"untrustable" poems
trust
once you have mine
i have to start over
trust is an addiction
and i'm trying to get sober
the trusted know you the most
and no one really knows me
i can't trust you with my life
because when i'm dead it'll be on me
my secrets are mine
and mine only
to me
trust is a bridge
you know i can cross to your side
but you can't come to mine
because two half's don't make a whole
they make another line
so maybe next time
i don't know why i'm like this
speechless
walking around with four walls around me
leadless
whatever happened to me
to make you untrustable to me
i know
i sorry
it's wrong
though i can't trust you
you can trust me
because i know that i can belong
but i can't let you have my trust
i can't start over
i can't get addicted again
i have to get sober
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
A storm before meant a day inside. But now i can only imagine rain drenched hair and dancing in puddles with my wife. You don’t know what you had until it’s gone…..
Lazy romance is worthless words and actions that are meaningless. The sender is a believer that the receiver is fooled the romance is real and thoughtful. But the rouse can only last as long as her own internal fuse. The truth of the lazy attempts become reality when the going gets tough, but the tough have processed to move on. The scar tissue on her heart knitted by the needle of my skillful hand. A hand trained over time in half heartedly loving her believing that she is feeling more love than the effort I am putting into it. What a realization of how long she stayed around during a season of drought. Thirsting for love from a well that’s been dry for way too long. How can I expect her to go to the same dry well for love after continual trips returning with parched lips. The spring I’ve been holding back has been dammed shut with brick and mortar. But brick becomes dust under the pressure of losing her forever. The love flows out onto the floor because she’s taken her bucket elsewhere for what looks like more. Laced with arsenic, and silent killers the water she’s receiving is deceiving. I am the untrustable dry well though. I have no say into where to find clean water, because I was producing poison once of my own. Even when fresh pure love returns and fills my reservoir it’s too little too late. The wife who longed for this specific well has gone and won’t take the signals to come back. It just looks like bait now, like a trick or a scam. But only if she knew that the dam holding it all back was broken that the water is pure once more.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
i trust you,
i really do.
and i know you have been hurt before, i might not have a clue on what they did
but please.
would you take this chance?
i know everyone is untrustworthy, untrustable,
they can be, and that they can throw you away in the dump, and just glance at you before they leave you.
to only come back again, different.
and i know that you might not trust me back.
but, would you trust someone who wants you to trust him so badly,
that he just doesn't understand why you won't trust him.
i know that isn't me.
but would you, just this time,
to trust in God, after all this time?
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
Your heart seems so unobtainable.
It's not a challenge but rather a command.
My emotions are becoming uncontainable.
Not asking for release but rather demand.
Pressurized and combustible.
A beautiful explosion is imminent.
My head and thoughts are untrustable.
But my heart is omnipotent.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
The heat you can feel on your skin
From the ray of sunshine shining through the window
Warmth that fills you from the inside out
When you laugh so hard that you cry
Moments that you remember
That have lasted throughout the years
Smiles from strangers that
Force a smile upon your own face
Because these moments
Are what make a lifetime
They let you wake up in the morning
Give you motivation to live
Everything is too good to be true
I tell myself they're fake
These people are twisted and untrustable
Memories are unrecognizable
Why are you doing this?
I ask myself, but
I create new moments in my head
Of things that may not be real
But they give me hope
That one day they will no longer be lies
But my wonderful, real, beautiful life
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 11:54 AM UTC
it was a cold winter day when love left
suitcase in hand
messily packed in a rush
never predicting the tragedy of loss she would endure
it was i who was prepared
broken words running endless circles around my mind
suitcase in hand
neat and pristine
i was the tragedy
haunted memories running endless circles around my mind
perfection tainted by the poison seeping deep
surface level loving
digging deeper
how was i to know
this well
was a grave
but oh how perfect love was
a captivating collision of beauty and pain
shards of her
plastering every part of me
but oh how perfect we were
love’s extended visit straight out of a storybook
i was the one to open the door
what cruel trick of fate sanctioned me to close it
to see love was not to know love
but once you knew her
to see her was to see perfection
but for a messy human to see perfection
was nothing more than a road
diverged into a thousand paths
all cursed with the same ending
heartbreak is inevitable in a world of hurt
someone must walk down the road
how tragic that love must bear the burden of others’ self-inflicted pain
constantly giving herself away to those not stable enough to hold her still
oh how perfect she is
how trusting of the untrustable
how caring of the careless
how loving of the unlovable
and how lucky i was to meet love
halfway down the road
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 9:31 PM UTC