"sweethearts" poems
Dear Ex-Best Friend,
Remember all the times we spent together,
everyday started with meeting before classes started because that was the only
time we could talk until lunch,
remember all the times we laughed so hard we cried?
Do you remember all the times we had to hold one another in times of the need
because we thought all we had was each other?
Yeah.. Me too.
We spent all the time in the world texting and calling each other.
Things changed a little since I got a boyfriend,
but I never replaced you.
You always had a special place in my heart, and I think you always knew that.
We drifted apart, like two boats at sea.
You switched back to the school you came from,
and it felt like my life had just sunk.
Suddenly I was all alone in the hallways,
Coming in to school was like hell,
Seeing the spot we used to stand in,
Occupied by another set of best friends,
Or maybe two high school sweethearts- Making out like there's no one around.
It was so lonely without you.
You seemed happier where you were though, and at that time, that was all that mattered to me.
I walked the hallways with a sad, sorrowful look.
Teachers frequently asked if I was sick, or if I needed to lay down.
Suddenly I was that one kid that everyone wanted to pick and beat on. (Again.)
I was incredibly lonely at school, I couldn't even sit with anyone at lunch because I was so hated by so many people for reasons I didn't even know.
Come upon my junior year I got a month and a half into the school year before
I switched to the school that you went to.
I was reunited with my best friend,
Life seemed so good.
I was with my boyfriend, and my bestfriend.
It felt like nothing could stop me from gaining happiness.
You began going through boyfriends,
They would come,
and they would go.
I was put second to all of them.
There were days I was so depressed I didn't function correctly,
and all we would talk about is what you and your boyfriend did the previous night.
I was so happy that you were happy,
but I think I forgot the definition of "Happiness."
Everyday was full of being ignored and having guys' push past me so they could hug you while I sat in the sideline just waiting there, tears filling in my eyes because I realized that I wasn't significant to my best friend any more.
I couldn't help but wonder what I did wrong.
I got tired of feeling this way,
I grew up, and realized that highschool isn't meant for gaining the love and affection of people.
I proceeded to end the friendship because it wasn't making me happy anymore.
I understand that a true friend stays there through everything but in no way, shape, or form did I deserve to be kicked to the curb like a diseased puppy.
It hurt, It hurt like a *****
But ultimately , I'm gonna be okay in the end.
And I hope she ends up okay, too.
But, just be okay without me.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
He proposed on New Years Eve.
At midnight I said yes.
This is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.
Even if the life I've already lived has been short, I know he is the one I want.
I took a gamble when we first started dating.
As is turns out, I have better luck than I though.
I don't know why he loves me.
But I can think if a thousand reasons why I love him.
Now I know high school sweethearts tend not to last, but I hope we can break that trend.
I hope our love is forever.
I hope the world doesn't try to hold us down.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Not quite sure yet
What I want to be
But so much pressure
Just to get my degree
I’m young and free
Even crazy and wild
Don’t you even dare
To treat me like a child
Though I can’t help but think
Where will I be in 10 years?
Will I finally have courage,
to face my worst fears?
Will I still have my boyfriend,
who I’ve been with?
Do high school sweethearts
exist, or is that just a myth?
Should I go get drunk,
this weekend with my friends?
I got invited to another party
The fun never ends
Wait I’m kind of insecure
About my body and weight
Why am I still awake?
It’s getting pretty late
Yet I still haven’t started
Any of my homework
Who cares anyway though
I mean my teacher’s a ****
I’m under so much pressure
Because I’ve got to graduate
But you try being a teenager
In a world filled with hate
Overthinking killed the teenager
And that teenager is I
Overthinking every thought
And I don’t know why
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
december 2011:
soulmates? something out of a fairytale!
handsome Prince Charming and the sweet Princess
are unlikely childhood sweethearts
their scripted fate tucked away under my bed.
april 2012:
soulmates? it’s just like in the fairytales.
we flirted with chance but knelt on destiny
my eyes were bright and wide as
true love’s first kiss hangs promised in the air.
april 2013:
soulmates? the fairytale wasn’t mine.
I tried to fill in the gaps with ice cream and picnics
but we were a jigsaw puzzle missing half its pieces.
don’t worry, I thought, I am still so very young.
july 2013:
soulmates? the fairytale forgotten
I threw myself at people hardly worth the toss
mistakenly discarding pieces of myself
I didn’t expect to need later
november 2013:
soulmates? a fairytale of treachery.
you sleeping beauty, wide awake
I tore myself to shreds on your wall of thorns
tread carefully, for fate is a dangerous game.
january 2014:
soulmates? a fairytale, for now
I cast that suffocating doctrine out of my mind
frozen in time, I decided now was what mattered
a love like one I’d never felt before beckoned
may 2014:
soulmates? a fairytale assured
I don’t know what the future holds, or how my story will unfold.
happiness is everything and care is not for this world.
love is abounding and soulmates can wait.
october 2014:
soulmates? they belong in fairytales.
chipped and damaged hearts don’t become more whole
just by finding comfort in another broken soul.
all the world’s a playground
these grown-up children
just playing pretend
because nothing’s really meant to be
after all.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
the thing that connects us to our high school past
is what we remember
whether its the heat of August
or the cold of December
will it be your high school sweethearts kiss
that you will dearly miss
will it be it be all the fun and romance
that had you caught in a sweet trance
i can tell you now that the memories i will have
will be that of the friends i had
and the way they made me laugh so much
so as for memories and good times
these ones will be such
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 12:37 PM UTC
... and this one isn't.
They were going to start a new life,
childhood sweethearts become man and wife.
But a drunken stag-night
ended up in a fight,
and someone had taken a knife.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
A boy in jeans,
A boy in trousers,
A boy in braces,
A boy in blouses,
A girl who smells like summer sweat,
A girl whose makeup hasn’t set,
A boy who swears,
A boy who doesn’t,
A girl’s shoulder,
A second cousin,
A girl who smells of **** and beer,
A tattooed boy with a silver sneer,
A skinny girl who’s got T.B,
A boy who daintily sips his tea,
A girl’s left leg – bare or stockinged,
A boy so cold his knees are knocking,
A nasty ****
A suede-head killer,
Kate Moss,
Sienna Miller,
Vivienne Westwood’s crazy teeth,
Bow-legged loons on Hampstead Heath,
Blue eyes, brown eyes, grey eyes, green,
Cold eyes, big eyes, sad eyes, mean,
Darling sweethearts in flirty skirts,
City-Boy ******** in well-pressed shirts,
Elbows, throat, wrists, knees,
A consumptive girl’s chainsmoking wheeze,
Blonde girls with their hair in plaits,
Skinny boys, short boys, muscular, fat –
Girls with pink lipstick like strawberry frosting,
I’m telling you man,
It’s ******* exhausting.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
invisible isotopes
gently rain down
onto the chins
of infants
we whisk
them
away with
soft kisses
tiny
irradiated
dust flakes
float onto
boutonniereless
lapels
we brush them
off with fresh
carnations
Oak leaves
blown from
denuding limbs
by soft puffs of
radioactive
plumes
are shaken
from our
door mats
green grass
sprinkled with
Strontium 90
is mowed
and mixed
into our
compost piles
the pristine
waters
of March
are laced with
uranium
tainted
iodine
it coolly
slakes
our
piqued
thirst
the rouge rose
gilded with
a golden plush
of soft plutonium
is plucked
to adorn late
evening
dinner tables
and exchanged
by sweethearts
as amorous
gestures
of resignation
between
condemned
lovers
Oakland
3/28/11
jbm
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
Laying in the land of lies.
Kissing broken butterflies
Knows what she wants.
A tigress on the prowl.
Howling and squawking.
Howling and scowling.
Pawing, cat calling.
Pussycat growling.
Love laid roses on the path.
Tangled thorns and demon horns.
Thought she'd have a laugh.
Love she chooses lonely pawns.
Howling and squawking,
Howling and scowling
Pawing,cat calling.
Pussycat growling.
She snatches sweethearts.
Creating works of art.
Living on cupcakes.
Cementing works of art.
Breaking hearts and crushing bones.
Howling and squawking.
Howling and scowling.
Pawing, cat calling.
Pussycat growling.
Fingertips tips as razor blades.
Razor blades are on the ****
Love dies screaming silently.
At wicked women's will.
Said goodbye.
Howling and squawking
No more talking.
Pussycat cat cuddles.
Snuggles and kittens.
(C) LIVVI
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
All wise and knowing seer of Delphi, Oracle I beg thee tell me,
What enchanting malady afflicts my mortal soul?
It churns my stomach like as butter, pangs my heart and makes it flutter,
Spins my thoughts so rapidly, I lose all self-control;
A wildly spinning vortex and I lose all self-control.
Striking deeply, sharp blades whirring, thrusting madly, twisting, turning,
Searing pain that scorches, burning, brings me to despair;
Silently it tracks and trails me, pouncing when my courage fails me,
Oracle, what sickness ails me? Save me from its snare;
Oh wise and noble Oracle, what has me in its snare?
Mortal fool, be still and listen, I espied you in a vision,
Ancient magic has arisen from the depths of hell;
Crafted in the Devil's furnace, cunningly it seeks to burn its
Way into your soul, I've seen this, none can break its spell;
It knows your every weakness and you cannot break its spell.
You must succumb and do it swift, or e'er your soul will be adrift,
Held captive in the Devil's rift, your mind will split asunder;
Your struggle will be fought in vain, eternal doom in endless pain,
Relent or e'er you'll feel its bane, your soul it comes to plunder;
You must relent and let it in, or feel its wrathful thunder.
Oh Oracle, all wise and knowing, fear inside me keeps on growing,
I can sense a chill wind blowing, filling me with dread;
Although your words seem strange and hollow, I submit and gladly follow,
For I know the God Apollo guides the path you tread;
Wise Apollo takes your hand and guides the path you tread.
--
What sweet exquisite joy I'm feeling, giddily my head is reeling,
Days have passed and find me kneeling at my sweethearts feet;
Oh Oracle, I will not tarry, asking her if she will marry,
Saving me from malady, she makes my soul complete;
She drives away the malady and makes my soul complete.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
To-day, this insect, and the world I breathe,
Now that my symbols have outelbowed space,
Time at the city spectacles, and half
The dear, daft time I take to nudge the sentence,
In trust and tale I have divided sense,
Slapped down the guillotine, the blood-red double
Of head and tail made witnesses to this
****** of Eden and green genesis.
The insect certain is the plague of fables.
This story's monster has a serpent caul,
Blind in the coil scrams round the blazing outline,
Measures his own length on the garden wall
And breaks his shell in the last shocked beginning;
A crocodile before the chrysalis,
Before the fall from love the flying heartbone,
Winged like a sabbath *** this children's piece
Uncredited blows Jericho on Eden.
The insect fable is the certain promise.
Death: death of Hamlet and the nightmare madmen,
An air-drawn windmill on a wooden horse,
John's beast, Job's patience, and the fibs of vision,
Greek in the Irish sea the ageless voice:
'Adam I love, my madmen's love is endless,
No tell-tale lover has an end more certain,
All legends' sweethearts on a tree of stories,
My cross of tales behind the fabulous curtain.'
2.9k
Turning American sweethearts into
the Basic ******* of the West.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
The black, iron God arm punched
placid-blanched clouds, and dangled
cat cable down to lemon-vested men
with chalkboard faces.
*Basic algebra, today's date, daily
syllabi, God-fearing anecdotes,
and the evils of homosexuality.*
Fornicating with other dudes
is like moving Jesus' rock
with your condom'd *****
Let sleeping dieties die.
We find them buried deep beneath
**** ceramics by T.V. criminals,
rapists, murderers, buzzers, free-
lovers, angelheaded sweethearts.
They have nearly four dollar souls,
barely enough for a Wilpo dinner
at Hepburn Diner. #2 breakfast
with one cup of Columbian cartel
coffee with a pinch of whole milk
to take the edge off, so he won't
be gripping the booth vinyl when
a "freedom" flash cop car passes.
Police cruisers are just bigger bicycles
that we're afraid of, sporting cereal
box baseball cards in the spokes.
Cops were the kids that needed help
their first time fresh off training
wheels. Training academy training
them for low-speed cat chases through
flower beds.
Sweet daffodil, you didn't have to die
like this. You could've drank straight
from the pitcher at a stranger's dinner
party potluck, seen the guts of a New
York highrise, shared the coke left
beneath a woman's botched nose job.
You could have been more than this.
You could have been more.
You could have been.
You could have.
You could.
You.
You, daffodil, stamen-down
in Miracle Gro and dog ****
could have been more.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
There is a faded headstone
I walk past every day
I've never stopped to read it
least not until today
The names are hard to make out
and the numbers just a blur
There's not very much to tell you
just who these people were
It seem they were a couple
Mary-Beth and John
She passed away aged 38
He died at 41
I imagine childhood sweethearts
who didn't live that long
A short but long lived love affair
that in death still lingers on
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 6:01 PM UTC
I was born a butchers boy
I never lacked for meat
Purse strings tight as a bishop’s ***
My childhood lacked for sweets
My sweethearts now a butchers wife
Two lamb shanks for a ha penny
We waste our coin and copper hair
By eating sweets a plenty
The merchant comes to peddle time
The reaper dreads his arrival
Those with coin and copper hair
Can purchase their survival
I will die a butcher’s death
My sweets have sealed my fate
With empty purse and graying hair
The merchant comes to late
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
when the sweethearts left,
we took off our token smiles
and overly-kind eyes.
my roommate grabbed a beer,
quickly ****** it off,
i put on "beat connection" by lcd,
and the derailment of the night
began with some synth and burps.
i made a *** of coffee,
went outside,
the neighbors were having a party,
making a stew,
grilling chicken,
drinking,
drinking,
drinking,
and exhaling enough smoke to signal the natives.
"are you drinkin' coffee muthafucka?"
"hi, i'm josh, and yes."
"the name's chase."
"nice to meet you." *******
before i knew it chase, our neighbors,
and about three people i didn't know
were in my apartment.
chase looked at a picture of lennon in
our living room.
asked me my favorite beatles album.
"probably sgt.peppers."
"you like that gay ****
"if that's gay **** yes i like gay ****
he grunted with rednecker royalty.
"the white album is probably my second favorite,"
i offered.
"man, the white album is the ****
there is nothing else."
someone said they had some fire, if anyone was interested.
everyone was.
there was a dark-skinned boy, with snow white teeth and a fake afro, rapping as i clumsily played an acoustic.
there was a 26-year-old ***** and his 43-year-old wife
smoking a bowl in my bedroom,
there was my roommate vomiting on the carpet,
there was everyone
and
there was
me.
there was everyone
and
there was
me.
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 3:33 PM UTC
I have two purrfect sweethearts and I'm smitten.
They are yellow and they're my two new kittens.
One of my babies is a girl and the other is a boy.
There's nothing like pets to bring a person joy.
They're beautiful, adorable and tame.
George and Peggy are their names.
I love to stroke their soft fur.
When I pet them, they purr.
They've taken a shine to me and owning them is something I'll never regret.
They're two purrfect sweethearts and they're wonderful pets.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
'bury me,' i say, 'god,
stop choking, ******* bury me,'
lay me to rest with the other dead things in the garden
i spit in the ground to make it special
i want you to eat me
i want a lot of things
(i want you to eat me,
among other things
like the dead bodies sewn into my ribs,
and the carcass at your feet--i
want you to eat me, and enjoy it)
i taste like royalty
are you satisfied?
are you satisfied?
are you satisfied?
im still awake after all this time,holy and undead
(or just unholy and dead;but
what i meant to say was,
'i still love you')
today i will tear my stockings
i don't want a dead lover i just want to be dead
this time tomorrow i will have forgotten, i swear, or i promise, or something
god you're beautiful
and other sentiments
(are you satisfied?
are you satisfied?
are you satisfied?
why the **** are you here
you're not special
its ok, i scratched out my own eyes years ago)
god you're beautiful when you're dead
and other sentiments
im not a corpse im a cufflink
another one for the tally mark sweethearts
and the milk carton crying downstairs
i tell you i feel fine but im still drooling
it doesn't change anything
i say, 'i wanna bleed out'
and you say, 'i love you too,' and you stab me in the jugular
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
The train ground to a halt,
Reluctantly sighing from the fatigue
Of another aching dance along the tracks,
Stained by raindrops and gravel,
I am sorry to make you carry me.
The suitcase thuds against the Tarmac
As I step on to Platform 2,
I am surrounded by other travellers,
Some dressed in their suits and professional stature,
Others dressed in coats and jeans and relief,
I see a boy and girl embrace and kiss,
He takes her luggage and they walk off hand in hand,
Another woman hugs her sister,
Or even a friend
And laugh and kiss one another on the cheek,
I drag my suitcase behind me,
My head clouded with the sound of footprints
Against wet Tarmac,
Walking along the yellow line until I reach the stairs,
Down I go.
New Year's Eve,
Celebration and intoxication
Lingered in the freezing wintry dusk,
Fireworks and beer,
Singing and champagne,
I am a part of it.
I slide my ticket into the machine and it lets me pass
With no resistance,
He waits there in the exit,
Hands in his pocket,
A smile on his rosy face
That has been kissed by the cold,
We leave the station,
Happiness surging between us.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
St. Margaret's bells,
Quiring their innocent, old-world canticles,
Sing in the storied air,
All rosy-and-golden, as with memories
Of woods at evensong, and sands and seas
Disconsolate for that the night is nigh.
O, the low, lingering lights! The large last gleam
(Hark! how those brazen choristers cry and call!)
Touching these solemn ancientries, and there,
The silent River ranging tide-mark high
And the callow, grey-faced Hospital,
With the strange glimmer and glamour of a dream!
The Sabbath peace is in the slumbrous trees,
And from the wistful, the fast-widowing sky
(Hark! how those plangent comforters call and cry!)
Falls as in August plots late roseleaves fall.
The sober Sabbath stir--
Leisurely voices, desultory feet!--
Comes from the dry, dust-coloured street,
Where in their summer frocks the girls go by,
And sweethearts lean and loiter and confer,
Just as they did an hundred years ago,
Just as an hundred years to come they will:--
When you and I, Dear Love, lie lost and low,
And sweet-throats none our welkin shall fulfil,
Nor any sunset fade serene and slow;
But, being dead, we shall not grieve to die.
2.2k
If I were tickled by the rub of love,
A rooking girl who stole me for her side,
Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string,
If the red tickle as the cattle calve
Still set to scratch a laughter from my lung,
I would not fear the apple nor the flood
Nor the bad blood of spring.
Shall it be male or female? say the cells,
And drop the plum like fire from the flesh.
If I were tickled by the hatching hair,
The winging bone that sprouted in the heels,
The itch of man upon the baby's thigh,
I would not fear the gallows nor the axe
Nor the crossed sticks of war.
Shall it be male or female? say the fingers
That chalk the walls with greet girls and their men.
I would not fear the muscling-in of love
If I were tickled by the urchin hungers
Rehearsing heat upon a raw-edged nerve.
I would not fear the devil in the ****
Nor the outspoken grave.
If I were tickled by the lovers' rub
That wipes away not crow's-foot nor the lock
Of sick old manhood on the fallen jaws,
Time and the ***** and the sweethearting crib
Would leave me cold as butter for the flies
The sea of scums could drown me as it broke
Dead on the sweethearts' toes.
This world is half the devil's and my own,
Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl
And curling round the bud that forks her eye.
An old man's shank one-marrowed with my bone,
And all the herrings smelling in the sea,
I sit and watch the worm beneath my nail
Wearing the quick away.
And that's the rub, the only rub that tickles.
The knobbly ape that swings along his ***
From damp love-darkness and the nurse's twist
Can never raise the midnight of a chuckle,
Nor when he finds a beauty in the breast
Of lover, mother, lovers, or his six
Feet in the rubbing dust.
And what's the rub? Death's feather on the nerve?
Your mouth, my love, the thistle in the kiss?
My Jack of Christ born thorny on the tree?
The words of death are dryer than his stiff,
My wordy wounds are printed with your hair.
I would be tickled by the rub that is:
Man be my metaphor.
2.2k
Crippled letters of mass destruction
Split my globe in two
A left hemisphere full of right handed clones
A right hemisphere brimming with sweethearts
It's so warm down south
Where fingers search
For life in the bog
Ah, there in the shallows
I found your frog
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
I feel at one with sweethearts
Through the years,
With the wartime lovers
Who went overseas,
All the shattered hearts,
All the rivers of tears,
I feel them all.
Verses of love,
Lovers who must part,
Portraits of love
Worn so very close to the heart,
All the lovers lost,
Loves that never even start,
I feel them all.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 2:01 AM UTC
I have no doubt
that I have seen
what it means to love.
all my life it has surrounded me,
the aura and the action
both entwined as one
divinely-fueled
activity -
both the savor and the sacrifice
of love.
Mother, father,
hear a son rejoicing in the magic
of your love
for me, for all the children
(and their offspring, too)
but more - much more than that,
the love you celebrate today
as man and wife united
in the pattern of Christ's love.
Today is a day of memories,
memories that only two
can share,
memories that span for longer
than the days I've walked
this earth;
memories of love's first gentle stirring,
in the blush of tender youth,
when sweethearts stood with beating
hearts, and eyes spoke more than
words;
memories of longing to break down the miles
between,
to close the distance, holding close,
let come whatever will...
memories of certainty, of love's sweet, calm assurance
in the moment that you knew
without a shadow's doubt
that
"I will always love you"
memories of rings and things, of wedding
preparations,
of whirlwind moments bringing every
detail into orbit;
memories of love itself, the tender,
sweet communion
blessed by God above and fruitful
beyond what man can tell;
memories of love maturing, growing
as you grew,
memories of memories, of standing
strong and true...
these memories are yours alone,
the precious bond you share,
the sacrifice of willingness,
to live for more than you.
Mother, father,
hear a son rejoicing in the magic
of your love
in the strong and steady sacrifice
you've lived out day by day;
one for the other, the other for the one,
and both in heart united
as you seek and serve
the One.
Mother.
Father.
Today you remember the past,
rejoice in the present,
and hope for the future;
and I, from the outside looking in, on lives
so, so well-lived...
...I weep the joyous tears of one who
sees the Savior
in your love.
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC