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.

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

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?

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.

This is the story of my Juliet;

Of her Montague and his Capulet.

Roses smell sweet with no care of their name,

But with “Montague”, this just isn’t the same.



As a cruel joke, fate bonded their hearts,

For fate knew too well that they’d be torn apart;

Torn apart like the brawling in the public square,

Where Montagues and Capulets disagreed there.



I am the one whom Romeo loved,

Before he’d first seen his Capulet dove.

It happened quite fast, and inside the year,

We were something akin to the three musketeers.



We knew if the secretive lovers were caught,

They’d both be destroyed; impaled on the spot.

So I covered for them, and I helped them along,

And I did my best to sing over their song.



I witnessed the wedding, the friar’s compliance

In hopes that the families would form an alliance.

And while I had my doubts, I kept my lips sealed;

I allowed them to hope the tooth fairy was real.



Soon after that, I was with Romeo and his friend,

When Tybalt came along and caused Mercutio’s end.

I ran after Romeo, begging “Please! Use your head!”

But it was to no avail, and soon Tybalt was dead.



So Romeo was banished, and I sat with his wife;

I comforted her as she wept of her strife.

She was almost alright, but fate slipped on its gloves,

And she was betrothed to a man she couldn’t love.



Three times, I convinced her to put down her knife;

“You can do this, Capulet, don’t you take your own life!”

I spoke with the friar, and he had not a clue,

Till I formed a plan and a mysterious brew.



I sent a letter to Romeo, warning him of her sleep,

And so Juliet drank into slumber most deep.

Two days went past, then I felt my heart stop-

My letter had been returned, and Romeo’s address dropped.



I tripped a few times as I sprinted towards her grave,

All the while howling out Romeo’s name.

I leapt across ditches, I dashed around trees,

And I fount Montague, fallen to his knees.



“She is pure beauty, even in her death,”

Said Romeo as he took his last breath.

I lunged, and I screamed until my throat bled,

But bleed as I might, Romeo was now dead.



Juliet yawned, and it turned into a cry,

As the sight of his body burned into her eyes.

I stood up, hands shaking, and reached out to my friend,

But I knew this was a wound my soft words couldn’t mend.



“Juliet, don’t,” I pleaded weakly.

She shook her head sadly, said “I’m sorry, Rosaline.”

I held her small frame, and I felt her depart,

As she drove her own blade into her broken heart.



Montagues and Capulets sat together that day,

And they mourned their children and regretted their hate.

I stood up, though it pained me, and they looked distressed

At Juliet’s blood that soaked through my dress.



“This is your fault!” I yelled hoarsely at the lords.

“You ran your own children through with your swords!

If you are so noble, ordained from above,

How could you destroy their lives and their love!?”



“Don’t you dare let their sacrifices end in vain!

They were my friends, and they died so you’d change!

I hope you make peace, because your bigotry

Took Romeo and Juliet away from me!”



So it was, that the families have since lived in harmony,

But that is something that now hardly matters to me.

A rose by any name would still smell as sweet,

But if “Montague” was different…





This would not be a tragedy…

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

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

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.

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

I'm usually not the type to throw shade
But darling you need to get the hell over yourself

If life was a play, you would be cast as the tree even though
You can swear that you and C are like Romeo and Juliet.
You're no Romeo and he's no Juliet.
He's not going to fall for you like in the story books.

Actually, no. If you COULD be Romeo, it would be as follows:

You're the Romeo and he's the Rosaline
And like Romeo, you don't even know what love is.
You say you're in love but in the words of shakesphere, you're "out of love". Romeo didn't truly know love until someone loved him back. At least Romeo admits in the end that he never knew what love really was until he met Juliet.

But you? You "love"someone that doesn't love you back, but you don't even know what love is. Just admit it to yourself, pull a Romeo learn to get the **** over it. He ******* to benvolio a little, then moped for a while, which is fine, and put himself back out there. He actually listened to his friends' advice and fell in love with the beautiful Juliet. Take notes, *******.

Your "love" is Rosaline, and he doesn't love you. Get over it. Romeo did... But then again. you're no Romeo. You're a tree who thinks everyone's looking at him when really they couldn't give less ***** that you're even there.

Step off your ******* high horse before squad pulls a Brutus and Cassius and stabs you to death. That's the onlycase where I think you deserve to be the main role, babe.

what was it you saw in her?
so fast, when you claimed to love me?
how could it have been so deep
that you forgot what we had instantly?

you saw her for seconds,
Talked to her for minutes,
then by some strange justification decided
You Loved Her.

I don’t know if it was partly my fault,
pushing you away, but I only pushed you away because I knew how we’d end.
I’ve seen it before, and will see it again.
no loss for you, no heart, no law,
No light breaks through my window anymore.

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.

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

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.

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

romeo,

you’re gone.

not from this world, no. you didn’t end up taking your life, lying next to what you believed was my lifeless body, only for me to gain consciousness too late, realizing the horrors of what you’ve done with no other choice but to follow through. it was quite an unexpected contrast to this ill-fated romance’s historically known ending.
if anything, we did end up together. somehow, we made it work, swearing on pinky promises that we always would on the roof under skies plagued with stars. with a few snaps of our fingers, we made fate bend to our own will. we believed we ruled fate’s coastlines as we ransacked abandoned buildings spray-painting quotes from our favorite books and lines from the songs we listened and danced mindlessly to on nights we’d chase down bottles with kisses frantic, laughing maniacally, imagining the apocalypse, us two being the last of earth’s inhabitants. as we shared candy corn roaming the carnival grounds, atop the ferris wheel right in time for the sunset’s tail, hands laced with the cheap rings from the marriage booth where we exchanged our hypothetical vows. as we scoured thrift shop racks eager to dress up for the halloween parties our friends threw, seeking the silence of the dim upstairs hallways and bedrooms, making out, costumes half undone while downstairs the crowd got trashed. as we picked items from the aisle on an unplanned grocery run, another batch of your burned meal that i’d roll my eyes at which you’d laugh, volunteering to order take outs in surrender. as we strolled the streets by the lunar tides, enveloped by silence, the comforting kind, the one that talked of what’s lost with the last of our heartbeats.
we were able to get past tragedy embedded in veins of young star-crossed lovers, an inescapable curse. we broke the curse all those times we laid on forest floors drizzled with the dead bodies of stars turning this supposedly sad tale the right side up. we were renegades rejoicing in the mayhem they caused all the nights they sneaked out-even though it wasn’t needed. we didn’t have to be in hiding-our families were surprisingly okay with us together.
our middle fingers were saluted to fate’s face-at least that’s how it felt. we thought we were on top of the world, atop that hill, the city twinkling below us like fairy lights in your bedroom. all our worries below, far behind. funny how all along fate was the one laughing, sneering at our faces. fate never sided with us, it was just waiting for the right moment to show what’s it got up its sleeves, to strike with excruciating tragedy.
and i guess here it is, the tragedy. just not how it’s depicted in history books but nevertheless it occurred like the breath i didn’t know i was holding. maybe in this life fate tried to be kind, but not quite, giving us a softer kind of heartbreak, melodramatic still, just one with no deaths. perhaps it got tired of eavesdropping all the times we used to talk about heaven and hell and dying and how we passed them off like the mere places we got our scars from. we weren’t ever scared of it, a complete opposite of how we were scared of losing the other. or i guess how i was.

i can’t quite comprehend how i faced that fear for you, how i let you go after we sat in your secondhand toyota like how we normally did because it was our safe place to talk. though that the conversation ran sans our usual order of french press and cappuccino and it ran without pleasantries. we talked about us and how you couldn’t see ‘us’ in the future anymore. i don’t know where we started to fall apart neither the how’s or the why’s. i don’t know how i managed to abide by your wish, your selfish plea. all i knew was that if letting you go was what’s going to make you happy then i wasn’t going to stand in the way of your happiness.
so yes, you’re gone but not dead, neither of us is dead. you’re just off to a place miles away from here, from me. you didn’t say where you’re headed but i saw the plane ticket on the nightstand the night before you left.
maybe love’s one huge tragedy once exhausted out. it’s been days and my mind’s in circles more than ever, digging inescapable trenches of this train wreck you’ve forged out of me. and i’m not sure, if this is me or the bitterness speaking, but i think i would’ve preferred our supposed ending. dying side by side.

but don’t mind that, i truly wish you well. i hope you find whatever it is when your feet touch the ground be it a reason to live or some girl named rosaline.

still yours,
juliet

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.

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.

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.

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.