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GoldenAmbitionz Jan 2016
I remember those rainy nights when I would lock myself in my room.
Because I didn't want to become a victim of your hurtful words & fits of rage.
Nothing was ever the way it was supposed to be when it came to us.
& maybe it was better that way .
Because in the end everything that was wrong for other people
Was right for us
But I left you
And all that I had ever loved was taken away from me that night.
The long, run out love letters
The high pitched weeping filled voicemails .
It made me realize
That the endless yelling & countless fights
Were all for not .
& all trickled down to one more sweet love song I could no longer sing
Because now
It was no longer in my key.
Nicholas Mar 11
Nipping on earbuds
Frosty crackling intimacy
Voicemails unreturned
The idea of the title of this poem almost being as long as the poem itself amuses me a lot. I feel like it kinda suggests that, more often than not, the stories we tell ourselves about relationships, the content of them, are often much simpler than the labels and titles we associate with them.
Hans Taylor Nov 2018
I’ve more or less had to delete you
Ever since your Facebook wall
Turned memorial
But I still had clothes of yours
Now they live in a thrift store
They’re still there, I checked
Not to bad mouth your fashion sense
I’m just now getting used to
Referring to you
In the past tense
I still tense up when I hear your name
I used to do the same
Whenever you popped up in my contacts
I had to erase you to overcome that
And you were the top one at that
To tell the truth when I near your old place,
I take detours
But I suppose that’s a silly way to do it
Since you don’t live there anymore
And anyway,
I swear I see your face in all kinds of places
The parking lot where we sparked a lot
The back of the park, no lights, a good spot
I'm running out of ways to change the subject
When people ask why I never delete voicemails
About once a year I just feel the need to hear it
And I cry a bit
And I’m lying about the size of the bit that I cry
But never mind that
I hop on Spotify and listen to music
Our favourite songs of the time are hidden
In a secret Spotify playlist that I only play sometimes
Like I need some kind of alibi when I think about you
And I still make excuses, you know that
I never visit you
Sorry about that
It still blows my mind how loud a needle drop can be
When you swap a vinyl disk for a friend’s skin
I can still remember you scratching it
And that one time when you brought up six times
That you wanted to die
I should’ve probably seen the signs
But I didn’t at the time
And now I am frustrated
When newspapers
Quote your name as a cautionary tale
There's a whole lot more to you
Than a convenient warning
About the dangers of drug use
You are my friend -
And there you go, I've done it again
You were my friend
And it makes my teeth clench
When people who will never meet you
Put it down to a lack of strength
A missing backbone
But if you’ve checked my bones lately
You’d find they were mostly empty
I have leaned on so many crutches that they have fused with me
Permanently
And I saw you at role call
For “alive”
Every morning
Until the day you died
Even when you hadn’t heard from your dad in weeks
And I apologise for all the missed calls on my part
One too many
My fault
Mea culpa
Devon Carberry Nov 2018
(2 PM)

I've been insatiably numb for a while.
it's hard to admit that,
being this codependent
is like being on trial.

Vulnerability is not my forte
and breaking your heart wasn't
the Right way
to tell you,

(2 AM)

that I've been listening to your voicemails
from when we were Seventeen
with nothing but Dreams.
now all we have is a few
Conversations that never happened.

'I miss you'
I miss you more

'I love you'
I always will

If you feel broken, imagine pouring the poison.
Sag Nov 2018
I thought the nineties saw the last of leaving voicemails
I thought we left that mess of feelings back at the apartment on that bed
I thought I left your mind as well
I always felt we left too many things unsaid
You toggle back and forth between opening up and closing that chapter
You probably think the same of me
There’s an unparalleled sadness in getting rid of a book you didn’t get to read
Sag Jan 29
It all starts to get a little heavy the longer you hold it.
I'd like to set some things down, free my hands.
Little by little.
Trivial first, then the troubles.

He wore a name tag, which just so happened to rhyme with mine, and after handing him his coffee, he asked what it was.
What compels a stranger to ask for your name?


I feel so vulnerable with my hair pulled up
Exposed..
Like people are peaking at the back of my earlobes through the blinds and I can feel the warmth setting on the nape of my neck like the sun shining through them
I want to wrap my curls around myself and hide..
Fade..



Did you hear the one about the school teacher who won the sweepstakes to be on the space shuttle Challenger, the one that exploded seventy three seconds after take off and disintegrated, littering the ocean with built up promises and reminders, palms holding faces whispering
"don't let fear hold ya back"




Every January people pray that this year, this year!, will be better than the last, and I feel good admitting that none of mine will ever be as bad as the year the girl broke my heart, my parents broke up, and my first semester of college left me broke. Rock bottom was eighteen years old and wishing they would stop coming.





I'm know you still have fantasies about the girl with eyes the color of the plants she nurtures, how maybe she was the one that got away, how you wish she still wrote to you. It's getting easier to brush off as the time grows. I guess everyone has that person, the idea of them never leaves your heart even if the opportunity has.






I have twenty one voicemails I haven't yet listened to and I'm just - not.
I know somewhere at the very bottom, your voice is waiting for me, asking questions you never really cared to hear the answers for.







I have stored memories that I have never once shared with any one because of how badly they hurt me. I try not to carry the repercussions around with me. I try not to worry my future self by sharing the past with my present myself.








I've always been a collector,
of wine corks,
grocery lists,
small cut outs from magazines,
of sparse compliments you give in passing,
I hold on to every one and still wonder if you think I'm pretty.
I'm still trying to figure out
why I don't accept them in the moment,
how to.










Words come as easily as sleep these days,
usually not at all.
I try to quiet my breath and stop the sniffles so that you don't worry about me, mostly unsuccessfully.
I am always curious as to why sometimes, you'd rather not know what troubles my mind.
Don't ask, don't tell.










I'll let you quietly love, if that's the language you know.











Do you check up on me like you do with her?
Search for my name,
hear my name
with the same ring to it.
I know I said earlier that it's getting easier to deal with the fact that you still have this looming ******* love for her but you know what, it's not.
Not at all.









Sometimes I feel like I'm seventy three seconds away from exploding, disintegrating, littering the world with my broken promises,
the reminder of my failure to survive the pressure.









But don't feel bad.
and don't ask, I won't tell.
I'll let you love silently, if that's the language you know.
I promise I'm not as emo as I sound ??????
Maybe I am ????
We always have
Black and White conversation

You made
every beep,
and voice calls,
a lovely music.

I made love to you in keyboards,
voicemails were kisses from you,
I loved you in a different screen

your name has always been
an invitation of excitement.

Messenger was like a book;
We were the characters
writing our own story.

— The End —