Poems About Love

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I could Write Poetry for you all day.
It’s the same Words.
Different order.
The same thing that
I’m trying to say.
Do the Words fail in
My throat
Because they’re not meant
To be known
By you?
If I say them out loud
Will they ring untrue?
I l –
I Lo –
I think I Love –
You
Heard it, didn’t you?
The Word that stalled
In my mouth –
The one I stopped –
Catching it before it could
Fall upon your ears?
For you to hear?
For me to say
Just in case I never
Get the chance again
And again and again
Every time I see your face
The admission forms
But I can’t seem to shake
My fears of the way
You just might shake
Your head
Like you negate
My truth
So that you just might
Make
Me take it all back.
And I know I can.
And you’ll return to
Your Life
And I will fall back
Into mine.
And I will try to move on
And you’ll be fine –
And I will continue
To Write
These Poems about you.
Every word true…

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when I cry

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I feel like I need a good cry.
About to blow the roof off
A fortress of feelings
I’ve kept long buried inside.
A buildup of things –
A buildup of feelings –
I don’t even recall what I
Was sad for.
But I was – desolate
And this is all that my Heart knows.
I mean –
I felt that shit in my Soul.
And now I’m triggered
And I’m reminded of
All the things I have yet
To let go of.
But the ache is dulled
And somewhat stunted.
And I feel that pain with a sting
That’s watered down
And blunted.
And that
On top of this
On top of everything else –
I feel it
With the ghost memories
That have faded in my head.
Tears.
Catharsis.
Like the misery will go
With each tear liberated.
And I could convince myself
That afterwards
I will feel better in my chest –
This Heart, this Soul of mine
Maybe in turn, I will clear
My mind
Somehow.
I feel.
Like I need a good cry.

You Are Not A Person To Me

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“I’m tired of people,” I say.
“I’m a person,” you say. “Are you tired
Of me?”
I look at you and I
Shake my head.
“You’re not – a person to me.”
You look at me in perplexity.
And I smile.
“I look at you and –
It’s not your shell that I see.
You are colour
And you are moods
And you are facial expressions
That leave me in wonder.”
You’re frowning.
You don’t get it.
It’s cute.
The way you’re looking
At me.
“They ask me about you
And I cannot describe your face.
Nothing about skin tones
Or jawlines
Or eyes
Or – shapes.
I think of feelings -”
You know that random frown
That you make?
When you’re entirely focused
And they ask you
What you’re pissed at?
“That’s what I say
When they ask.”
You’re doing it –
That thing I like –
You’re looking at me like that.
“Like that,” I say.
Because you’re always
Focused.
“You seem to
See everything.
Process it all
At warp speed.”
I look at you sometimes
And I think of a single star
In a black sky.
And it all changes when
You smile.
And then it’s like –
Like –
A clear blue sky above
A canopy of trees
Gloriously green.
And then, when your mood is low
You are a steel gray sky
With a threatening storm.
“I’m tired of people,”
I say.
“But you are not a person to me…”

Missing From Me

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Whatever with this business about time and wounds.
Time is passing and has passed and I miss you.
Haven’t heard from you in ages
Too scared and shy to reach out
I bury the sadness and devastation
Of the possibility that I have found
The one person that I really want to be with
Who may never have been written into my story
The one person who I met by happy accident
Whose chapter has come to its final ending.
And I fear that I may have to live with your absence
A pain in me – to which I will have to build tolerance
Because feelings like this don’t just fade away
They grow in your Heart and Soul, and there they stay.
I miss you – ardently – something fierce
And I am reminded of my lonely
I wonder if you ever think of me
Even once – even a little – a lot?
Maybe?
I pull you forward from my memory
And hear the echo of your voice
Off the confines
Of my mind
And I remember what it felt like
Having you hold me
And it hurts –
It hurts a little bit.
Seriously – fuck this bullshit about time and wounds.
Time is passing and has passed and I still miss you.
I thrive in routine – there is no time for you
There
My very life is occupied from sun up
To day’s end.
I read my books.
I write my poetry.
I dance to my music
Trying to live on, unaware
Of whether you still live
Or if you even care –
At all –
About –

the boy I wanted

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I wanted to know that boy.
I wanted him to know of my existence.
I wanted to learn his pain and his joy.
I wanted to traverse the ways of his thinking.
I wanted those zero dark conversations.
I wanted to behold his mind when he’d be deep in thought –
I wanted to feel his words lost in his translation.
I wanted . . .
I wanted his – everything.

Self Sooth

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Didn’t wanna hear anyone speak.
Didn’t wanna feel their presence near me.
Didn’t wanna hear the music play
Or listen to anything that anyone
Had to say
Didn’t wannabe in anyone’s
Company.
Didn’t wanna even hear my own voice
It felt to me as only static and noise
And so I kept my head down
And I blocked out the sound
Of every single one
And every human being.
Because my mind was too full.
And my body was weary with the effort
Of trying to manage all the input
So in myself, I looked for comfort.
In the sound of my own breathing.
And the quiet of my Heart beating.
And the muted roar of the car engine.
And the beauty of my alone living.
Didn’t engage with a single soul
Beyond obeying the rules of the road.
Didn’t see anyone
In those glorious minutes
And I found my peace in it…

at the Eyes

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I see almost nothing.
I look for what matters to me
In my surroundings
And if I don’t find it
I am blind to almost everything
Else –
I will miss your perceived flaws
And I will see what I think
Is inherently wrong
With you –
Maybe it is wrong with me?
I don’t claim to be perfect
I am not even good
But that doesn’t stop me
From trying to be.
But, for my big eyes
I miss a lot of things.
Because I’m trying to find
A little bit of me in this
World –
I’m trying to find something
To connect with
Even when this place seems
Determined to hide it.
Even when the World
Seems to want to be filled
With islands.
Self-sustaining.
Standalone.
Need-nobody.
Equidistant.
And in my bid to find
Some meaning
I have tunnel vision
And I miss almost everything.
But in a way
I’m glad I’m blind
To some things.
It would be too much
To be constantly aware
And affected by everything.
I could never lose myself
In the things I Love
And bask in the glory
Of the reciprocal
And all of its beauty –
And I Hope you can see
My big eyes
Because in them
You can see
What a lot of people miss
From my smile
Because maybe
They are also looking for
Something.
And when they can’t
Find it
They ignore everything
Else –

Room 89

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Nobody is in the mood to talk to anybody.
We’re all minding our own businesses.
One is on the phone. The other is in her mind.
And I am in this Book.
I am in Room 89, wondering who did it.
A woman? Really?
Maybe.
Mama walks in – nobody hears her or even sees her.
I think she’s trying to determine who she should approach first.
And she’s probably wondering where her baby is.
Because there are no babies in here, all the beds are empty.
Nobody looks up. Nobody moves. We are all so still.
Phone. Mind. Room 89.
I flip the page over.
“Sister?”
For a second, I’m back at work and Room 89 dissolves into words in a Book.
I’m furthest from the door – she can’t be talking to me.
“Nurse?”
I look up.
She recoils – I wonder just what the expression on my face must look like.
Do I look as displeased as I feel? Because it’s all surreal and I’m both here in this moment and there in Room 89, where a woman has been found dead in a tub filled with sulfuric acid.
WHO DID IT?! WHHHYYYYYYYY?!
“Yes?” I say, my expression unchanged. She doesn’t speak. I stand up and my expression becomes blank. Her voice is barely above a whisper. She apologizes for disturbing me. I can see she’s already regretting coming to me instead of the other two.
She’s looking for her baby. Of course.
I get that information and I’m already in my seat before she’s left the room. I’m already settling back into Room 89.
And then I wonder – if maybe she thinks we’re rude.
She probably feels glad to be out of there.
I’m thinking, rather her baby be here because we’re the lowest form of care – our babies are getting better, not worse.
But I don’t say that out loud.
Nobody wants to hear that.
And my mind leaves the unit behind and I’m back in the Book.
Back in Room 89.

People

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Pretty faces
And fake smirks.
You don’t have to smile
At me if you don’t want to –
It won’t hurt.
We’re not friends.
And it’s okay.
You can walk past me
And trust –
I won’t look up at you
Anyway.
We were not
Designed to fit like that.
And I won’t pretend
If it means being like this.
I never expected
This thing to last
Beyond anything as standard
As cordial civility –
So don’t add this
To your list of things
To do – “Greet that Woman –
And smile when you do!”
I’m fine without it
I’ll live –
I’m good –
You can walk out
That door
I’m on my way out
Too –

We Forgive

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Have you ever –
Wanted to throw bricks
At the person who broke your Heart?
Have you ever –
Wanted to shut them down
When they finally felt they needed that forgiveness –
That one –
That they felt – before – that they didn’t need
From the start?
Have you ever –
Felt like going into a petty
Rage
So that they feel your pain?
Have you ever –
Felt like they’d be better off feeling
That rejection that
They forced on your soul.
HAVE YOU EVER –
Felt like they deserve all that
Guilt
Like they
DESERVE
To be alone?
But you’ve felt all that shit
And you know what
That black cloud feels like
And you know what it’s like
To face it
And come out on the other side.
You know what it’s like to
Have your Heart broken
And you’ve learned and healed
And grown from it –
So I forgive you.