heartbreak
They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
Seven Weeks
I knew we would fall in love the moment I shook his hand. I convinced him to join me. He was reluctant. He went quiet during my spring break, my stomach shrinking away from the inevitable. He broke it off the day after I was sleeping in his shirt. I screamed and rocked and cried and he stared as this confirmed his feelings. I couldn't taste my Nana's cooking for a week, my tongue dying in solidarity with my gut. Once I was his age, I couldn't blame him, but I could still hate him for making home food bland.
By Ariana GonBonabout a year ago in Poets
Scabbing
I keep picking at our story, letting it scab over only to open it fresh again, thousands of blood cells coursing to the top for each moment together. Every time its scab over again, it's for a little longer, and a little more skin is formed, and the wound gets smaller. It’ll scar, new light brown pink cells showing off, proud to have beaten my impulses. I doubt you have a matching one. You started dating someone else before we stopped. You penciled me a letter so I could be as easily erased from your life. I’ll burn it someday.
By Ariana GonBonabout a year ago in Poets
When You Come Back To You.
One day, you will stand in the quiet of your room, no tears, no need to explain.. . just you, and the sun sliding through the window, like an old friend. You will look in the mirror and not turn away. You will see your eyes, tired maybe, but alive, still burning with a small, steady light. You will smile, not for anyone, not for show, but because it feels good to remember that your heart still beats strong. The hands that once reached for someone who couldn’t hold you right, they’ll reach for your own face, your own chest, and you’ll say, “I missed you.” You’ll pour a cup of tea, sit by the window, and not feel lonely. The silence won’t sting. It will hum with peace. You’ll laugh, and it won’t be because someone made you, it will be because you made yourself laugh. And love, it will not be a storm you wait to pass. It will be a garden you plant with your own hands, watering it daily with patience. When you come back to you, you’ll wonder how you ever left. You’ll write your name on the air like it’s a song. You’ll walk barefoot in your own soul and call it home. This is not the end of love. It’s the beginning, and this time, it starts with you.
By Chris Liberty about a year ago in Poets
When He Loves
''If a guy is truly into you,'' He will make an effort to say hi to you, that he'll call, and that he'll want to see you. No matter how busy he is, he will take out time to check in with you because when he thinks about the things he did, even when he is busy,
By Rohitha Lankaabout a year ago in Poets
Is It Too Late?. Content Warning.
I don't know who I am I have never known How do I work it out? Is it too late? I feel nothing I feel everything I am empty, drained I am full to bursting No true friendships No close bonds How do I find them? Is it too late? Emotions evade me I am overpowered Love creeps up on me I am confused I am lonely Company eludes me Would anyone notice If I wasn't here? No confidante So who do I ask? Am I too much Or not enough? I try harder than is seen I have tried to fit in I never will I don't know how People are exhausting But give me a choice To be included Is it too late? I don't know who I am I am not seen I am too loud I am too quiet A background friend If even that Mostly unnoticed There is no place for me Not as confident As you might think The real me is hidden From all but a few There is more I want to say I don't know how I talk too much But tell very little I do it all I do nothing I am gone You didn't see
By Sapphire Ravenclawabout a year ago in Poets
