poems i never wanted to write

You were my most prized poem. The one I would write on rainy days with coffee, at lonely nights and on crazy mornings. I wanted to keep writing you, keep adding to your beauty but you didn’t let me. Saying that you were a lie and nothing more than that.
—  But you never got to know; you were the truth keeping me intact. And without I am already shattering.
Bodega Roses

Lower East Side at midnight
his place
filled with lingering
wafts of 3 pm spliffs
and empty bottles
of cheap scotch,
I can never remember
the brand.
It made him feel like
James Bond
or Hemingway
when he drank it.
I didn’t want to
make him feel bad.
Bodega roses
of red and yellow
just for me,
in an old vase
on the kitchen table,
a patched crack
runs down the middle
of the glass.
I run my finger along it,
waiting for it
to pierce my skin,
but it never does.
He never takes his time
before his hands are
running up my legs
and under my skirt,
feeling his way inside,
before he lifts me
and sets me
on the table,
along side the flowers.
My eyes make contact
with their vibrant petals
as my pants
are pushed
to the side.
We have sex because
it’s what people
like us do.
My eyes close
and my mind wanders
to the painting of Ophelia
I saw at the
Tate Britain
a lifetime ago,
and the man who
wept
for her absence.
The bodega roses
come back into focus,
instead of his face.
We don’t make
eye contact
when he fucks me
anymore.
They are facing him,
even though I’m facing
them.
Because the truth is,
only one of us blooms for him.

Original Work: Kelsey H. 3.26.17

Bodega Roses

Lower East Side at midnight
his place
filled with lingering
wafts of 3 pm spliffs
and empty bottles
of cheap scotch,
I can never remember
the brand.
It made him feel like
James Bond
or Hemingway
when he drank it.
I didn’t want to
make him feel bad.
Bodega roses
of red and yellow
just for me,
in an old vase
on the kitchen table,
a patched crack
runs down the middle
of the glass.
I run my finger along it,
waiting for it
to pierce my skin,
but it never does.
He never takes his time
before his hands are
running up my legs
and under my skirt,
feeling his way inside,
before he lifts me
and sets me
on the table,
along side the flowers.
My eyes make contact
with their vibrant petals
as my pants
are pushed
to the side.
We have sex because
it’s what people
like us do.
My eyes close
and my mind wanders
to the painting of Ophelia
I saw at the
Tate Britain
a lifetime ago,
and the man who
wept
for her absence.
The bodega roses
come back into focus,
instead of his face.
We don’t make
eye contact
when he fucks me
anymore.
They are facing him,
even though I’m facing
them.
Because the truth is,
only one of us blooms for him.

Original Work: Kelsey H. 3.26.17

Monday 8:27am
I woke up with you on my mind.
You called me babe last night —
my heart is still pounding.

Tuesday 10:53pm
Today I realized we won’t work.
What we are is hurting her.
And I think she matters more to me than you do.

Wednesday 11:52pm
I broke things off with you today.
She barely said a word.
I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

Thursday 4:03pm
I shouldn’t have sent that message.
You shouldn’t have been so okay with receiving it.

Friday 9:57pm
I almost messaged you today.
I didn’t.

Saturday 8:49pm
I’m walking around town in search of alcohol.
They say that liquor numbs the pain of having a broken heart.
I want to put that to the test.

Sunday 2:32am
I heard you texted a girl you’ve never spoken to before.
I wonder if it’s because you’re trying to replace me.
I can’t help but wish you weren’t.
I thought I was irreplaceable.

—  a week with you on my mind, c.j.n.
Somebody once told me I was annoying, and it literally broke my heart. Because it felt like I was giving too much of myself to people who didn’t want it. It felt like I was forcing myself to be in a place where I wasn’t wanted. That was the starting point, and it never stopped. My heart just keeps on breaking. Because I still feel unwanted. I still feel like I’m not enough. I still feel like I’m annoying the hell out of everyone. And it still hurts the same way it did the first time - like I’d somehow rather die.
—  waferqueen
I want to hold your hand tighter and pull your body closer. While we whisper all the secrets we’re afraid to share with anyone else.
—  Tenari Ioapo // Confessions of a woman madly in love #19.
“why don’t you try to talk to him, to work things out?” her sister asks.
“because when you love someone, you want what’s best for them, even if it’s not you anymore. you want the person to be happy, and i can’t remember the last time i made him happy. there was a time when he was the best thing for me and i hope i was the best thing for him, but that time has passed. now all we did was hurt each other with cruel words and painful actions. and i don’t want that for him; i want happiness for him, not disfunction. and that’s what we ended up being. so i’m going to let him go; not because i want to, but because i have to,” she answers while looking at her hands where his once fit perfectly.
I respect your choice, even if it breaks my heart. I will never run after you or beg you to do something you don’t want to. Because that’s how much I love you. To choose your happiness over mine. I won’t be selfish with you.
Forced love is not true love.
—  F.F. // While I’m moving on.. #2
I miss being missed by you.
— 

I let you go, because I wanted to do right by you. And now you have moved on, and I am happy for you. But I catch myself wishing you still missed me, wishing that you still wanted me.

I know that isn’t fair, that you deserved better and that means that you needed to move on. But I miss being missed by you.

I miss you. I miss all of you. I miss the pointless conversations from dawn to dusk. I miss the good morning and good night texts. I miss talking all day, everyday and never getting sick of you. I miss you showing how much you wanted me. I miss our budding relationship and the little signs that were showed before we fell into love with each other. I can’t say anything else besides that I miss you. Dearly.
—  Ag
I’m not them,” you say. “I’m not who hurt you.”
I touch your face tenderly, cupping your cheek.
“Okay. Then who are you?”
“Someone who is deeply, irrevocably in love with you. And you know what? I don’t give a shit. If you hurt me. If I hurt you. And that’s the difference, you know? Between me and them. I love you more than the fear. I’m willing to risk it. I’m willing to fucking pour my heart out to you- right here, right now, when there’s a very real chance you’ll get up and leave and never talk to me again. And maybe I’m stupid for doing this, but I can’t… I cant hold it in anymore. Every time I look at you, you grow more and more beautiful until I can hardly stand it, so fuck it. If you ruin me, if I ruin you, who the fuck cares about the consequences, about the future? Does it really matter if we both feel the same way? Fuck the idea that wreckage can’t be gorgeous. I think the treetops are grateful for the hurricane that rips off their leaves. Goodness, I think they dream about it. I think thy fucking crave it, because for a single, wind struck moment, they get one inch closer to really living. And fuck, I’ll be the leaves this time around. Do you think I care? I’d set myself on fire to see the flames that dance in your eyes. So if you love me, fuck the fear. Fuck the fear. I may not be worth everything, but damn it, I’m worth more than the pain those assholes left you with.
—  ap (12.28.16) im not who hurt you
Move on, leave, run away, escape this place… but don’t forget about me, about us, about this town. Always remember where you come from so you can appreciate how far you’ve come.
—  c.j.n.

Hold me to your heart 

and never let me go

hold me to your lips

so that I always know

I want to feel your pulse

and feel our souls collide

hold me to your heart

until the day we die


Hey guys, this is something I’ve been excited to bring you. I wrote this small poem back in December which just screamed Klance, and wanted art to go with it. I ended up contacting @purpleneutrino, who made this absolutely stunning artwork, and I cannot thank her enough.

And as I sat there next to you, I realized just how beautiful you really are, both inside and out. First, I fell for your shy but cute confidence when we first met. And then I realized that under that mask, you have a truly beautiful heart. I fell for your kind, loving personality and humor. I wanted your heart, and all of it. When we met up alone for the first time, my heart was pounding right out of my chest, my hands were trembling next to yours, and my mind was racing with questions and emotions. Then, when you looked deep into my eyes and flashed me that smile, it’s like the whole world just stopped. It was only you that I wanted, just you and I, together. I think that’s when I truly fell for you; When I realized that our broken pieces fit together, and the parts of me that I had once lost, I had now found again with you. Maybe we’re just another cheesy, sappy love story, but that’s okay. You’re worth more than just a couple pages. You’re worth the world; so I decided to give you mine and make me yours.
—  falling for you…
monday // 12.12.16