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PoemsThe Little Things
A touch on the arm
One look into your beautiful, blue-green eyes
All I have
I keep in my mind
Replaying over and over
My playlist of you
Of all the little things
The only ones I have
For what good
Is money or possessions
When the one you love
Will never be yours?
When you have to imagine
How it would feel
For your lips to meet?
I'd never tell you
How much I love to hear you speak
How many times I've listened to you
Watched you from across the room
Or how many times I've feared
That you'd realize it
And you can never find out
That my eyes have never seen someone
The way they see you
That my heart has never soared so high
As it did when you touched me
Or that each second I realize more and more
I Should Tell You
And over in my mind
Do you notice how I look at you?
Do you care?
Beautiful, beautiful wisdom drips from your every word
Craving your approval every second
PoemsGone is what we used to be.
I regret it now; I finally see....
It's time to set these feelings free
That once almost destroyed me.
You probably don't think it's true,
But, yes, I was in love with you.
I just now realized that we're through,
And I think it's split my heart in two.
Even though I know we're over,
Sometimes I still look over my shoulder,
Hoping it's me that you're looking at, though you're holding her.
I can feel my heart freeze.....It gets colder and colder.
One day soon it will break,
But what difference does it make?
I have realized my mistake,
But, alas, it is too late.
To have ever loved in the first place
Was what brought me to such disgrace.
By staying here, I'm losing face.
By leaving, my hopes go to waste.
I won't try to get back together;
I don't think that would work, not ever,
But losing you's got me feeling rather
Not quite right....under the weather.
I know you may not get this letter;
That's probably for the better,
And while my rhyming scheme's not clever,
Complicated"You know, personally speaking, I don't think you're really unwell at all."
"I'm sorry, are you the one who is sick or am I?"
"There is nothing wrong with you."
"Can you say that again?"
"I said, you aren't sick!"
"Whatever. The receptionist is calling me in, anyway."
"You're a hypochondriac."
"What?! Listen you-"
"Look, just go inside. I'm sure the doctor will say the same thing."
"So. What did the doctor say?"
"That it's complicated."
"Yeah. They need to run more tests and figure it out."
"You sound skeptical."
"You told him that you only get 'sick' in history class."
"And about how your heart races and your hands shake."
"And about how you can't sleep at night and you can't concentrate."
"Yes, yes, all of that, I told him everything I told you."
"Did you also happen to mention the boy who sits in front of you in that class?"
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Tell me something. Have you noticed
Judgement"You need to stop doing this."
"Stop doing what?"
"Writing me into your stories."
"Because it scares me. I'm not this guy that you write about. I'm not some kind of Prince Charming and I'm certainly not a sea God or whatever you like to say about my eyes every now and then."
"Yeah. You really need to work on your judgement of people, because this is all wrong. It's like you don't know me at all!"
"So why don't you correct me and I'll fix my idea of you accordingly."
"Well firstly, I'm a really nervous person."
"Yeah. Your hands are either fiddling with your hair or your sleeve, or you're biting your nails."
"And I don't like going out. I'm a hermit."
"Except to your best friends' houses, or to the animal shelter, or to me."
"And I'm dead inside."
"Says the boy who hides his tears at the sight of an injured puppy."
"I do not."
"Yes, you do."
"Anyway, I'm not always nice to you. In fact, I really don't do enough."
"You're right. Except yo
There's a Girl...There's a girl I know....and I'm afraid for her.
She doesn't know who she is,
She's trying to figure it out.
She wants to be right, but only seems to do wrong.
She looks ahead, but can't forget the past.
She's scarred and wounded, and it's never healed.
She has no best friend, she feels alone in this world.
She's afraid to be herself.
She wants to let it all out, but always holds it in.
She is happy on the outside, but inside sobbing.
She doesn't know who her friends are.
She wants to start over.
She wants to forget.
She wants to know who she is.
But in the end, she's to scared to try.
Her secret? No one knows.
No one cares to ask.
No one cares to help.
No one feels.
She is alone.
The people around her say that she is strong,
But she's scared.
They say that she's beautiful,
But she has an ugly secret.
They say she's open,
But she's afraid to let people see her true self.
I'm the only person she has.
But the sad thing is, she's not even real.
SHE doesn't exist.
ExcusesHe sleeps like a child without a voice. (And she listens like a child who cannot hear.)
He dreams like a stranger on a train. (And she watches like another fixated by his thoughts.)
He sighs like the first whisper of a rainstorm. (And she understands like the eve of the storm.)
He breathes like tomorrow is his last day. (And she reminds him that he will live longer than ever.)
He sings like a bird in the winds of the forest. (And she understands the sweetness of every note.)
He cries like the downpour in the desert. (And she climbs to the ends of the earth to make him smile.)
He loses his way like a deer out of the forest. (And she guides him back each time to the place where he is meant to be.)
He breaks like a fragile flower in the dust and the wind. (And she tells him he is too strong to be fragile ever.)
He fights like the last angel defending heaven. (And she gives him his swords and armor.)
He writes like the blood from the finest writer's heart. (And she reads his words with awe
Opportunities"Please teach me." She asked him softly.
"Teach you what?" He looked out of the window, shattered glass at his feet. Her face was looking down as she sat on her knees, studying a thousand of his reflections in the mirror like shards below. He seemed a little impatient. She didn't flinch at the annoyance in his voice.
Her eyes, the eyes of a moon nymph drowning, looking into his, the eyes of the sea god who was drowning her. "Teach me about life."
"What is life?" His voice broke slightly, and before it could be seen, he was looking out of his window again. "It is nothing but broken words, stolen from the lips of lovers that had been doomed a long time ago. It is a thousand poniards wedged in the heart of a man who cannot die. It is the black tar on the soul of a woman who cannot breathe." He laughed bitterly, "Life is nothing but an opportunist. It drains your soul. And all it ever offers us in return, are opportunities of sadness and hardship."
"It also gives us a time to be happy and
Depressing PoemsSorry --
What if she died?
And at the funeral her parents told you,
"You could have saved her from herself."
How would that make you feel?
And that night you went home
Sat in your room alone
And killed yourself
Just to be with her again and tell her
Why do people try to help me?
Do they care?
I guess they do
But all I do is hurt them
She keeps trying to help me
But all I do is push her away
She's my best friend
Why can't I just let her help?
What if I died right now?
How would you fell?
Sad, depressed, torn apart?
Or would you feel nothing,
But an empty place that can never be filled again?
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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