"somones" poems
The posted photo
made on somones computer
looked like loneliness
dressed as wisdom
and begged you to believe the fallacy
It said
Don't fall in love when you're lonely
fall in love when you're ready
You will never learn how love works
if you save it
give it away
get hurt
give it away again
Love takes practice
And even if finding my love
looks like the crackhead's
needle in the haystack
Know that my love isn't *****
You won't get sick from my love
It is just that my love has been used
And that is all that love ever wanted anyway
was to be used
It is not some Star Wars action figure
Meant to never be opened
to maintain value
Imagine Luke Skywalker's
Anger at you upon tasting fresh air
Thinking
Have you seriously been keeping this from me?
Have you seriously been keeping this from me?
My love is pure
Been refined
by the filter of bodies
and coming back to me
My love is top shelf
but it is always free
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
he was the kind of beautifully terrifying you can't seem to let leave your head after you've met and their every move stains your brain as you replay it over and over. i don't know the last time someone excited me just by being their self so unintentionally - you can only hope you hold that kind of power when you waltz in and out of somones life like that.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 4:02 PM UTC
Sometimes I like to hold my own hand. I like to hold it/ in a way a lover may. & i realise.
my hands are so small and delicate why don't I have somones hand to hold? Better yet, why do I invite literally anyone to break my hands?
When I look at my hands I see every memory of every boy I have loved. I see the very moment I held a man's hand.
How the spaces between our fingers fit perfectly, in harmony with one another. How we shared a very special moment before our lips met in the dark of a theatre surrounded by other experienced lovers and we just looked like kids.
You could've snapped my wrists, it would've been so easy to bruise me but you didn't. You were kind, you were gentle.
You were kind.
You were gentle
But now when I reach for your hands/ because let's face it my hands have such a great memory and they know every curve and nook of your palm. Your palm is empty.
I reach and I stretch so far but you keep on walking and I barely get to brush your hand.
Then the question lingers/ so thick I could cut it with a knife.
Have you forgotten me already?
Forgotten the passionate night spent searching for our intertwined fingers that wrap themselves in knots/the very same that stroked my hair so sweetly until I fell asleep/that held me so tightly as you whispered my name to calm my nightmares
These memories. They're trapped in my skin and you the culprit/placed them there so gently. Rattling like bees and I want to them free.
So I cut myself open and watch as every piece of you leaks out me.
No doubt my hands have only suppressed it's muscle memory. and if they saw you again, they'd wander around you.
They'd know, the shape to take as they patiently wait for your hands to learn the curve of my waist.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 5:21 AM UTC
please girl, always wear blue!
please girl, who among is
not always been a runner up
to somebody, in some endeavor,
and it always be this way forever,
I have read but one of your poems,
(now no longer true)
Though I have read and written
This ideation, in a 1000 variations,
By 10,000 we are~we be
be poets
But let us start at the beginning,
and not miss the obvious,
Spelling of your name
whether or not by choice by choice,
by somones
incision
upon your everything
I gifted you this po-em
makes a specialist in unique,
Never knew never read a,
Lizie with this single Zed,
And though there may be others
Another I have yet encountered
as a prolific poet at such a tender age,
So now you test & task me, with
a closer examination of your written largesse
i'm a stumbler, and a tumbler of/to those
who dabble in this black on white magical,
artistry, but to your naming, I retuning, returning,
thanks to whomever entitled you to this heraldry,
so here I commence, but not end, for I am too,
Well familiar with the women whose names,
Were deliciously and deliberately misspelled,
to make sure, forever,
their own specialization art on insight or foresight,
of birthright and born rights, SO cease the boohoo,
Immediately<
we are always be behind to a second place finisher, unkbeknownest,
to thousands here. and else where,
but hopefully, much loved, by those who value their
own scripting, for themselves, who let out, emit a slight
growl of satisfaction, and an even bigger smile at satisfying
the inner first among so many, surrounding you,
by name
preserved prezisely for you...
nml
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 5:08 AM UTC
LOVE
Most people say it but most don't mean it. A word that breakes or makes you. A word that can give you so much power to control somones heart...
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC