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Destiny Nov 2018
Is it wrong to..
Feel too much
Do too much
Like too much
Love too much
Trust in your gut and your heart and soul trying to find control.
The balance between lust and fate
Love and hate . Searching finding loving learning ..
....wanting needing getting having ..
L Oct 2018
If your the type
to only breathe through
the stitches
of your camisole.
And if you always taste like mint,
when kissed on the mouth.
Just because you don't want them smell,
the self hate.
That resides in the back
of your throat
in your breath.

You're also the type
to call me up
six am
asking for a
Friend
Diana Santiago Oct 2018
No one knows how my soul searches for you during the darkest night
Or how my feet gravitate towards your street on the regular
The air cold like your soul caresses my skin

The sounds of guitars and melodies decorating the streets in the distance
My starving heart aches to be fed by your presence

No one knows, truly knows
The scar you've left on my existence
larni Oct 2018
~
i miss you.
it’s not the kind of ‘i miss you’ that just means i miss your presence,

it’s the kind of ‘i miss you’ that means i miss your touch.

i miss your lips, your perfect skin and the smell of your cologne.

i miss the fun and adventurous dates we had and the ‘cuddle up and watch netflix’ kind of dates.

i miss the sad days, the happy days, and every other day in between.

i miss the feel of your arm, wrapped around me tight.

i miss holding your hand, and you not being embarrassed for being with me.

i miss the times where i’d cry my eyes out, and you’d always be the one for me to lean on.

i miss the smallest things, like the way you loved your back tickles and the way you’d tuck one strand of hair behind my ear to indicate you wanted to kiss me.

i miss your hair when you’d just woken up, and it would be all messy and crazy.

i miss your voice, your precious voice that i haven’t been able to get out of my head.

i miss the feeling of being safe and at home whenever you were around.

i miss too many things about you, way too many things, and i don’t know how to cope with knowing another girl is one day going to receive those things.

that one day, i’m just going to be a memory, with no special meaning, just someone you used to have a little thing with.

the hardest thing is going to be moving on and making myself receive new and different things from another guy.

i wanted you to miss me too, i wanted you to miss things about me, but you don’t want me at all, so what’s the point in wanting you ?
i wrote this 8 months ago about my ex :)
Mary Allard Sep 2018
Hello World,
the other day i almost killed myself
but then i looked outside
at all the beauty in the world
from the dead it'd surely hide

Hello World,
the other day i looked in the mirror
and squeezed my rolls so tight
hoping they would just pop off
and roll into the night
but then i remembered
these squishy things
have held some favorites of mine
and they are beautiful in every light
regardless, they are mine

Hello World,
the other day some boy i liked
told me i was weird
that i was crazy and not his type
what i had always feared
but then i heard his jokes were lame
and we can't have that here
of all **** jocks
he was the same
high school boys not worth their tears

Hello World,
you have so much left to offer
i have only just begun
all these problems are temporary
so worrying is just dumb
Rose Aug 2018
You come home stumbling
mumbling
grabbing me as the toxin numbs

I pretend I’m not sober
so I can feel your skin against mine

I pull you closer as you pull away
and we crash into sheets

I pretend not to feel your confusion
as you touch the curve of my neck
and remind me that I need you
more than you need me
a real truth for a lot of people out there. i found out before too long that i was just a pretty face. some men are just ******* who when intoxicated- decided your suddenly worth it. but when the morning comes... you are nothing.
Glenn Currier Aug 2018
The hair on the back of my hand
glistens in the lamp at night
it tells me I am a man
I am a creature
a thing created.
I did not create myself
even though I act as if I did.  

You made this body
and you keep it alive.
When I look at my hand
sometimes it reminds me of Jesus
who was also a man.

I yearn to feel his touch
his arms around my shoulders.
How often I need his hand
on the small of my back
giving me a gentle shove.

When I picture that hand
in my mind’s eye
I see the hair
the veins that bring the blood
from his heart,
a heart so full
so big it reaches to heaven.

It also reaches into my heart
when I think of his first noticing
and then stooping down
to touch the person on the side of the road
the person nobody else would go near.
I am touched to tears.  

That was the hand of Jesus
reaching down as it does now
to this sinner.
This is another of my spiritual-awakening-moments. I find myself on this site with poets/creators many or perhaps most of whom don't relate to the godstuff and yet I feel at home here standing in this garden and all of its fabulous and rich fruits - creations by these lovely creatures. With gratitude to all of you and to David Chadwell for his web piece entitled: “How low will Jesus stoop?”
Dominique Jul 2018
We drank cider
And filled our faces
With cheesecake that tasted
Almost as tangy as the blood
That fizzed through (and out) of my veins
As a consequence of you.
And I thought to myself,
The sunlight will always be golden
But I will never again smell cigarette smoke
And think of anyone other than you
With your stupid hyperbolic smile
And if I can't see the way eight pm
Looks beneath your lashes
Or the way the summer hours
Turn your hair into auburn fire
Then I may as well bury my eyes
In the soil that hasn't yet
Managed to kiss your feet.
Short, stupid poems are sometimes enough
Alice Lovey May 2018
As I wake in my sheets,
Aggravated anxiety.
Blue light peeks, reminding me of my impropriety
Of the night before.
Like the melted ice throne in the last layer of fire,
My thoughts agonize.
I became the prosecutor when I was the prosecuted liar.
These ordinary overcast mornings
Are my favorite to step in to.
The city smells ripe,
And I think of it with you.
But I will go to trace my patterns
Worn into my body.
Another weekday in which I tread.
Reading messages unread,
Apprehending what’s next.
Life doesn’t need explanation,
Only bread.
But I will stop to worry those worries
Worn into my body
And only hope there may come a palm to press into my spine
With a touch so fine to entwine
A belonging, a needing, into my mind.
It’s always hardest to wake up alone and remember.
I only want to scream
till my throat, so raw it bleeds
Anger mopes buried deep
it molds to me, as I breath
Choking slowly, I thirst to scream
let out the need
and then repeat
and then repeat
let out the need
I only thirst to scream
choking slowly, it molds to me
as I breath
Anger mopes buried deep
till my throat, so raw it bleeds

I SCREAM!
When you can't hold in your anger, and all you want to do is....
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