heartbreak
They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
Echoes of betrayal
Amid the battlefield's embrace, a soldier faces heartache in the shadows of night. He sends letters with love across the miles, only to be met with betrayal in his wife's
Abigail WanjiruPublished 5 months ago in PoetsWho Was He?
It's a boy, the doctor said The arrival of an heir Celebrations, happy tears, He took his first step, He loved the pink dress,
Umama ZahirPublished 5 months ago in PoetsA Numb Doll
Like a glistering mist, the shadow of his body faded away, The tears held in for so long found their freedom that day The salty water dripping from her eyes,
Umama ZahirPublished 5 months ago in Poetsbut does she?
I know you’ve moved on but does she know about me? I know she is pretty but does she look as pretty as me when my hair was full of suds you were washing away in the shower? You always called me beautiful while the warm water covered our bodies.
enya sadiePublished 5 months ago in PoetsTHIS HURT
Crying, laughing, lonely, crowded, We live like a knotted rope Console me when I'm overwhelmed with anger Different now,
Skin Like Butter
His skin feels just like butter I swear it’s not the same I would do anything to see you again They say I must do better
Jordan Alexis MossPublished 5 months ago in PoetsFriends?
A melancholic frolic That’s what we’re here for They act like you’re important They act like they like you So long as you fit their image of you
Atomic HistorianPublished 5 months ago in PoetsThe Smooth Life
The day started out, all satin and smooth, My white dress and veil without flaw. His voice was so strong, mine shaky with nerves,
Marney Studaker-CordnerPublished 5 months ago in PoetsFace II
I sure do miss my smooth summer skin In winter it becomes so dry last winter you brushed my face Said I'd always be me
Hywel LatimyrPublished 5 months ago in PoetsThe Kiss of Despondency
Satin memories dance across my lips as I am wistfully taken back to a time long past. Oh how the pain of loss sticks to your soul, like a melancholy companion.
Giordano JosephPublished 5 months ago in PoetsNovember 30th.
I am sat by my favorite tree again, 13 days later. The ground beneath me is still familiar, and so is the smell of smoke, but I am trying to get used to the ache in my lungs. I try not to ruminate on these next three weeks, my least favorite of the year, but it is futile. I feel stuck. I am unsure if I have it in me to turn my pain into some glorious metaphor tonight. The sun sets too early now; they’re each different, sure, but in this moment, it feels all the same. Blue and yellow and orange muddled together until the canvas becomes dark again, like I am used to. I like being used to things. My roommates’ conversations sound foreign, the girl in the mirror is a stranger, I have this weird pain in my left shoulder, maybe I should have gone to my weekly yoga class after all. For 13 days, I was someone different, and 13 days later, I don’t want to know her anymore. I feel stagnant. My to-do list is a mountain and I have no plan for when to climb it, much less how. I am sat outside, on the golf course that has become my second home, hoping desperately to find the place in which my remains are buried, but I’m not even trying. I see no grave and there was never a tombstone to look for, all that I am met with is a rabbit hopping by, that’s new. I don’t like new. The next three weeks shouldn’t feel new, I’ve been through them before and I’ll do so again next year. New, new, new, everything feels new. The girl I once knew would know what to do, but these 13 days have killed her, and funnily enough, there’s still no tombstone to look for. Last week was warm but tonight the weather chills me to my bone; my hands are always cold but I worry my thumbs might actually freeze. These sweatpants were given to me yesterday and my comically large coat has finally made its debut. The growl from my stomach is almost comforting, if only it didn’t pain me in a way I wasn’t used to. I twirl my hair, the same piece I always do, but I just found out it might make it shorter than the rest, that’s new. Everything seems so close, but when I reach out my arms, it is only a gust of wind that greets me, and a magnifying glass falls out of my hands. I didn’t know I was holding that. I don’t know a lot anymore, apparently, and, worst of all, I don’t know if I have it in me to learn again.
daphne grayPublished 5 months ago in PoetsSmooth is a Bad Day
Smooth is a bad day. Yeah, smooth sounds cute. But honestly? She's a nightmare. - Smooth is that pale light slipping through Wal-Mart curtains.
Emma Kate ColemanPublished 5 months ago in Poets