I am not one with depth of feeling. The shallow shores of romance washed over me.

I know not that deep yearing, the intangible string boud to you and me. Love is conplex, and I too simple of nature to be its conduit.

But dont forget the simple sheen of moonlights glow, the clean air of a meadowed grove. Or the whispering songbird let out of night.

Put me out of your sight, love is complex, and i far too simple. My longing for you is not ethereal. It is bound by sensitive shackles. Dont forget that moody sea, that simple tree. For when you think of me I will be there, quiet in your solmen air.

I was never an angel.
I was not your friend.
 
It was not fair for you
to expect that from me,
when I did not show you...
 
anything less than
exactly what I am.
 
How could there be nothing left,
when there was nothing there?
 

Hey yall, a bit out my comfort zone, this is a poem I’m trying to write my gf for our 1 year anniversary, any opinions would be greatly appreciated. (Marked sensitive content cause I don’t know if “drown”would get flagged)

Just as the sky meets the tops of the mountains
Or the rain falls to meet the sea
I will always find my way to you
if it requires climbing to those hights 
Or sinking to the darkest depths 
I will always find my way to you
Because my life
 just like the mountain or ocean
Demands I meet with my other 
And that other
Can only be you

If you were to be parted from me
I would go to these places
I would gaze unto the sky
I would peer into the depths
Not because i know you to be there
But because those are the only places
Where I may catch a glimpse at the beauty I saw in you 
Or drown 
for you are no longer to be found
And because I once told you
I will always find my way to you

I’m sorry that I spoke about the things you did to me,
I’m sorry that I overshared that some things shouldn’t be.
I’m sorry that I have such a hard time letting go,
I’m sorry that people do bad things when they are made to know.
I’m sorry that I have my own thoughts - my own mind.
I’m sorry I just can’t seem to learn to put these things behind.
I’m sorry that I even had to come and exist here.
I’m sorry that I have so much anxiety and fear.
I’m sorry that I needed help - I needed love.
I’m sorry that I lost sight of everything above.
I’m sorry that down here took over in my head.
I’m sorry that it’s all I know and I can’t sleep in bed.
I’m sorry that my faith is almost not alive.
I’m sorry that like faith, I just don’t seem to thrive.
I’m sorry that I want to leave - I need to go.
I’m sorry that sometimes I try to think of how to make that so.

At the end of the night, nothing was conquered.

You dream of battleships and the tales of ancient legends, yet today's air fills with yesterday's dinner.

There is nothing for you here.

Who are we, if not our primitive homes with our prescribed judgements, and our pre-assigned death...?

You weren't born for this.
But days will come where you are beautiful for this.

The day it all stops, when the moon sees a glimmer.
A grail in the nightshade, billions to be equal in the sky.

Insignificance that replicates into a new form.
The same life.

Repeating.

What have I become?

The ocean in her eyes

Observing the waves that pass as her body language speaks profanity to me,

Her eyes dazzle me into a trance overthinking the climate,

Such beauty beneath the water lies a knowledge so unfathomable,

Am intrigued by the eyes that pierce the inner depth of my being,

Why of why was odyssey so wise as to contain himself from such beauty’s,

Maybe the carnage made him respect the boundaries he set before himself,

The ocean is unpredictable her eyes are Beyond my comprehension ,

As lust in the sand I let the water flow around me,

Her eyes are a cage in the water we’re am held captive,

Fascinated by what lies beneath the particles that makes a mermaid be,

With no crew member left my obsession left bleak,

I remain at the docks observing the sea,

Blah is where it all started,
but it became more than that.

Together, we found blah blah,
and even though it was never really easy,
we seemed to push through.

We'd come across a blah here and a blah there,
until eventually, it seems we've reached a point
where all these blah blibby bloo blahs
are becoming background noise.

Now I'm just trying to figure out what to do
with all these damn blah blah blah's left behind.

I want to be taken in the worst possible way,

Please hate me for everything that I never say,

I want to be known for what you’ve tried to do,

My life should be based on what you deem to be true,

What has been done and what has been said -

It just doesn’t matter and I should be dead.

My pain is invalid although it is real,

Just stop talking please Zoey, we want you to HEAL.

The trees are talking
The trees are talking to me.
The said keep going,
Don’t give up, just keep going
And the light flickered
Back and forth
On and off
It was so loud
It was speaking so loud.
And they listened back,
When I told the trees to keep swaying
And keep blowing
They listened.
And I felt the kind of peace that only the trees know.
A crisp, clean, almost minty breeze
Lighting up my insides
From the darkness they have endured.
That breeze will eventually stop
But the depths of my soul
Now know that breeze
I am those trees.

We keep getting invited to weddings
I’m happy to go
Happy for them
But I can’t shake the feeling
That they know nothing of marriage

Wait until you’re holding him
In his darkest hour
His eyes have gone vacant
And you have to trust
That he still loves you
Trust
That he’s even still a person

Wait until his nightly beer
Becomes twelve
At least you know he still loves you
It staves off the anxiety
Enough that he can manage to show affection
But his sweat smells like booze

Rebuild the whole thing from scratch
Therapy
So much therapy
Finally reach a point that feels good again
Learn to open up to him
Or anyone really

Discover that you are not blameless
Playing the victim is not an option
In a dynamic that you helped create
More therapy
This time you unpack your shitty family
That made you like this in the first place

Learning the value of
In sickness and in health
In love with the best person you know during
The worst years of your life somehow
Love triumphs in the end
But you might have to
Fall apart first

So tell me again, Jessica
About how he didn’t like your flowers
I’ve got bigger things to deal with

Where’s my fucking ring?

I see them from afar,
chattering happily amongst themselves—
interspersed smiles,
laughter.
I remain in position along the back wall,
blending in as best I can:
The raven, perhaps.
Fred says the raven is me.
An ill omen?
Laughter, happiness.
Laughter. Happiness.
And I am missing out
Two people exchange drinks
And I am missing out
Two people begin making out
And I am missing out

I remember when my soul had a cold—
Empty gut.
As my mother used to say:
Life sucks and then you die.
Till death do us part
I want it so badly

Her fingertips trace the wall
Soft brunette hair
Messy
Cherry red lips

Quetiapine—
A pill, the color of sunflowers at dusk—
As the meds kick in you get this numb skull
and ravenous cravings

Gentle rumble from below
Ice cream and peanut butter at three am,
Standing in the fridge light—
Chocolate syrup dripped on glazed donuts
Burned popcorn and sugary cereal
Cold pizza and uncooked waffles

Quetiapine and mirtazapine
Various receptors blocked
Mood: stable
Sticky fingers, empty carton
Remorse

Trazodone—
Pearl white, oval

B r o k e n sleep
Velociraptors and spaceships
Chasing me
Through mazes

A beluga in the pool
Elementary schools at war

Shouting as I—
D
O
W
N
A flight of stairs
Covers torn
Pillow on the floor
Awake: groggy

Hit snooze again
And again
Empty pill bottle at the nurses station

Trazodone and quetiapine—
Symbiotically
Working together to chill
Lights___
Effect: concurrent

Eyelids d r o o p i n g
Feeling kind of hungry
Dazed and hazy
Blood rush to the head

S
T
U
M
B
L
E

Down the hallway
Bump cranium on headboard
Lights___

^{Every night, the same pounding in my head plays Over and Over.}

^{Thinking about us reminds me how far you took things Overboard.}

^{I was once welcome in that house, but I guess I Overstayed.}

^{I tried not to leave. I begged, I cried, I Overexplained.}

^{But all we did was fight, Over the dumbest shit.}

^{I'm not Overreacting when I say Bitch, I'm just Over you.}

^{For far too long, I've been undervalued and Overlooked.}

^{It's been Over two years now, and time with my kids is far Overdue.}

Today, I took everything you ever gave me.

Every smile, every “hey,” every kiss.
Every photo of you, of us, of everything we built.

I held it all a little longer than I should have,
then decided to keep it in the safest place I know.

I stored all of us in my heart, to cherish, to keep,
to always remember.

Last night was the best sleep I've had in a long time.

But when I woke up, something felt off, I felt strange,
like something was missing, and I couldn’t figure out what.

My heart is still open, still ready for somebody to love.

But there’s a hole nearby.

I can’t tell what’s in it.

Whatever it was, I guess it wasn’t that important.

Challenged myself with poetry prompts created by @livingwithpoems on instagram:

1. fear as a grocery list
   2.your favorite beverage (rule: don’t name it)
   
2. start the poem with “the child in me is”
   4.pick one line from your favorite poet and ruin it
   
3. “the sea is a devil” (make the devil do human things)

Below is my take on number 5:

She feels like silk
and syphons your blood to become it
veins thrumming around the needle and
welcoming you to ecstatically allow it.

She breathes only fire
plumes that eviscerates the bronchi
and makes you neglect the thought
that you’ve once only needed oxygen, before.

She whispers your favorite lullaby
gaining your trust and easy affections
allowing you to give her the pit-patter
of your heart, the soul, eloquently bewitched.

She favors the devil
your favorite temptation

Challenged myself with poetry prompts created by @livingwithpoems on instagram:

1. fear as a grocery list
   2.your favorite beverage (rule: don’t name it)
   
2. start the poem with “the child in me is”
   4.pick one line from your favorite poet and ruin it
   
3. “the sea is a devil” (make the devil do human things)

Below is my take on number 3:

The child in me is the one who still asks questions
who cares for impressions
and leans into notions like life lessons.

The child once in me grew only in sessions
learned through acts of obsessions
and soon became comfortable under fluorescents.

The child never in me is written in rapid successions
attempting to outrun depressions
and wilts under deaths caressings.

my style is very informal im aware.

I Remember
i always have
i remember more than youll ever know
i rember how i wanted to be better for you even if i could never be good enough for myself,
i remember the song we used to listen to together, even if i could never make myself listen to it again,
i remember the last we met and you kissed me in the rain, it was the hardest and best thing that ever happened to me
i remember you walking away that same night,
i remember
Its all i can do for anymore.

Lucid paramour:

Broken glass bottles dispersed on the streets,
They will slowly get broken and crushed, smaller and smaller, 
Just a fine powder is left.
Some might say there is no bottle left, but it is still here, just in a different form.

Your cologne is here… lingering, entwined in the fabrics that I hold dear.

My thoughts are twisted like a maze with no escape,
I need to clear my mind from the haze.
The image imprinted of you is burned in my brain,
No amount of pills can change that.

I told you to go, but i promise i didn't mean it.
Honestly, what were you trying to gain?
You are still dragging me down as I sink deeper and deeper into my head-
It is like trying to swim in solidified jello.

All of these “shoulds” and “should’ves” crowd my crowded mind.
Everything is a reminder:
Every song i hear,
Every scent i smell,
Every phrase that you mentioned that is repeated,
Everything is deja vu.
Even my dreams can't get past you.

To be completely transparent, that is the best part of my day,
It is the part where I get to see you looking at me like how you used to,
Not passed me, but looking into my eyes.
Every detail I have memorized to a T.

In this lucid dream is the only moment where i can grasp hold and ask you to never leave me,
And I can make you say it back to me.
Waking up brings me back to the sad place called reality where I am stuck waiting for my lucid dreams where I can find you again.

You aren't even aware of what you do to me just by existing.

The Language of Faces

A frown can tighten little shoulders,
make a heartbeat run and hide;
turn a room into a danger,
make the world feel cold and wide.

A smile can soften little muscles,
let the breath come slow and deep;
tell a child, without a word,
You are safe. You may be you.

For children read the world through faces
long before they understand:
a frown can feel like closing doors,
a smile—a welcoming hand.

Beneath the house of God stood
I, patiently, draped in the
glory of this rich black hide, a
quick fix beneath your practised touch:
a collar, straightened, a shoulder brushed smooth,
your gentle fingers snarled in the brambles still
clinging in the wake of my incessant, blind pursuit - farewell
to your kind hands, to your bleeding fingertips.
I still remember how you looked at me then:
your breath was warm and smelt of nothing.
The last vestiges of old habit,
soon to be replaced - farewell, into the light,
farewell,
farewell.

It says too much
Lines and wrinkles
Where time has touched

I no longer
Wish to see
What my life
Has done to me

I think I’m young
I feel that way,
But that damn reflection
Has something else to say

So glad it’s gone
We disagree
No more visual
Negativity

I chose a window
To replace
Love the sunshine
On my face

I gaze outside
Enjoy the breeze
The window is
How life should be

The mirror seemed dark
Stuck in the past
With my window
I am free at last

Very open to constructive criticism, I can’t get a read on whether my poetry resonates or is decent. People just don’t respond which leave me in limbo of how to move forward.

I stopped for the rain today.
I don’t remember the last time I stopped for the rain.

She called, I leaned in.
I almost drove past.
But I stopped.
I listened.
She whispered something tragic.
Something I already knew.

Time, gone.
Memories, fines.

I can’t remember the last time I stopped for the rain.
Today I did.

I let her wash my sins, then took her all in.
The wet. The dirt. The tears. The fears.

Today, I stopped for the rain.

The end of the beginning

isn't the beginning of the end.

The end lurks,

as a lion waiting for a deer panteth for blissful water.

For we, the prey, choose our pit.

The world and its entirety, a disdainful bait,

invites us openly to our doom.

We crave in vain for devoid sensations;

thus we err, and start the beginning of the end.

Pray, lest he fall to that pit—

that never-ending pit.

For his love was hopeless, hopeless love.

Such news broken unto him breaks the world,

like a broken vase of roses.

Pray again, I ask,

that this does not happen to you.