relationship poem

When you decide to leave a person when they need you the most, remember you can never make up for that abandonment, remember you can’t break a soul then make it up again.
Remember humans don’t work that way.

They will survive though, flowers will grow out of the wound which you gave them but they will always remember you as the person who gave them darkness when they needed hope.

—  Kriti.GNo quick fix

I wish I could find you a reason that would make sense. But the truth is the only reason I have is I am not ready, and that I’m scared.

I cannot tell you how much I wish that circumstance hadn’t left me this guarded and unable to trust. But I can’t risk turning your purity into darkness.

You are everything that a girl looks for, kind, respectful and fun to be around. And I hope that you find someone that will appreciate and compliment that. I really wish that I could fill that role, but I have ruined too many people to risk adding you to the list of names that keep me up at night.

— 

I wish I was ready for you, but I’m not. And I could never ask you to wait for me to be ready, nor would i let you. 

Maybe one day I’ll be ready and you will be willing, but for now lets just be friends.

8

Could You Ever Live Without? Five Star Rated Poetry.

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Poems from my anthology, Could You Ever Live Without? The full book is out now and available as:

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I want to be able to hear your name
in simple conversations
about things that ‘should have been' 
without the sword I swallowed
when you finally left and released me
coming back up, tip first.


I want to be able to learn to hold 
that same sword as a weapon,
stand with my feet staggered,
shoulder width apart, and know
never to take my eyes off of you
because this time I will see you coming.


I want to be able to spit your name
at your feet like blood and broken teeth
after a good punch to the jaw,
so that you’ll know how you hurt me
and can see that I am purging 
everything that could rot out of my body.


But mostly, I want to forget you.
If I were a little girl I would say
I wish I had never met you
but we are both too old,
you for what you did to me 
and I for thinking it was love.


So, I want you to remember.
Remember the way you manipulated me,
broke me down, lied to me,
had me lie for you, the way I flinch
away from everyone, especially you.
Remember, and watch for my sword.

—  I wrote this as a warning for you || O.L.
I Wish, I Have

All I wish is for home,

For you;

But all I have are memories,

Numerous as stars,

Of having to leave,

Of breaking our hearts,

Because of things far from our control.

I may as well carve my heart

From my chest

And give it to you.

It would probably rest

Easier, anyway.

I write because I know how it feels. 

When you’re 14, 
To stay on the phone all night under the sheets
with the boy who calls you pretty,
and get three hours of sleep
& being perfectly okay with it.

To be 15, 
and have a boy tell you 
“your legs are too big”
and leave. 

To be 16, 
and watch the boy you swore you’d marry, 
hold another girl’s hand. 

And when you’re 17, 
you’ll finally break a heart, 
but plead with another to not leave you
for the blonde girl with
a beautiful body and small legs and messed up teeth. 

When you’re in your first year of college,
you’ll become numb to it all,
convincing all your friends you’re happy. 
Trying helplessly not to remember 
what it felt to be the body bag instead of the bullet. 

At 19, 
you’ll spend your birthday with a boy 
whose name you’ll someday forget. 

And that summer
you’ll have a love like the ones they make movies about. 
A kind of love that changes how you see the world,
and more importantly: yourself.
The love you can never tell anyone about. 
‘Because a woman’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets’. 

And he’ll go home. 
and you’ll move on to meet a man 
that feels like a warm blanket on a rainy day. 
One that makes you feel big when 
you look up to the night sky. 
The one that gives you hope for the future, 
hope that maybe you do deserve happiness 
for more than one season of the year. 

I know heartbreak as if it were
the bones in my body. The solid structure 
that holds me together. I also know redemption too. 

And that is why I write.

—  “To do as if a writer” – Nicole Curtis
I’d freeze in the brazen cold
But I’d do it only for you.
I’d drink bitter bile.
But I’d do it only for you.
I’d take a bite of poison ivy.
But I’d do it only for you.
I’d sleep on a bed of thorns
But I’d do it only for you.
I’d walk on broken glass
But I’d do it only for you.
I hope you know that
The one I want is you.
Soft Spot

I know that I shouldn’t let you in.

I know what you are capable of. 

I know the monster that slithers inside of you and lives in the very deepest pits of your soul. I know that it has the power to charm its victims, make its prey pity the poor, pathetic monster’s manifestation, while drawing on your infatuation of its misery and pulling you deeper and deeper into its lair.

I know its voice. I know how it drips like molasses— slick, slow, soothing. I know how it has the ability to hypnotize and coerce. I know how the words that slide off its slippery tongue are calculated and precise.

I know how the monster, the serpent, slithers into your heart and pulls on its strings. I know how the serpent plays them just right, making the sound of the monster’s manipulation sound like the sweetest lullaby; singing you to sleep to dream of the possibilities this monster— now a hazy angel— has ready at its table for you. 

I know this monster because I’ve succumbed to its charm: I’ve clutched to its sweet serenity. I know the feel of it’s slithering body wrapped tight around mine. I know the feeling, the intense pleasure of its touch— and even more, its words.

I know its motives.

I know its capacity for destruction.

And yet, the softest caress and I’m down on my knees, begging to be wanted, begging the monster to pleasure me with its dancing tongue, to fill me with its fantastical love, and engorge me with its symphony; its sweet melody that I’ve come so much to love— 

And to fear.

And depend on.

I’ve become addicted…and it’s slowly becoming harder to resist the temptation that itches in my finger tips and pulls at my eyes and tugs on my ears. I want to fall deeper into this bestiality that you’ve reduced me to. I want you to make me the fool. As long I can feel that tongue again; as long as you whisper those melodies in my ear.  

I know I shouldn’t let you in.

I know what you are capable of.

But you know my pressure points: I’ve exposed to you my weaknesses.

And I find it hard to care—

With your tongue delighting the soft spot of my soul. 

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