low libido is a reflection on you, not her, or even the two of you – so I put down the phone; I ignored the messages for a day, then two, and my world changed, opened anew –
I can live without you.
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 12:42 AM UTC
The most beautiful girl
in the world
and I
am taking her out to dinner.
She is wearing red tonight,
violet in the evening,
white to bed,
and blue in the morning.
I am inhaling the tropics outside
and through the hotel
window
My Rosaline,
My love,
you are the most Bel-Air
you will ever be again.
I left my heart there for sure.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 7:12 AM UTC
You are the light that yonder window breaks.
Like Yorick I knew you well.
You are the Demetrius to my Helena.
The Romeo to my Rosaline.
My unrequited love.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
How macabre she looks standing before me
Staggering down the hall towards me
Eyes bulged with compassion
For what she sees as a beatific deed
In stance to strike me down
And leave me to bleed
In comparison to the past
Then, she was much more sweet
Wearing an eternal smile upon her visage where ever she paraded
But oh, how deeply she glares through my soul
She froze my heart
With this sudden change
My body became stone
When she raised her axe
My breath was stilled
I must not let her go
She is not whom she was
Months ago
Watching her walk away
Burst my heart into shards of glass
Sprayed across the floor
I don't know who she is anymore
But there is one thing I know for sure
For if I am to die on this floor
I will not die alone
In my pocket lies "Rosaline"
The finest gun my grandfather bestowed upon me
In a split second she's down on the floor
Staring back at me
In absolute horror
Seeing her suffer slowly before me
I still do not abhor
Watching her bleed now
I love her even more
The time we've spent together
I've so adored
I do not know whom she is anymore
But if she is to die
She will not die alone.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
Tears of Rosaline
The night of ballgowns and flashy lights
Marbles staircase and sumptuous jewelries
You left me here without a clue,
When your eyes had seen her beauty
You forgot the sweet words you said to me,
When you are already making promises with her
I was your first but then you choose your second and happens to be your last
You seem to be happy with her
But don't you know that I was already dying in grief?
You enjoyed your storhy, neither her
All of the who people happy with your so called great love
But, do they notice me also?
I, who was the unknown part of your story
I, who was the unknown character of your love story
And I, who was your invincible chapter?
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 2:14 AM UTC
but soft, what light: thru yonder window breaks
tis' the east but Juliet just puked off of the balcony
wow...im sure that we could do this forever
or until she drinks the poison
cuz she sees some cloudy weather
as rosaline lies in bed
seething, wide awake
because his burning love for juliet only took a day.
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 9:08 AM UTC
Not another love poem
It's 1am and I'm drinking,
Sitting here trying to convince myself that I should not write another love poem.
When things go sour, those love poems remain etched into my journal, my messages, my novels, my tabletops, my online profile and my soul.
They lie around like satirically ironic reminders of what once was, and either make me feel so stupid for ever writing them or so sick that someone will no longer be reading them because I wasn't ready for it to end.
All those love poems are like the ring I received from my first boyfriend- too precious to throw out, but too taunting to keep.
If I wrote one for you right now, I'd feel like Romeo who I, for one, think was as pretentious as bottled water. Was no one else doubtful of his love confessions to Juliet when just a few scenes prior he had said the very same things about Rosaline? All I could think of his words was that they were nothing more than recycled material he was using because he didn't know any better.
If I wrote you a poem right now, would you merely join the many Rosalines I have written for in the past? Of course I had no intentions of acting like Romeo, but each time I fall I feel I've fallen deeper and I don't even know if I have experienced true love yet.
I could write thousands about your eyes, your voice, your arms around me
But it'd just be another love poem
And I am too scared to let you join the many I've written for people that soon left my life.
Ugh, I just did it again, didn't I?
I wrote another love poem.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
When Dante saw Beatrice,
Shakespeare did weep.
Rosaline and Romeo,
Paris and Juliet.
So tell me, what is supposed,
Of the other girl?
The girl who is not loved,
But loves alone?
The girl who takes multiple journeys along multiple roads,
But keeps ending up at cul de sacs?
She is not Beatrice,
She is not Rosaline,
And she is not Juliet.
I hope she is alright,
I hope she is alright.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
You look at the star. It is smiling,
dancing in the sky. Romeo & Juliette,
Jack & Rose—looks like every story
repeats itself in some certain way.
The sky,
who's been chewing clouds
all day long, is now full
of these shining, gilded little creatures.
They'll show you the way,
they will guide you to your Juliette
waiting for you in her own Verona.
A shooting star is falling down,
breaking, screaming, striving—make a wish!
Juliette is far away, Rosaline is standing
right next to you, blushing in her pure glamor.
Her lips are two petals calling your name.
Romeo! Estimate her beauty,
since it is something you can reach
at this very moment.
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 5:29 AM UTC
A moment
Otherwise commonplace
Then
The door swings open
And a word is unenthused - a welcome
"Rosaline" - It's Rosaline's father who is hanging by the back door, clad in a raincoat with palpable raindrops
He's holding something
Small, oval shaped
"It's an egg," he says "A duck egg"
Rose ventures closer, not believing him
She's fond of nature and herb remedies
She sees the gel-like substance, void of protective shell, a faint orange block bobbing ever so slightly inside
She topples to the floor in disbelief
Smiling, grinning, actually, at the discovering
She's also wary
It's fragile
We all come closer
Rose rests a fingertip on the squishy egg
She exclaims, "It's heartbeat. I can feel it's heartbeat."
Its heart is weak, but it's still miraculous to feel
How? Can someone excuse life when they feel it in their fingertips?
The duck inside will one day hatch, soon
I believe it will thrive despite the cold
It will grow, and chirp, and flounder
But it is life
We could not bear to see the elementary duckling die
Because once you've touched life
You long for nothing else
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC