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Amanda Feb 2018
If I could turn back time
I would hit Backspace all day,
Id put on Caps Lock
and SHOUT what I say.

I'd use the whole Alphabet
To tell you hello,
Press seven Numbers
Til you picked up the phone.

I'd Tab through the comments
I didn't want to hear,
And use the Arrow Keys
To drag your body near.

I would Delete the harsh words
I didn't mean to speak,
And Insert the "I love yous"
I before couldn't leak.

I would use Ctrl to
Keep reigns over my heart,
And I would Escape lies
That tore us apart.

I'd Print out your photo
And kiss it goodnight,
Use the Calculator
To check that we were right.

I'd Paint you a picture
of us, you and me,
Then I'd hit Enter
Just so you would see.

Those are the things
I would do in my strife,
If only Backspace
worked in real life.
This is the first poem (that I have a copy of) i wrote that I actually thought was good. I was in seventh grade, twelve years old, and I wrote it for a newspaper competition. I knew it was really great but I didn't think I would beat all other applicants in the state in my age group. So you can imagine my surprise I'm sure when I DID win! That is the first time I was proud of my writing. So this one has a lot of special sentimental value. Thanks for reading.
Camila Nov 2014
Spanish

Creo que no he sido lo suficientemente clara contigo,
tal vez no entiendes cuando te digo que te quiero.  
Pero te quiero, aunque no suene asi.
Mis te quiero se escuchan como *buenos días
,
duerme bien, te ves muy guapo hoy.
Mis te quiero se sienten,
cuando te acaricio el pelo,
cuando te rozo con las yemas de los dedos,
cuando te acomodo el cuello de la camisa,
cuando te beso un hombro entre risas.
Mis te quiero no se dicen,
se muestran en las horas que paso arreglandome para ti,
en las noches se me han ido escribiendote,
en el remolino que siento dentro cuando llamas para decir que ya vienes.
Mis te quiero no son directos,
pero estan presentes en todo momento,
y si mi boca no te lo dice con palabras
te lo dice en cada beso.
Pero si no es suficiente para ti,
permite que te lo diga, de frente,
sin dejar lugar a dudas.
Te quiero.

English

I believe I haven´t been clear enough with you,
maybe you don´t understand when I tell you I love you.
I know I haven´t been direct,
and you are not a man that goes in circles.
But I love you, even if that´s not how it sounds.
My I love yous sound like good morning,
sleep well, you look handsome today.
My I love yous are not seen by everyone,
they are felt when I caress your hair,
when I touch your fingertips,
when I fix the collar of your shirt,
when I kiss your shoulder between laughs.
My I love yous are not said,
they show in the hours I spend getting ready for you,
in the nights that have passed me by while writing for you,
in the twister I feel inside when you call to say you are on your way.
My I love yous are not straight,
but every moment they are there,
and if my mouth doesn´t tell you with words
it tells you with every kiss.
but if it´s not enough for you, let me tell you,
face to face, with no place for doubt,
I love you.
RM.
I haven´t written in spanish in a long time and out of nowhere this poem started like that, I love it in spanish, not so much in English, I translated it here just because I wanted everyone to understand it.
aviisevil May 2014
***, why do you have to speak like that?



It's not about who I am, you piece of worthless ****, why don't you understand?
I am basically undestructible, invincible  sexier version of Superman, and I don't got no moral ******' codes to keep me from beating your ugly *** up all over the I-don't-give-a-**** wonder land
But I know you'll take a stand, your every failed attempt is killin' me, are you ******' kidding me, you know how it'll turn out for you, oh danm!
Now I gotta' explain it to you, that annihilating you is a part of my ******' plan and you can take all of my '**** yous' , call the poetry protection people and try to sue, but i'll **** even harder than a ******' rock band, it's all your ******' fault, you pull the trigger and out comes a '****'- BAM, I know you're not a fan, but lemme ask you, what's your age my sweet gran, I know I include you too often,but why aren't you in a coffin, why do you keep poppin around, stoppin me from talkin about my feelings, you ******' *****, imma introduce you to my lil' freind, brings-you-the-end-uncle sam and he'll **** out all the oil, leave you to boil, in the sand, I hope you understand, this is important, and i'll say a '****' again, for no reason, have a short attention span, can't you see a ******* gettin' a ***** on my hand, I wonder how long will it be stayin and so, you were sayin' ?


Why do you cuss so much, *******?


I ain't gonna' feed you no crap, you have my '**** yous' and I just want 'em back, I swear I won't even set a trap, to count how many knives you have on your back, go ahead spill the blood, embrace the dirt, be the first to stab, just then don't stop me, when I start to blab, go mad, be bad, and be the contender, in line for your hardest slap, being a repeated offender, I tell you, it's the most fun i ever had, it's not the vocabulary that I lack, it's just every time I read about your ******' butterflies and sun-light I go mad, so you take your stuff, all of it, all of your hatin' and waitin' for takin' a jibe at the next '****' and stuff it all inside your bag, go ahead be on your way, now, ******' pack, or I swear they'll find your corpse, in the parking lot, where you sacrificed the young folks, and covered all their '*******' tracks, and i'll wait here for you, plannin' my next ******' attack, I know all these cussing and abusing has made you sad, but why don't you just ignore me, does it turns you on, when I shoot one after one '****' in the sack, do you really think putting your food out in the open  makes sense in a bachelor pad , I know my metaphors aren't funny, but it'll make a very sick man somewhere crack, and when everything's been said and done, i'll leave ****** karma to kick you in your hypocrite ***, there I said it, '*******' I swear this one's the last, for it may seem i'm just a punk for usin' it but you're confusin' ****, and there goes the answer to your question you just asked.


*******!
Notes (optional)
M Clement Mar 2013
I
"I never thought," said
She awaiting responses
I cared none at all
II
Bring about all change
Said the women in the hats
Voting for switched thoughts
III
Irreversible
Unexplained, mispoken thoughts in
Slightly elder speech
IV
Steampunk, take old junk
Make them into something grand
The robotic hand
V
If I were asian
I'd eat my cultural food
In Panda Express
VI
Ironic, lightly
Grazing lions on the grass
The Antelope hunt
VII
Haikus for all yous
Travelling down the dirt roads
Win Sobriety
VIII
**** jokes take folks and
Make them into prudes, so rude,
But I keep joking
IX
I'm at nine, can't stop
I'll keep writing till the drop
Of the pen runs dry
X
I pay no heed to
All the words said by Sifu
I am poor student
I figured, why not try haikus.
LN Jun 18
See for yourself
As the beauty bleeds blue,
The spark long gone
From the gaze lingering on you.
Her smile doesn't touch
Her eyes that once twinkled
As she pastes it on to pretend
On a face bruised and wrinkled.
"I'm happy" She says,
Filling the world with her excuses
While she pulls on her sleeves
Enough to cover her bruises.
A low groan settles
In the depth of her throat
Recalling the horrors
Of being used and left to rot.
"Reminders" She calls them
The blank "I love yous" She gets to hear
Of the man that you are
And the pain she has to bear
Yet she keeps mum
For the small reminders in her head,
Smiling at the monster
That lives on her bed.
This is about domestic violence.
It really breaks my heart how even after so many fights and revolutions to empower women and humanity, we stand at square one where domestic violence is still very much prevalent in the society.
Let love's sunset into my heart
With sullen greys tinged in pink
With last rays of warmth
Before there comes the chill

Let the last breath of fulfillness
Ease around my heart
Take away the sunny memories
Softly as the light fades away

Fading fast empty embraces
And kisses that have no taste
As softly whispered I love yous
Fall into the Atlantic sea

Come nightness surround now
My empty heart
Console my ache and care
So come now , sunset of my heart
Hannah Johnson Apr 2011
this life is taken for granted

with harsh words and

heavy hearts of unforgiveness,

unappreciative thank yous

and too many

i love yous

left unsaid.

and we never really realize.

too many of us

never

really

realize.
Lyra Brown Nov 2012
Your words, so pretty they enter
My brain and flood it with dopamine butterflies
Triggering thoughts and memories and I missyous and I love yous and
I hate yous and where are yous and I want yous but I cannot
Digest them anymore. I refuse them. I cannot do not believe them for more than
A few seconds.
Even now, I train myself to cringe. I train myself to deny. Reject. Avoid.
Love, a temporary season for you to give me
I am nothing more than one of the many melting ice cubes down your shirt.
I am melting,
Melting. I am
The puddle at your feet
You are knee-deep in spewing your
Words are what I longed for, for so many years
Had I had them then I might have swallowed them thoughtlessly.
Now I am closed up. Afraid. Your words are tempting yet
Your actions piercing evermore. I seem to attract people of the most intense,
Most compassionate, most real, most ****** up.
Most likely to be inconsistently there. Your fire breathing words melt me
I am
Melting
Melting
I am
Nothing
More than
The puddle at your feet, it's growing now
You are knee-deep in it
Jon Martin Dec 2013
Time crumbles over the years, eroding
under the weight of "I should have been
theres", and "backwhens", and "I miss
yous". And, as it erodes, it leaves the
bittersweet smell of what was, complete
with a little taste of memory on the back
of your tongue that will never quite go away...
Apparently, I wrote this in my sleep. I hate it when I do that.
t Jan 2015
I wondered if I was too soft, too pliable, to bendable, to breakable

I wondered if my sensitiveness would be better served on a censorship list

if it would be better to weather my own emotions until they eroded

a road not known to be so gentle

because when you're always spoken to like a mistake

it starts to be the only thing you can taste and you end up feeling less like great and more like pain

my mother swears that I am the air that she breathes

so when they diagnosed her, I hope the doctors didn't blame it on her environment

and when my friends would talk about that chick and wanna bone her

 bone would carry me back to the skeletons in my closet

while they were only concerned about getting in between that girls hips, when they ***** her

              I wanted to be that girls hips, the bones inside of her

                    because without me she couldn't move alone

                                   and without her heartbeat

                                           I'd just be bones

I can't tell you how many times my friend Maddy was battered up on   homeless plate

but we still dug out love

she was rocked quite often, but was one hell of a mountain climber

she payed a hefty price to wear his fists, and they were the most expensive eye makeup I've ever seen

when my friends would brag about how many lamp shades they would look under in their room, how many metaphorical lamps laid on the nightstand surrounding their bed

my mother always said if I let them shine in my mind, I wouldn't need not even one night stands

    I hold them high

                   spell a woman

                                a woman is a
                         man
                   on
            wo

and you can still be fly if you land on one

disrespect them, and we're kicking dirt on the land from which we all grow

while most guys are treating the inside like a candy store, I found that all the getting inside in the world don't matter until you feel like you've found your golden rapper

while most guys are wishing that girl is blind enough to see their ulterior motives

they've forgotten most women have super powers

all they see are invisible men, and I wanted to make her feel my words like brail to the unseen

I wanted to bring life to those frozen in time words once told to her

because those 'I love yous' and 'I miss yous' from her exes were paralyzed from the neck down

they were just trying to get ahead, and once alive, need oxygen to live

and sooner or later she was only living to breathe life into those words, and I wanted to breathe life back into her

my mother taught me things

she said, just because someone before you  

                             spent time in her boiler room
    
                                 doesn't mean they turned

                                              the heat on

she said, no matter who smashed you make sure you love that girl to pieces

a girl's past is like cremated ash, it's been lived already

my mother said, kisses are like stitches, they heal all wounds as long as they don't remain hidden in a bottom right corner of special occasion birthday cards

       because every kiss does not begin with k, they begin with lips

                                         and so does every life

                       It's time for us guys to start

                 respecting where

         we came

    from.
Isabel Jimenez Jan 2015
my 3 am thoughts wander the night and find you,
but then i realize that your love was never mine
but to that girl who are your 3 am thoughts
And who you now tell that you've been waiting for her
since the crack of dawn to the break of day
because i'm sitting here in the pouring rain
and you don't even seem to take notice
because while your saying those i miss yous and i love yous to her
i think about the time when those i miss yous and i love yous once belonged to me
And that they slipped like water through my fingers
the empty spaces between my fingers
linger where yours use to fill
and fit so perfectly like puzzle pieces
because i'm still stuck on you
coming on to day two, soon comes week three
after that month four, when will this torture end
Don't read this in pursuit of love, happiness or inspiration
I do write this for your admiration.
So I say this once, dont be disgusted nor discouraged by what you see here below
Away stricken with anger I go. . .

Id like to take a second to say ******* you and you
For its because of three yous that this anger ensues
I'd tried to endure it, I tried to be nice
I've now heard it not once but 3 x twice

If you have something to to say keep inside
Otherwise shut the **** up and strap in for a ride
I'm not keen nor willing to find another love
But hey what the hell we'll give him a shove

No other love will ever be better than hers
Dont need no more ******* saboteurs
I will do as I please, and love who I like
Pushy *** know-better-than-yous I thoroughly dislike

So I'll say it now and again and again
From all that stupid *** ******* I'd ask you to refrain
Now thanks for the pathetic waste of time
Didn't know taking back someone was such a ******* *crime
Yeah? So I dumped her cause things weren't working out. You think cause you've heard a bit about my relationship you're an expert on what it's like? Come of it. . .
I left a girl I felt I was doing no good, but you see she wasn't ready to admit it was my fault so little by little she won my heart back
But of course your overflowing ego caused you to miss that part.
Typical.
As soon as I'd left I was right where I belonged, in the comfort of my partner who I was destined to be with. Frankly shes sweeter, kinder, funnier and somehow prettier than ever
So ******* you and you for thinking we were through
Hayleigh Apr 2014
For as sure as the moon will rise,
Will i look into those eyes of yours every single day, and tell you i love you.
DieingEmbers Nov 2012
Laid here counting roof tiles...

two at a time

my eyes heavy
but my lids in denial
of sleep

she whispers in my ear

are you awake
then adds
good
with a grin

WHY NOT abandon one basic need
for another
why not rest
upon anothers flesh
soft and warm
scented with the promise
of dreams
insomnia so cruely denies

Pillow pressed beneath her back
giving support
so sorely needed
amid the punctuated night time prayers

God called upon in blasphemous tongues
praised and cussed
in unison of mouths wet and open

Sheets that offer no warmth soon cast off
replaced by heat of breath
and perspiration sweet and salty
to the lips
kissing
nibbling
biting
nails find no fault inscribing thank yous
in reddened ink

Falling back exhausted yet wide awake
as by my side
cuddled in she sleeps
smiling

and I close my eyes and think myself blessed
for every night the first
for we two
have yet to sleep
together.
The scars.
I am covered in them.
The burns
The cuts
The scratches
The bruises
The peeled off  flesh and nails.
They are my t r e a s u r e s.
They show all of the battles inside of my head that I have lost.
They show all of the anger, pain, depression, envy, remorse, guilt, shame, insanity, emptiness, boredom, and tiredness I feel.
They show all of the words I am afraid to say.
They hold all of the I l o v e yous, I h a t e yous, I n e e d yous, and I feel
your p a i n s that I am afraid to even t h i n k at times.
They peek out from underneath my clothing and they rub against everything, reminding me that I am indeed alive and that I am indeed h u m a n.
They show all of the times I've screamed
Been alone
Been scared
Cried
Wanted to die
Had no one to be there
Wanted to stab someone and bash their brains in
Wanted to d i s s a p e a r into t h i n  a i r
Even though they remind me of some of the awful memories,
Being reminded of these memories and the lessons I have learned only makes me
s t r o n g e r
Whatever cruel entity, god, goddess, deity of any kind, gave me this cruel life thank you
You have made me wise
You make me think about how I am not the only person with these problems and how others have worse
But also *******  y o u for hurting so many innocent people and corrupting their
o n c e  p u r e  m i n d s
I will live with my scars and probably add more but I will always think of the cruel fates of others and how cruel the world truly is.
I will think of how grateful I am to have lived and how grateful I am to have not have gotten worse than what I have.
Thank you, you ******* life for showing me the right path
©LogenMichel copyright 2014
If George Clooney were a fisherman
would Amal have taken the bait?
If Angelina had been a char
Brad would have given her a tip
or maybe the slip
and that would'a been it.
If Montgomery were disguised as a ***
Alice would go home when her shift was done.
If your boyfriend worked down the sewer
would you go all the way down for the cure?

Do ya think Melania would'a said I Do
if he couldn't afford his daily hair-do?
Set for life or a set up for a life of strife
at the house of white?
Would Tiger be putting more *****
if Wood's be zipping it all the way up?

How many wolves in sheep's attire
get through the BS detection without
as much as an ounce of rejection?
How many I Love Yous slip down the loo
only to end up at the other end of the grand sue?

How many roses does it take to say it
when you no longer can locate it?
Makes ya yawn doesn't it!

Still we're all chomping at the bit.
Would risk it all for just one more hit,
a total hissin' fit
of the I Love Yous.
Irony, duality, myth, reality versus fairy tale, romantic love, conditional love,
zoie marie lynn Aug 2018
hi my name is broken and
i once caught my father using all his teeth hands lip and tongue on a woman that was not his own
outside my bedroom window,
i spent the night trying to convince myself that
love is real love is real love is real
because after that i wasn’t ever really sure.

hi my name is survivor and
i was once a punching bag for my stepfathers anger and houses in the country will forever terrify me
all because of a random man and his prying fingers and his sticky gum,
and then there’s this third set of bones and dark flesh that made me so afraid of my own skin i had to tell myself
i am beautiful i am beautiful i am beautiful
because hate and death wasn’t my only option.

hi my name is butterfly and
i once broke every bone in my body falling so hard for a girl with the loveliest voice i’ve ever heard but she had other bodies underneath her
thick brown belt
she wouldn’t let herself feel all the things i felt,
i spent thanksgiving in a mental hospital chanting over and over
i am lovable i am lovable i am lovable
because without even trying, she had managed to convince me that i wasn’t.

hi my name is destroyer and
i chose water over blood because blood burned and drowned and buried me ten feet down all at the same time and i didn’t want to die because of them
anymore
i split in half all the walls and windows and doors to my home,
i needed to do and be what was best for me so i told myself again and again
i’m not alone i’m not alone i’m not alone
because all i felt was the aftermath of being the very thing that broke up my home.

hi my name is lover and
i tend to give too much of me way too quickly because i don't fall in love, i dive with feet facing the sky, head towards the concrete
and i wonder how i end up being so broken and incomplete
so i wound up all the glue and all the tape,
i muttered over and over in between each breath
fate isn't fake fate isn't fake fate isn't fake
because my heart always seemed to pound a few beats behind, a few beats too late.

hi my name is suicide and
i stepped in front of trains and bullets and knives and i hate yous and you’re nothings all looking for a father that
never really wanted me
he broke my throne, i cut more than just my hair, i no longer want to be here,
and i screamed at the top of my lungs because
it’s worth it it’s worth it it’s worth it
it just doesn’t feel like it anymore.
it's been such a long time, i don't feel the same.
hide me on your mind
hit me at your heart
beneath our skin
beyond our sky

blowing thru move
sounding true love
try me in your find
lost me into yous

heart’*****
mind’s hide

above
  mean
    wide
      bluesssssss
I'd like to know about the grammatical correctness of this poem, once I don't pratice english regularly. Thanks for comments!

© Rafael Alvarenga Stella 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from the author and/or owner of this material is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Rafael Alvarenga Stella with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
Caitlin Jun 2018
In the in-between stage where there is just enough alcohol in my veins to try and convince me that what we had was good.
The sweet spot.
Too little or too much and all I see is the problems and why it ended in goodbye,
but here-
here I see “hey princess”-
all the “I love yous”
“I’d do anything for you”
“You’re worth it, no matter the cost”
and I know in an hour or two I’ll be thinking clearly again-
but **** right now-
I know why I stayed for so long.
I’m tipsy and we’re flirting again and I’m sorry.
There is a place between a relationship
and just friends

A place just past friends with benefits, but
still a few blocks from a relationship

Its saying cute and silly things
with only a hint of actual meaning

Its smiling at your message
but knowing you only half way mean it

Its staying up until 2 am to talk,
and not regretting it in the morning

Its unspoken I Love Yous
replaced by
I like you,
but not enough.
rebekah Mar 2017
for years i let my unmet needs
your mistakes
her words
his inaction


other ****

prevent me from feeling me
i carried it all with me
like a snake carries its dinner, for too long

and you can see it, others could see it
and it is not a pleasurable sight
and it fermented inside of me

rotted

became venom

and i, the snake, got low
hunted for prey
and sunk my teeth into the weak

(were they weak or did they see something in me that i couldn’t see myself?)

leaving them lifelessly disposed to my whim and fancy
i was empty
because of you and all the others and the society which tells me to just take it

don’t feel don’t heal

in the face of the prey struck with the venom of the hurt another wave of self-loathing hit
a new flavor.
don’t **** with me, i’d say i can’t feel

there are so many yous in me (there are yous in all of us)

eventually i couldn’t hold it anymore
and my gut, cleared of venom
but starved of healing

filled with rage

rage that held more space for love than hate
can you believe it?
i grew into a rage that is righteous

righteous

i want you to know that you were wrong
that you ****** up
that it was not ok, we are not ok

holding space

but i also want you to know that it is bigger than you
it is bigger than me
harm harms harmed people and harms the people who harm.

that’s it, that’s the world we live in

i wanna talk to the yous
to tell them about the hurt
about the venom, about the rage

but our culture has a tragic case of delusion

you are hurting me! The yous say
you are attacking my self-worth!
I can’t handle this! I am afraid of your truths!

i am trying to love you & me

righteous rage means being there in solidarity to call out harm when it happens
knowing that calling out harm causes harm
and not getting angry, because healing is a long process.

i don’t carry that snake or its venom anymore

i practice healing and righteous rage
i don’t trust the yous ((we can’t yet))
i trust the process

& am free

“you are beautiful, the gods wait to delight in you”
Mary Velarde Jun 2018
Nobody ever talks about how the rain turns soil into mud;
how precaution tangoes
on the soles of your rain boots and
one misstep could lead to a concussion;
damage,
or a little scrape on the knee.
Nobody ever talks about
how caged birds sometimes forget
how to fly.
Mundane gestures marinated
as “special”
instead of something one ought to do.
He’s forgotten how to make her laugh.
When he says “baby”,
she could almost hear the anchor
pulling down the sincerity
in his voice box
along with the word “sorry”
and “sweetie, im never gonna hurt you again”
where his voice begin to crack
like tectonic plates that supported his
ego—
when he says “i love you”
nobody ever talks about the barriers
on beds and ******* and fetishes
to which the extent
of the phrase lies—
His i love yous were starting
to sound like a beg for ***
and his i love yous fade out
when he gets what he wants.

He gets what he wants.
Cheryl Mukherji Sep 2014
If you ever fall in love with a writer,
Your days will be musical
The nights will have their own song
Not anymore will you look at things as regular-
The trees will seem to give you more than just shade,
The sunlight will trickle down on your skin
Bouncing off the window pane
The wind will do a waltz through your hair
Your eyes will carry the universe in them
All the things will not be the same again.

If you ever fall in love with a writer
I don’t promise that it will be easy
For, writers can be insane sometimes
What good is love if you don’t jump off sanity?
They are forgettful. Terribly so.
They will not remember anniversaries
Or to buy tickets for your favourite show
But, they will never forget how you smell after a bath,
The colour of your eyes,
Thoughts of you will never escape their mind.

Writers can be clumsy,
They will trip over their own shabby scattered notes,
Spill the ink onto a fresh piece of poem
But, the way their fingers will trace stories on your bare skin,
And how they will carefully settle
The baby hair on your forehead before kissing,
Will seem to you as their finest work.

If you ever fall in love with a writer,
They will never tell you how much
They love you back until,
Your absence makes it hard for them to breathe,
Makes you more of necessity.
They will, then, hold your hand,
Close their eyes
And cry like they have already lost you;
The tears will spread over their face
Like delicate words on paper,
With each one rolling down their cheek
Their clutch of you will grow tighter.
It is when they open their eyes,
Look at you as a miracle in disguise,
That each part of their soul will sing
To you their love
And the million “I love yous” you wrote to them
Will not be enough.

If you ever fall in love with a writer,
Kiss them in the stormy rain,
Drive them to a distant place
They have never been to,
And watch carefully their expressions change,
Build them sand castles
And let the tides wash it away,
Don’t buy them flowers
On Valentine’s day.

For every blown out candle,
every Mazel Tov,
every turn of the tassel,
you gift-wrap what a writer dreads most: blank pages.
It’s never a notebook we need.
If we have a story to tell,
an idea carbonating past the brim of us,
we will write it on our arms, thighs, any bare meadow of skin.
In the absence of pens,
we will repeat our lines deliriously like the telephone number
of a parting stranger
until we become the craziest one on the subway.

If you really love a writer,
find a gravestone of someone who shares their name and take them to it.
When her door is plastered with an eviction notice, do not offer your home.
Say I Love You, then call her the wrong name.
If you really love a writer,
bury them in all your awful and watch as they scrawl their way out.

If you sincerely love a writer,
They will carry you inside them
Till you are all they remain,
Hold you like the glint in their eyes
If a writer falls in love with you,
You can never die.
Harold r Hunt Sr Aug 2014
Slang Or common talk
Yay all knows that peoples talk funny
If yous are from the south.
They cut off the lights and jaw jack alls night long.
If youns need to find something.
We cans find it down the road a piece or maybe over yawner.
So if you think I talk funny or in slang.
You alls need to catch the seconds of taters and grits and pig fat.
You alls come back now you hear.
And yes bring granny and the boys well have a shing dig.
A 1st PLACE AWARD WINNER
"Say, whus tha good wurd, Mista Mornin Bird?"
"Ahh, ya know just chillin here singin these here tunes waitin fah Mista Worm."
"Ahh dat Mista Worm - he alwayz be runnin late."
"True dat!”
”Yo! peep this...
Last night he took his ol girl out on a date."
''A date? Really? Mistah Worm?”
"Yup.
But it getz betta tho.
It wuz dare anniversary. Ol fool went to tha chapel an got married."
"MARRIED!!??"
"mmhmm."
"Where dey get married?"
"At dare special spot in tha apple orchard.
Mistah worm told me he and hiz girl are movin to the Big Apple.”
“Big Apple? Fah what?”
“He gunna work fah tha East New York Farms.  I guess hiz uncle Jim
got him in.”
“…Mista Worm…”

"Say, howz Mista Skunk doin?  He evah get clean?"
"I dont see much of him theez dayz.  Heard heez down on his luck. Evah since tha paper mill closed he aint been tha same.  Heez so stressed out he got mo white hairz than a polar bear.”
“Dammmnnn!!!”
”Sumone told me that heez a nasty lil ol drunk wit a funky attitude and a quick tempa!
No wunda hiz wife leftem.
My understandin iz he still outta work - rummigin through peoples junk - collectin cans, tryin to make a buck.
Itz a **** shame, aint it?"
"Uh huh."

"Howz Mista Rabbit?"
"Miiiista Rabbit! Oohh dat Mista Rabbit he dunn got himself a nasty habbit."
"Whys dat?"
"He be stealin outta Mizz Jonsens garden again.
Otha day Mizz Jonsen shooed him away chasin him down tha block wit a pair of ol rusty scissors in her hand."
"Scissors!!??"
"Yup. She told him next time he wont be so lucky wit out hiz foot."
"WHUT!!??  Whus dat suppose da mean?"
"I dunno.”
"Dat Mizz Jonsen gone crazy!!
She dunn lost her mind in her ol age.
She crazier than a ******* rat!
Man, when Mista Rabbit gunna learn?”
"I guess when he haz no foot."

"Say, you talk to Mista Squirrel at all?"
“Itz been sum time.”
“How wuz he doin?”
"Man, you know Mistah Squirrel.  He wuz all ova da place, or at least he wuz.  He alwayz be jumpin from one tree to tha next, alllllwayz tryin to get a nut or two.  Last I heard he got deported and now lives in anotha county.”
“Why iz dat?”
“He dunn got locked up fah breakin in a few too many attics. They finally caught him....Stoopid fool."
''****…”

"Nuff about tha neighbahood.  How you been?  Havent seen you inna while."
"Im still doin my thang, ya know.
Roamin from town ta town, chasin down tail."
"Yous still chillin in dem alleys too?"
"Fa sho!"
"Man, aint a **** thang changed wit chu.
Yous alwayz been a cool cat...”
susan Dec 2014
you
sitting here
thinking of all the yous i have had
there was you number one
the special you
who made me blossom
you number two
who took me away from
you number one
you number three
who brought me back to
you number one
you number four
who i can't remember
and all the yous after that
who blur together
except you number
   fifteen
you were that extra special you
because you promised me
life happily ever after
but you ended up leading me to
you number sixteen
and all the yous hence forth
which were only time fillers
and carnal desire necessities
none of yous mattered
until the last you arrived
and you were the one
who made me think
i will never have a you
again.
Alin Jan 2016
I dated two robots yesterdays
Both were programmed to service me well
We did things
In the same
good old  
learned order
of doing things
And after sunset
we kissed
at the beach
With one -
our feet touching
With the other -
our view inviting
the rush of salty waves
Alas
Both robots could suddenly
not speak
One even bluffed
he had a virus in throat
AI intelligence?!
jaa ha ha
The other was hanging just with
With variations of
what do you feels
Tell me your fantasy s
‘Don't think
tell me whatever comes first’ s

And
I believe
And
I say
But
Mine is what he can't understand
His’ is
I think a drink on the beach
But unfortunately I don't drink
Using coconut biotica only
These days
Ahhahhaa
...
While they chatted so well!
Without any error of a word to spell!


I dated two robots yesterday
That sighed only to say
I can't believe I am holding yous
How much I missed yous
Hugging robots
Vibrating robots
Robots with small mouth and twister tongue
Ready to penetrate into mine at a slightest chance of an opening
A disguised disgust of my sincere failure
not towards the robot but myself
Hiding you still under my palate
from where the soma of your love drips
Now as if forcefully been replaced
to a taste of this preprogrammed chatalike

Have they lost their voice because of my best dress
or maybe the fantasy of the sandy bikini
which they will never see
in the dark wherein
Both hiding their face
But I see
By my loose body parts
Maybe a lookalike
But I ain't no robot

Oh my sandy bikini
Oh Chosen so carefully
To rejuvenate their fantasy
a different pattern for each-
yes. I do take care of that!
Stays now
as an Everly Brothers’ dream
In my mind only

But
My ‘okey ‘ is an ensuring
‘yes yes’ the Indian way
Of course
They did their best
Seriously
Thus
A big CHAPEAU
For the zest
That obviously still can break china hearts
I took it as a test
To get to know me better
Let me be broken through your dream
Let me cry and shake and perceive an angry cloudy color world
let my remains of china burst

I dated two robots yesterdays
while expecting for a man
Thankfully though
these are yesterdays
Today I met a true man
A gypsy
We will date sometime
Play tabla and darbuka
Drink dance and sing
And sleep
To salute the sun
early in the morning
At the beach
LOL
Martin Rombach Jul 2013
I had a long dark one last night, a heavy rush of reminders
Overwhelming sense of stationary among a network of people who move so far and foundationally
A feeling that lingers like a cold behind my primary camera to the world at the moment
I know I'll start moving again
The mechanic's on his way, the suit looks sharp and the tie dye I'm making looks comfortable
A gradually developing mess of colours and concepts, it feels good

But err..
It's amazing how flexible you are, how much momentum you can get when you feel like kicking yourself in the face
Those self indulgent destructive couple of hours, amplified by a liquid haze evaporating inhibition
After something so simple and reassuring, it's easy to crash under the weight of repression
And after all the perfectly sad songs and poisonous self indulgence, you wake to a light of relief and shame because you let yourself be weak to it to all the building *******

Uncertainties for me stem from those classic counter productives, a flashing red light of low for confidence, clarity, certainty
And that crippling feeling that all those open eyes and open hearts that have given me a chance before just won't come again, new faces, social opportunities, chances at a real deep connection just moving past as I just sit still
Watching the escapist worlds flourish, reading the corrupt cracking at our pride as a country, and seeing photos of all those new places and people surrounding their momentous lives

But.. writing such disparity... well.
As relaxing as the release is, I'm reminded that that guy in the mirror still wants the life
The validation of a finely crafted creation that exemplifies my personality and passion for creative media
The dull but reassuring letters, bricks and decorative crap that make up an owned home
The relaxing calm of attaining just that right ******* wavelength with someone, where conversation flows with the same notes and tones and can go on for as long or as short as it likes without breaking the bond between the eyes
Be it from a woman, who can dance and talk and looks good in shorts
Or.. well, from the exception to the rule in those other interests
I, like most of us dumb self involved ******* and wankers, wouldn't mind being close to someone again
Forgive my hollow faith in it, like my ambitions and the foundations of my future, I fear it'll just smash leaving glass in my toes and the same old ******* walls around me.

But that doesn't mean I can't ignore all that. Or at least help myself let it all go.
Doesn't mean I can't smile for that girl who takes my picture, giving me that look of understanding from across the hall.
Doesn't mean I can't sit in a field surrounded by friends, holding two drinks and laughing at my mistakes.
Doesn't mean I can't rattle out a few words to get this **** off my mind.

And wake up the next day, drink a cold sobering glass of optimism,
and get the **** on with it.
Chloe May 2014
Every shower is another failed attempt to
Wash off my sins.
Scrubbing my body raw
Until I can no longer feel the hands
Of every man I meant nothing to.
But those hands were gentle and
Can't even be compared
to the fake I love yous
burning between my thighs.

*I'm a ***** ***** that can't be cleaned
Zaza Jan 2019
Dear father,

I still remember the last time I saw you

It's funny, because you looked just the same as you always did
Like someone
Who was never really mine.

Like a stranger in disguise
Who's reality only exists
When I close my eyes and fantasize about you being in my life

But I guess
When you heard you should live your life without
Regret
You mistook that for my name

And I wonder if you will ever understand the pain
Of knowing someone only when you imagine them
Or loving someone who thought
Never talk to strangers
Was a lesson best learnt by example

But they say actions speak louder than words
And you became so consumed by your own self worth to really give a **** about who you hurt

So you became the expert
At manipulating words
Like turning
I love yous into sorrys
And
Tomorrows into yesterdays
Until it was safe to say I couldn't count on you

Dear father,

Because of you
I constantly found myself falling in love with things that could never love me back

I became infatuated with sandcastle and snowflakes

Addicted to temporary moments
Addicted to broken

Thought if I learnt to fix things
Then somehow
I might find the manuscript
To piecing the shattered part of my being whole again

Because of you
I spent years trying to cover this skin that you left me with
Tried decorating these scars
With tattooed hopes
To remind myself
That sometimes
Some things
Were made to last forever

Because of you,
For years I avoided looking into the mirror
Because I never truly knew
If you could love someone
You only ever met in passing

You see
I mistook your ***** for water
I never realised I was internally drowning in your poison
I thought I needed you to stay afloat

It took me a long time to realise
That ***** was just your way of relieving yourself from blame

You became a box full of things
I packed away the day you left
But I've stopped trying to hold on to your burden

So I've taken out my smile
And I'll wear it with pride

And Dear father,
Did you know
That if you repeat a word enough times
Then eventually the word will start to lose it's meaning?

And I've stopped wishing I was still young enough to understand
What the word father meant

And now no know
That if I ever see you again
Then you will look just the same as you always did

Like someone
who doesn't deserve to be mine
This is a spoken word piece I wrote for my father who disappeared like a **** in the wind. One I struggled to write. Full of things I've always wanted to say to him. One I am yet to read to him and now no longer feel the need to.
Fill the silence of our discontent with the sound of a swishing liquor bottle and the popping of pills.

We are rocks in each others’ sinking worlds but I’m

not your rock anymore.

You threw me out of your life

The night I let you

Hold me

The night I let you

Touch me

The night I let you

Fell the love I have for you through the touch of my lips

The pads of my fingers

And the walls of my ******

The night I gave you everything I had

And asked for nothing in return.

But I’m not yours anymore

I’m just a ***** on her knees begging for something more than ***** flavored

I

Love

Yous.

I’m not yours anymore

I’m not begging or crying with my heart torn open

Ready for you to pack another bowl within it

Waiting for you to forget
                                         hername
                                                         myname
                                                          ­                yourname

Waiting for you to slip past hateful sobriety

Waiting for you to drag me down with you to the bottom of a bottle

Waiting for you to

Love me.

Waiting for you to smile and tell me all the things I want to hear

and trust you.

But I’m not yours anymore and I hate you.

But today when you

Smiled, spoke to me like a friend

While she looked on from the corner

I felt my heart eager for more ashes and resin of some

late night whispers

that sound so sweet

but in the morning light

float away like the smoke that slipped

out of your mouth and into

mine

My legs ready to open

But then I remembered

                                 I’m not yours anymore.

For you

I’m not worth

the lighter

Cigarettes and love

You stole from me

But I don’t give a

****

Because **I’m not

Yours

Any

More.
Another from 2010
hang on Jun 2014
when you ask me to be your friend when you ask me to sit with you those are the moments i feel enough
when there is only quiet and the sound of your breathing and all this noise inside of me goes away those are the moments where the silence demands confession
when i am walking with you and we are alone and the journey ends before it should those are moments i wish your hand wasn't a trespass zone of if-i-coulds
when i miss you more than you know and i wish you could - those are moments maybe telling you would be the lesser evil

these are moments when the i love yous
deafen rage and scream - but they never will be loud enough for you
Sam Oct 2018
Maybe,
            you’re still visible.

When you smile, just wide enough, bright, and --
your eyes glaze over, just a little. ever-present, the red-rimmed edges.
Your posture is good form. Back straight, shoulders pulled, and -- rigid.
too rigid. so when was the last time you let down your guard?

You seem perfect, darling - you seem fine.
except the moments that you freeze, stuck still, can’t move,
when no one’s looking.


Because the people who would have noticed you --
who would have seen you,
                                                  Did see you,
falling apart at the seems,
hands shaking and gulping unsteady breaths,
head spinning when the world wasn’t
desperately alone and wanting not to be --

                                                         ­    Are gone. Again.
                                                         ­                               There’s no one there.

Months ago, almost a year now, they found you.
{Your soon to be, family, of 9 friends.}
Not impressive in the least,
                          almost completely faded into the wallpaper,
                                             utterly breakable, utterly close to broken,
                                                         ­                                         utterly alone.
And they gave you
                                    hands,
                                                   stories,
                                                                ­   lifelines,
                                                                ­                     and hugs.
Resumed you back, to a more bearable way of living.
                                                    ­ And you were so, so,
desperate -- so you
stayed, against your better judgement --
you watched, and you learned.
                         How to hide things, your secrets.
                         How to lie, and do it brilliantly -- always only to protect.
                         How to fake being fine:
                           trying to hide tear tracks? -
                                 rub your eyes with cold water, just say you’re tired
                                 (it’s always true)
                           make other people believe you? -
                                 lie by omission, and avoid the word fine
                                 (use synonyms)
                           panic attacks? -
                                learn your signs, nearest places no one will go, and when
                                 (and walk, then
run)
                            who to trust? -
                               the ones who stick close. the ones too much like you.
                               (the ones who see
you, always, visible or not.)
but also:
How to let other people orbit around you, and not just orbit them.
How to throw caution to the wind and say,
I love you, permanent or not.
How
nothing lasts (but you knew that), but
sometimes, somethings, are still worth it.
And how to breathe again, a little bit more easily,
bit more like you used to be able to.


It falls apart spectacularly (the kindest way imaginable), with
goodbyes,
        i love yous,
              i’ll miss yous,
                        stay in touch,
                                 a plethora
of hugs (you used to flinch away from).

And being alone is so
hard -- however did you stand it?
there’s a gaping ache, of loneliness,
                                                               l­onging,

                                      of missing, in your chest, you can’t quite identify --

you just want a hug,
                                       someone’s arms around your shoulders just to
ground you,
Just a laugh, or a smile; a friendly face,
just someone, just anyone --
                                                         ­       your closest lifeline lives sixthousandsevenhundredandeighty
                            ­                                    kilometers away.

it’s one of your further away friends, who tells you,
If you feel homesick, you know, that makes sense
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world

                                                              It makes the air around you go still,
                                                                ­               makes your breath pause.
you thought home was a place.
and if home was a place, well,
you’d never have one.
                                                  so however did you end up
                                                 with nine, whole, pieces of it?

                                                with something like a family,
                                              even if you can’t say it aloud?

So that’s why
           There’s a constant, thin, circle of red, around your eyes,
           Why you’ve once again forgotten how to trust,
           Why you’ll stare off into the distance, just for a beat,
     your stream of conscious
                 I miss you I miss you I love you I miss you
                     brought back up to the surface.
But it’s also:
Staying inside when it rains, and pours,
not going out and getting drenched
because you want a tangible reason to feel miserable;
Actively trying to sleep, at halfway decent hours,
because maybe, you can.
because you might be an insomniac, but
you never tried to stop it;
And eating, whole, actual, proper, meals,
no longer skipping, because it may taste like nothing
but there’s no longer the nausea.
A few steps in the right direction, perhaps.

You have so many self-destructive tendencies; habits, now,
  and no one but you to stop them.
and it would be so much easier, to not.
to let them all devour you, because
                                                                ­ you’re not all that terrified of them
and you should be.

So instead, you’re trying. Your damndest.
                                                      ­            Because your friends taught you,
how to piece yourself back together,
and to try to keep living.
and you owe them enough, to do your utmost,
to keep yourself as intact as you possibly can.

You aren’t great, and
You aren’t fine,
despite a passable impression.
                         You’re alright,
                                                Because, you’re trying,
I miss you, I love you, I miss you, I miss you
                                                And, slowly, you’re getting there,
Maybe, someday, you can make yourself visible again.
                                                         ­                                        Homesick, or not.
         you’re alright.


         You’re alright.
I never knew you could miss someone so much, that you'd do just about anything to see them again.
Matt Proctor Feb 2014
I see you in the park.
I want to look at you.
You want to look at me.
Our eyes ricochet
off each other.
I can't catch you
looking at me.
I can’t even give
a smile to you.
You’re Alcatraz and
I’m swimming to your rocks
and when I get there
you'd rather stay in jail,
kissing the walls.

There is no you. There are a thousand yous.
I know no you. I see 30 yous an hour.
Where are you?
Are you out there?
You’ve got to stay away. You get too close
and you crumble,
or I crumble. Gravity sends
two lives shaking into screws, identities
unable to hold.

But I could know how fragile you are.
How you sit on an iron bench and open
your long, dark lens
to the ultraviolet April blooms.
Shamble into my arms.
I won’t laugh. I promise I won’t laugh.
I’ll break your fall.

It’s my mistake to think
that you’re fragile, that
you’re a flower.
You are a flower, but
flowers are only
advertisements
for the tree.
Flowers fall away early
leaving only the wide, armored waist.
It isn’t you that will crumble.
It’s only me.
Jedd Ong Dec 2014
There is a pathway to the stars
Mapped out for us by
Tiny cherubs—faint, pulsating
Trail of constellations scattered:
The universe is

Vast

And I’m out here,
Stuttering to find the words
By which to capture
The very ends
Of our corner of the world

Lost

In this sea of light,
Transmissions,
Pulsars beating its heavenly
Drum as a sign that maybe

God

Has not left us for dead
Yet. God has not left
Us for dead

Yet

This noise we run away from:
These nauseating horns
And screams of
Wounded children
Have a heaven, God bless you.

Have a heaven
Transmitting
Its “love yous”
And “miss yous”
And “thank yous”

Singing

To a sky beyond our corner of
yoda best Nov 2014
I wake up
Each morning,
Head to my closet,
And arm myself
With clothes
Thick as brick walls.
I rummage
Through various
Pairs of greeve-like
Pants
Looking for
The right foundation
On which I
Will build
The day's
Exoskeleton.
Fix my hair
Like the rest
Of mankind.
Hair that
Acts as the cloak
That ascribes me
To anonimity.
Before I leave
I put on the
Weight of
My outer person,
The one which
I have carefully
Built out of
Various yous
And none of me.
The skin
That I Have worn
To see my soul
Forlorn.
I go, parade myself
Like a sentinel
Emblazoned
With all the
Merits;
Look and behold
A hero that
Beckons to all who pass
A hero who
Hides all the dross
Of the Inside.
The inside
of whatever is left
Of my
Dying kingdom.
I go as a bastion
With jutted spears  
And sharpened pikes
Wounding those
Who advance
Whether in peace
Or in strife.
No, I will not
Let anyone
Through the gates
Of my starving
King.

All my life
I was being
Built as a
Stronghold.
Father, as a mason,
Taught me
That strength
Is measured
Through how
Much pressure
My structure
Can endure.
Mother, as an artisan,
Raised me
As a dam
That will not break.
Taught me
That my worth
Is measured in the
Volumes that I can keep.
Suffering be now
The mortar
That binds all my griefs
Together.
Pain, *****
Barricades
Around my thirsting
Prince.
Comrade,
Stay as a facade;
Hide the muck
That have accumulated
Throughout
The years.

Lover,
break me down.
Strip me of all
My armor,
Break down the walls.
Turn my spears
Into soft dandelion *****.
Wade through the tar
And see
Through the veil.
Unseam
All my scars;
Bleed me dry
Until you reach my core.
See me for
Who I am.
Witness the king
That I have
deprived.
Caress the face
Of the prince
That I have denied.
Satiate my famished spirit,
Oh, you, lover of my soul.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
and in our childhood we beheld the beauty of
theocracy - all of us - bedazzled by it,
enthralled by it, we reached the pinnacle
there and then - in our childhood we beheld
the beauty of theocracy - each and every one of
us cherubs worthy a plucking for the heavenly
choir - and like Adam and knowing through
to Eve and un-knowing that a man might
riddle trousers with a kilt - just like that,
it's not a belief in god that's required - far from it -
in childhood we sensed theocracy - the grand
hall oratory place of inconvenience - a talk to the hand
moment; thank yous and not yous -
we were too young to formulate a being as grand
as god - too young - even though it was implanted
in us by others that came prior - we're maturer now,
it's not the idea of god - we were young and
the prospect always hanged in the air of inhibition -
we weren't entirely eager to exhibit prayer and petulance
equally - in childhood as in nostalgia (for the two
are equal in meaning - a rarity to remember outside
childhood, romanticism and whatnot) - in childhood
as in nostalgia it's not god we're searching for,
it's more or less: theocracy - we're nostalgic about
a system of politics that overshadows what came with
the fall / maturity of man - man answered democracy!
and so it was - our version of politics always sends
a shiver down my spine - belief in the midgets of
the caricature of spine-and-wing is not that far apart -
no one in their truest mindset is searching for a god
in order to receive ridicule, not a personal god that
overpowers a man's personality to a U-turn abstract
of what was formerly known of a man -
against the strain of that some champion as necessary:
individuation - the pressure to a coup d'individu -
that sort of god isn't there - the pressure is to find a
the once intrinsic theocracy of childhood -
now that we have the governing body of democracy
hanging over as: demo politics - demonstrative,
demanding, debatable and... debatable -
and to merely think outside democracy is to have a
thought of an autocrat and a mouth of a slave -
otherwise you're just mouthing everyone to a lullaby
of intrinsic Tory toff-ha-ha. we're not missing god,
god is hardly dead, it's that we don't have the same
theocracy that children have governing them -
we have democracy - finding god in singleton-land
of proofs is about as good as finding a teardrop in
a sea - it means abandoning your personality in order
to skip the hardships for the perks - who is anyone
to collect knee-bending at the altar? why wouldn't
an Orthodox attendee of a church in St. Petersburg
let me sit in church while the choir sang?
oh right... the priests here still have their backs to the people
when reciting the testimonies -
and this simply sprung to mind after reading a psychiatrist
or anti- write out his the bird of paradise (1967, r. d. laing),
a psychiatrist opens up and thinks he's writing prosaic
poetry - great in theory - i mean lucid, frank, simplistic,
but the conundrum comes when no theory is
passed down - no hereditary intellectualism - nothing,
starting from scratch - that's the existential brick-wall
of notation focusing on the i the existentialists used -
the unit they thought they could bounce theories against
and get some original echo back... the only originality that came
back was mere criticism - nothing more.
i'm not looking for god - why is anyone looking for him?
everyone in democracy has this sudden urge to
become a cult-leader or despot? it seems so...
i'm looking for theocracy - in the democratic spirit of
transition that's been given to me - so funny...
god is an uncertainty but death is a certainty - strangely-funny
how the two never seem to coincide - unless in the mouth
and eyes of a madman who shoots you at point
blank range and says the words: time to meet you maker;
Jack'oh Wacko.
olivia go Apr 2014
I am writing this poem as a letter of reference for my uncultured heart,
Unedited and uncensored and
Unlike the affections I so willingly gave you.
You read me your poems
As if I were the first girl to receive them,
And boy,
Did I receive them.
I took them and their delicate lettering that traced
My name written boldly and profoundly in the center
As if the world was handing itself over to me.
To: Olivia
From: Jupiter
No return address.
I kept your smooth words and slipped them into my coffee,
Tucked them underneath my pillow case,
And folded them into a book I virginally scribbled in.
I found them scattered across the night's sky
And sewn into the shirt you loved on me.
I planted them in good soil waiting for spring.
My good, rich soil.
Untouched and unused.
I Watered them carefully and buried them with a warmth
That the sun itself couldn't radiate.
You lit me up and I was burning so wildly for you.
For you, Jupiter.
My garden was beautiful, full.
Plentiful.
Abundant.
Good, rich.
Untouched and unused.
And little white lilies began to sprout and dot the I's of your
I love yous,
I miss yous,
I was thinking about you,
I love you,
I miss you.
I was thinking about you.
I love you.

I miss you.

I was thinking about you, Jupi.

But drier than your recycled sentiments,
My soil
Became parched and emaciated
As more of your lilies grew.
My coffee became bitter,
My pillow case as soft as sand paper.
The small, black journal I carefully pressed flowers with
Now stained and sopping wet with Your cheap ink
That ran down my skin and into
Creases you left your finger prints.
Your lilies, though small and sweet,
Were deadlier than any poison ivy
I'd ever touched previously.
The little plot of earth I saved for myself
Was now a pile of your cigarette ash
And venomous weeds.
I burned so wildly for you,
But without you.
For you,
Not with you.
I was another one of your American Spirits,
Smoked, put out and
Tossed into the grave of another fruitless harvest.
Taken, left, and used.
I was never a good gardener.

— The End —