"wanned" poems - Hello Poetry

thing is;  i never wanned to admit it, but,  i did miss you,  you just hurt me a lot i don’t give a **** about your drunken texts,  or phone calls, for god sake,  you wreck everything,  you’re so ******* fake don’t you dare blame me,  this is on you,  i’m finally free,  of ********  yeah i finally broke through thing is;  **** you, for getting up and leaving.

0

Dec 20, 2014

Dec 20, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC

satelles

wrecking love

thing is;  i never wanned to admit it, but,  i did miss you,  you just hurt me a lot i don’t give a **** about your drunken texts,  or phone calls, for god sake,  you wreck everything,  you’re so ******* fake don’t you dare blame me,  this is on you,  i’m finally free,  of ********  yeah i finally broke through thing is;  **** you, for getting up and leaving.

4

Similar feelings have never arisen in this body. I am filled in my core with electric Wishing Washing, Cascading, lightly up through my center, up through my chest With in me, are waves of unexplainable. Tides of Ecstasy, moving. Laughing, crying waves of emotion. The music touches me, the thought of silence touches me You touch me. I see the sky and I feel the wind, and God Touches me. and I am filled with ecstasy. How could I ever lose sight of a feeling so true A light that is so bright shining at me from you A son in the sky A quarter till two An Eternal life A Half wanned Moon And when the Stars pulse I surge and when the Sky speaks, I learn and when You touch me I feel and when I Breathe deep I can tell you everything thats wrong, Who knows whats real, who knows whats real

0

Mar 24, 2017

Mar 24, 2017 at 6:54 AM UTC

When he asked her What made her do it, what pushed her to such a dark place The well of excuses she had used a thousand dried up from her lips ground to a halt “It was the only way to feel good, an addiction I couldn't help I needed to do something.” But nothing she said could fix her mistakes Under his loving eyes she squirmed in her nightgown thin fabric hiding the scars of a not so distant past “I don’t understand, why would you hurt yourself so much?” His words hit her and her guilt bubbled up black anger and black words. “It’s not a big deal. It’s over. I’ll never do it again. Keep out of my business.” And the conversation closed. But demons are not so easily slayed and fears, the all consuming darkness, not so easily assuaged. Three weeks he was gone, not to be back till the sixth and yet on the fifth late in the night he came three white roses in hand ruby red lines painted her thighs, guilty tears painted her forced smile Bad timing or good? She knew he would yell He couldn’t understand, wouldn’t understand blame he had yet to lay hands clinched for rejection But he pulled her close suit soaking up the red absorbing her pain clinging to her desperately “I don’t want to lose you.” voice raw with love “I don’t understand, so help me too” It was enough for her. The wall she hand built with such bitter care shattered, she shook crying past temptations away hours wanned, he treated her wounds, wound up with her on white sheets, tangled together, holding her as she spoak Baring her soul to her swain she talked until her voice was raw until the stars faded, and her burden was lighter than she had thought possible And after that night two become closer, every jagged edge known by the other. They lived for each other breathed for another Another time, she could pull herself out of bed she could open her eyes and wonder, with that elusive curiosity, what the day would show her And the darkness of that endless night could not push through the twining of their limbs and the knotting of their souls

0

Nov 14, 2014

Nov 14, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC

laura-gray

Knotting Souls

When he asked her What made her do it, what pushed her to such a dark place The well of excuses she had used a thousand dried up from her lips ground to a halt “It was the only way to feel good, an addiction I couldn't help I needed to do something.” But nothing she said could fix her mistakes Under his loving eyes she squirmed in her nightgown thin fabric hiding the scars of a not so distant past “I don’t understand, why would you hurt yourself so much?” His words hit her and her guilt bubbled up black anger and black words. “It’s not a big deal. It’s over. I’ll never do it again. Keep out of my business.” And the conversation closed. But demons are not so easily slayed and fears, the all consuming darkness, not so easily assuaged. Three weeks he was gone, not to be back till the sixth and yet on the fifth late in the night he came three white roses in hand ruby red lines painted her thighs, guilty tears painted her forced smile Bad timing or good? She knew he would yell He couldn’t understand, wouldn’t understand blame he had yet to lay hands clinched for rejection But he pulled her close suit soaking up the red absorbing her pain clinging to her desperately “I don’t want to lose you.” voice raw with love “I don’t understand, so help me too” It was enough for her. The wall she hand built with such bitter care shattered, she shook crying past temptations away hours wanned, he treated her wounds, wound up with her on white sheets, tangled together, holding her as she spoak Baring her soul to her swain she talked until her voice was raw until the stars faded, and her burden was lighter than she had thought possible And after that night two become closer, every jagged edge known by the other. They lived for each other breathed for another Another time, she could pull herself out of bed she could open her eyes and wonder, with that elusive curiosity, what the day would show her And the darkness of that endless night could not push through the twining of their limbs and the knotting of their souls

72

They were wrapped in anything they could find. The wind biting at them, as the rain pelted every layer of cloth they had swaddled themselves in. It was difficult to remember what brought them there in the first place. To this monument of forgotten men and monsters. Once upon a time they would gather, all their materials put together in the center of the room, as the game went on. It was always the same game in those sepia toned days. Now they stand there, trying to cry for a fallen friend, but unable to fight back the betrayal in their hearts. Their words were hollow ,their strength had wanned. The rain mingled with the dirt. They had once discovered the fairer *** Hormone driven conversations about the lurid things they would do if ever given the chance. Caught up in the notion that *** was somehow life. Somehow it would make them men. Men now stood where there should have been boys. Only days ago they were children. How could it be misread so badly? They assumed that growing up was going to be slow, and fueled by wild nights and the women who would come and go. Now, in the rain stained world they find themselves in as men, it only took mutual tragedy. When we were children we used to pull the blankets up to our chins. Repeating the same tired mantras again and again, the more we can repeat it, the more it will ring of truth. “I'm alone in this room. There is no such thing as monsters.”

0

Feb 27, 2010

Feb 27, 2010 at 3:15 AM UTC

paul-glottaman

Monsters.

They were wrapped in anything they could find. The wind biting at them, as the rain pelted every layer of cloth they had swaddled themselves in. It was difficult to remember what brought them there in the first place. To this monument of forgotten men and monsters. Once upon a time they would gather, all their materials put together in the center of the room, as the game went on. It was always the same game in those sepia toned days. Now they stand there, trying to cry for a fallen friend, but unable to fight back the betrayal in their hearts. Their words were hollow ,their strength had wanned. The rain mingled with the dirt. They had once discovered the fairer *** Hormone driven conversations about the lurid things they would do if ever given the chance. Caught up in the notion that *** was somehow life. Somehow it would make them men. Men now stood where there should have been boys. Only days ago they were children. How could it be misread so badly? They assumed that growing up was going to be slow, and fueled by wild nights and the women who would come and go. Now, in the rain stained world they find themselves in as men, it only took mutual tragedy. When we were children we used to pull the blankets up to our chins. Repeating the same tired mantras again and again, the more we can repeat it, the more it will ring of truth. “I'm alone in this room. There is no such thing as monsters.”

44