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you were my true blue soul friend we had a bond deeper than any I had known before we laughed and cried we shared our secrets i trusted you with the deepest parts of my heart
I'm going to start this out like I start everything else I write you Even though I doubt that you'd ever see this I swear to God that I'm not mad at all There is no hate in my heart toward you or anyone
Most people are afraid of spiders or public speaking, Or maybe dark rooms and floor boards creaking, And while these may perhaps be on my list
The first breath is full of tears and smiles,Awoken by a beam of light.It is cherished by many for a lifetime,Allowing more than million wonderful wis
They told me about you. You always came to me in the end. The end. “Keep writing poetry, Erin,” my Literature teacher told me At the end of the fall semester. The end.
They knew they should be happyBut it had lost its spark.The light of the relationshipHad faded into dark.They didn’t want to tell h
If someday soon, The world should end... If light should no longer flow Into the awakened eyes of each day, In everyone who has risen once before; If humanity ceases to be, I do not think it is the end.
Dear ex-bestfriend, Im sorry. I want your forgiveness I think it's the only way for me to forget you.Then again, I don't want to forget you.
I miss the form. The elegant beauty of the landscape. That's what I'll call it, The landscape It was like a landscape Long and lean, tended to Graceful and wind blown
As I watch the setting sun I think of how our end will come Will we go unnoticed, forgotten in silence? Or will we go in history, like the greatest stories? We battled and fought, for this future we sought.
You left me a parking lot Full of the empty spaces You took with you As you drove away.
We are born, We breathe, We blink. We hear Blaring and screeching sounds of bundling babies, Basking in the blazing light, unaware of their destiny. The same Destiny of us all, our deafening demise.
People write because they are sad about a past trauma, so Poets are called poets because they hold on to this trauma, and turn it into tragic creativity I cannot write about you anymore
Change. Change. Change. The concept is so new. Yet I know you like an old friend. The kind of old friend that is always doing what she thinks is for the best. The kind that eventually gives up.
I’m done writing about you. In the spirit of passive-aggressive stares and comments from our mutual friends and constant texts that always say
The sun spreads out like a golden poolOver the newly shorn fieldsThe halls smell like wax, fresh ink and new cottonCarried along with a tide of bodiesI remember suddenly that
I sat with my hands trembling The bell rang as I sprung up from my seat a smile so wide that it made my heart leap He stood there so perfect, that smile! oh my.
I am from cells, built together to make my mother’s uterus, If I wasn’t supposed to come out, then how did I,
don't tell me things about myself that i know are lies don't say that i am not good enough when i know the truth don't say that i am ugly when i can see clearly
That first week I sat behind you, Staring at your butt-crack. You squished the scriblings on your desk,
you can act like you're my friend but we both remember the end let's stop pretending it's alright
On the edge of the milky way I stand
Sunrise, sunset Dawn and dusk. A starry net visible, but only just. Ruby-orange fades to blue begins to change right on cue. Dawn begins- yesterday is the past. Dusk ends-
I don’t know you anymore. Yes, I know your name. But I don’t know you. I know who you use to be. We talked about everything under the sun back then.
*Inspired by JeanAnn Verlee
I feel cold; I'm suffocating. I cried as loud as I could. I didn't know that "outside" was bright. Why does everyone look so glad?
You say you are docile But you say a lot You are a better liar Then I have thought But your pleas Won't get you far When the proof is
Fifteen, my body curved like a question mark as you delegate my presence to your fingers like a Jesus prayer.
The beginning of the end of our childhood. The first semester of the last year. So many endings. like reading the last book of a series after each chapter, wanting to reread it so the story never ends.
It's empty in the desert you call a heart, Every drop of water turning volatile,