#Long poetry

[tuhainkahan]

“May we stop seeing ourselves through the eyes of people that never saw us.”

— Shane Steele.

[rzmusings]

you touch my skin as though it were divine. lips brush against my face as though i might shatter, while your fingers roam every inch of me. mapping me out. visiting every place. caressing your favourites. your touch is warm, warm like a fireplace in winter, warm like soup and warm like the brown of those eyes— i could love you. i could love the sharpness of your canines when you laugh hard enough. the glasses you don't wear nearly enough. the twitch of your lips when our eyes lock long enough. the way you gaze down at me as though there isn't a better sight to behold. i could love you.

— do i already love you?

[coffeexxcigarettes]

And the moon is flooded red,

Stained like strawberries

Yet I am stuck on your lips.

The idea that such a sight I used to beg for,

Pales in comparison to your smile-

I hold anger with your name,

A bitter resentment for turning the stars

I've long admired

Into memories of us against the black of night.

There's us,

Laughing and falling asleep,

Blinking desperately to stay beside one another

For just a moment longer.

There's us cooking together,

And I'm acting like I know what I'm doing-

But I don't,

And yet I guide your hands,

And yet you let me,

And together we create food with memories-

And then there's me thinking I was the only one.

The brightest star,

Flickering alone against the red of the summer moon.

Stargazing was so peaceful

Before I tasted your fruit.

I knew you'd taste of stars before I tried you,

And you did.

And you do.

And you always will.

I cannot compete with stars,

When all I offer is messy poetry

And tears.

It was a foolish whim,

Made by a child who loved the night.

And I'd do it again if it meant

The stars would shine just for me

Even if only for a

Single

Moment

More.

x

[acelynnfisher]

i watched them strip their clothes,

revealing their bare skin.

they look down, then at me.

i see how their eyes yearn and beg.

they turn to their side and suck it in,

all until there was only a thin line.

but this line was still too thick.

it always would be.

they try again and again,

staring at me intensely each and every time.

their eyes.. desperate for something,

anything.

their hands caressed their soft skin,

it moved around and so does their flesh.

every movement mimicked its own.

and that’s when it happened.

when they hunched over,

their body vibrating with sorrow.

they look up at me, their eyes tinted crimson.

their eyes bleeding colorless blood.

“i hate you.”

they whisper.

that’s all they ever say.

they clenched their fist, but i wasn’t scared.

i knew they wouldn’t punch me,

they never did.

their hand fell onto mine,

our fingertips connecting,

and for a split second i knew how it felt to feel.

they break away, still staring at me,

and says those three familar words.

each time they got louder,

each time they meant it more,

each time it hurt less.

i watched as they resented my every being.

how their tears carved canyons in their cheeks.

how their eyes reddened with woe.

how their teeth clashed in frustration.

i felt pity for them,

i wanted to hug them, wrap them in my warmth.

maybe then they wouldn’t be so… cold.

i wish i could tell them how much i love them,

to give them the love they deserve,

to let them know that i was always here.

but i know i’ll never be able to,

after all.. i’m only a mirror.

[httpch3rry]

teenage love story

i still look for you sometimes

but not out of love

or that naive, puppy adoration

i so clearly had as a child

i look for you praying you're rotting where you belong

sometimes i look at the moon

and i feel a comfort in knowing that,

despite everything,

you will die long before i do

and when you die

you will meet God

and He will make sure you remember

every single bit of pain you've inflicted on me and all those other girls

we will have careers and husbands

we will laugh and drink and cry

and you will get fucking fat

and you will bald

and you will smell so terrible all the time

that when your heart finally gives out

nobody will be able to tell your corpse is rotting

nobody will care enough to call anyone

you will be forgotten

and i will hate you as you burn in Hell

[mimi-from-heaven]

What these eyes could feel?

its a long poem today.

When you are sad, you cry.

You cry, without discretion.

It irritates me, who never had a chance.

When you are mad, you yell.

You yell at others without sympathy.

It irritates me, who never had a chance.

When you are happy, you smile.

You sound so happy when you talk.

It irritates me who never learnt how.

So when you ask me.

“Why do you look at me with such eyes?”

I will say to you.

“Nothing.”

With these eyes you’ve seen before.

They are not friendly.

They are not happy.

They are not angry.

They are me.

I will always look at you with these eyes.

You are no use to me.

I won't smile at you.

I won’t get angry at you.

I will be me, not you.

Not you who can love.

Not you who can hope.

Not you who can look into these eyes and smile.

I envy you.

I hate you.

I love you.

I care about you.

Everything I see is you.

When you look at these eyes you don’t fear.

You don't hate.

You don't love.

You are you. 

I’d hate to say these words that go around in my head.

And spill from these eyes.

I’d hate to know the meaning of the one’s that spill from my fingertips.

If I did, some might need clarification.

Others might start to hate me.

Your mood shouldn't affect those around you.

Your voice wouldn't be the only thing in my head.

Your face wouldn't be the only thing in these eyes.

Your love shouldn't be the only thing I know in this heart.

They may call this obsession.

But I call it,

What these eyes could feel.

[syllyrix]

In Your Shadow

The day I was born, you were alone at home. He left you there, barely out of your teens, while he was off playing pool with his friends, like it was any other day. I imagine you pacing the living room, unsure whether to call him or wait, your hands cradling your belly as you looked at the clock. I wonder if you were scared, I wonder if you thought you could change him or if in that moment, alone bringing me into the world, you realized you had made a mistake.

I was two and I slept on his chest, snow a quiet blanket outside, while you curled up at his side. You spoke your dream of three children, a vision cherished since you were a little girl. He was unmoved, his words like shards of glass piercing your heart: “It’s up to you. You’ll be the one taking care of them.” Reality slapped you back to silence as you rose and gently pulled me away from his arms.

I was three, and my fingers were sticky from candy. I remember because you said, “Don’t touch anything,” but when I saw the tears on your face, I wiped them away anyway. You looked at me with a half smile, the one that didn't quite reach your eyes. I kissed your cheek, because that’s what you always did when I was hurt. You held me close.

I was four, sitting on the floor outside the door. I was supposed to be asleep, but I could hear you shouting. You said you’d leave him, his dry laughter louder than all your words. I didn’t understand why he laughed. Maybe it was a joke. But you weren’t laughing and it felt like a punch in my stomach. When he came back that night he brought me a stuffed toy, hidden under his coat. You smiled.

I was five, perched on the kitchen counter, you told me to stay inside. There was a woman by the window, standing too close to him. You were there too, but you looked far away, like you were somewhere out of reach. The next day, you pulled me out of the swimming pool early. My hair was still wet when we got in the car, a curtain between the two us. I liked swimming. But the drive home was quiet, and when he said, “I love you,” It sounded like something had broken inside.

I was six when you found him drunk in bed next to me. He was asleep, but I was wide awake, frozen beside him. You shook him hard, like you were trying to wake up from a bad dream too. His breath stunk, just like the bottles he kept under the sink. I didn’t know what was wrong, but your hands were shaking, and mine were too. I had school in three hours, and you put me in bed with you. You cried a lot that night buried in your pillow. I held you tight. Later, he bought me a bike, yellow and white. I felt a fleeting burst of joy against the backdrop of our troubles. Love and fear danced before my eyes as I pedaled away trying to outrun the shadows.

I was seven when we packed everything we had, which wasn’t much. You said we were going to stay at Grandma’s house. The car smelled like wet grass and stale coffee. When you said you were happy we were leaving, your eyes were red. I smiled and said I was happy too, but I didn’t believe it. You said you wished you could go back to when you were sixteen, when you weren’t so afraid. I told you that you didn’t have to be afraid because I was there with you. You smiled, but it was the kind of smile that fades before it reaches your gaze. It didn't last long though, you fought with your parents too. A few months later, we were back. You said it was for the best. I didn’t ask what that meant.

I was eight and he took us for ice cream at that nice place down the road. I had insisted so much he finally gave in. It was a good day. You remembered the old times, talked about love at first sight. I liked those days when your face softened and you said it wasn’t really that bad, like you were trying to make the story better. But even then, I knew love wasn’t supposed to feel like walking on eggshells.

I was nine when I came home from school, and you were sitting on the couch, staring at nothing. You said he’d lost all the money on that foolish game, the one that made him angry when he didn’t win. But you looked like you’d lost way more than that. You said you should’ve left him a long time ago. I wanted to ask why you didn’t. I stayed silent. He even sold your old necklace. I remember how shiny it was, and how your face looked when you saw it was gone. I wanted to find it for you, but I didn’t know where to look. The blows he threw weren't just at you; they always felt like they were aimed at me too.

I was ten when I begged because I wanted him to stay. Angry at your tired gaze as you watched him leave with that resigned look across your face, like you were used to it, like this was just how things were. I still believed if I held on tight enough, he wouldn’t go. That maybe, if I stood between him and the door, he’d stay just for me. I clutched at the sleeve of his jacket, but he tore my hands away. I tumbled to the floor as he slammed the door and walked away. You crouched down beside me, I could feel your warmth. You wiped my face gently with the sleeve of your sweater. “He’ll be back,” you said. I wanted to hate him so bad, and eventually, I did. But you never spoke ill of him. "He loves you in his own way," you told me the day he left again. Your voice was steady, but your eyes—they always gave you away.

I was eleven when he lost his job. You didn’t tell me right away, but I heard you on the phone with Aunt. You were crying quietly, your voice hushed like you didn’t want me to hear. “I don’t know what to do,” you whispered. I pressed my ear against the door, listening. You talked about bills, about how you didn’t have enough to make it work this time. Aunt said you should leave him; you didn’t say anything. She sent money for rent, but he used it on his game instead. The next day, the lights went out and you said we had to leave. I was happy, naive.

At twelve, we moved to Grandma’s house. It was early June, and you took me out of school. You looked defeated; I knew you didn't like it here—I could see it in the way you avoided everyone’s gaze. There were so many people that day; you came from a family of too many children. You told me a lot about lost opportunities and never studying—"It wasn’t for girls like me," you said, almost like you were ashamed. You talked about marriage as escape. And surrounded by all those unwelcoming faces, I felt the hollowness of belonging nowhere.

At thirteen, my room was bigger, but I had nothing to fill it with. We had sold almost everything just to get by. The emptiness of it mirrored the uncertainty I felt inside. I didn’t like this place either, and downstairs the arguments rattled the walls while I threw anxious glances at the door. I never felt brave enough. Each night, I stared at the mold-littered ceiling and imagined the universe and its stars as I prayed for a small corner of peace. A place we could call our own, one where we could feel secure and at home.

At fourteen, you pulled a small stash of cash from your closet. It wasn't much—a few crumpled bills and loose change. It was all you managed to save. You shoved it in my hands while you said, "These are yours, and if anything ever happens, he must never know." In that moment, our world’s instability lay bare beneath my feet. Tears filled my eyes as thoughts I wasn't ready to face swirled relentlessly in my mind. You kissed my forehead and whispered, “Don’t cry.”

At fifteen, I told you I wished I'd never been born, angry at the life you decided to bring me into. Those words I still regret to this day. The pain on your face is etched deep in memory. “I’m sorry” you said. “I didn’t mean it” I wailed. That night I fell asleep in your embrace.

At sixteen, I asked you why you didn't leave. You paused, your eyes heavy with years of holding on. “Sometimes it’s easier to stay than to walk away,” your voice faltered as you added, “It wasn’t just me I had to choose for.” Your words hung heavy in the air. I wanted to argue, tell you I never asked for that, but I hesitated because I already knew how each of our days must have felt like a mistake you couldn’t undo, and deep down, I wondered if you regretted my birth too.

At seventeen, he was gambling and drinking his life away again. Hours would pass and we would never know where he went. One day, we made pizza and watched TV—just me and you. While we ate quietly on the couch, you asked why I never went out. “Go have fun with friends,” you told me with a smile. But truth was, anxiety chained me to those four walls. I couldn't leave you behind, all your struggles becoming mine as I was your shadow day and night. I nodded, though, didn’t want to burden you anymore. To this day, I’d still surrender my life to ease your pain, and I know you’d do just the same.

As I turned eighteen, I didn’t feel like an adult at all. And now, even though I’m older, I still don’t. I wear all those years like thin layers of tender skin, perpetually bleeding. But as the world moves on and I stand still, everything so fragile and elusive, I realize something you once said has stuck with me: “You must love yourself first.” I didn’t understand it then, but now I see you weren’t just speaking to me, but also to that young girl who dreamed of a home, three children, and warmth. You were speaking to the woman who never had the chance to be loved the way she deserved. And so, as I look at you from across this room, I believe I can do it, not just for myself but for us both, for everything we went through, for the longest time—just me and you; I can learn, albeit slowly, to step out from your shadow and find my own way forward. Maybe, just maybe, we can both learn to live for ourselves one day, without the weight of the past dragging us back to this dark place.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don’t know why, but there’s this proliferation of castle houses on the market, lately. This one, in Wichita, Kansas, has been on market over 3 mos. for $1.850M. Maybe they’re just getting to costly to maintain.

Enter through a big medieval door and iron gate to a reception room with simulated stone wallpaper and faux finish on the ceiling. 

It’s a very large central hall- look at all the features. There’s even a fountain in the wall.

This is quite an impressive home. The cathedral in this room, the leaded glass windows, and medieval fireplace are magnificent. The faux finishes on the wall are a good simulation of medieval architecture, as are the doors. 

And, look at this part of the massive room- the detailing on the wooden built-in shelving, and the balconies. It’s incredible- look at the enclosed balcony. 

A windowed hallway beside the outer garden path. 

Look at the bar. It’s a cozy area with a complete view of the grounds.

Very large formal dining room with a fabulous ceiling. 

The kitchen is ridiculous. This cabinetry must’ve cost a fortune, w/all the intricately carved details. And. look at the medieval iron chandelier over the island.

High ceilings in the TV room give it the illusion of a great hall.

Built in 1926, the home is heated by radiators. 

Looks like everyone gets his own home office.

Here’s the balcony we saw in the living room.

There’s a large family room up here w/a mini fridge.

The home has 5 bds., all of large sizes with fancy medieval closets.

Plenty beautiful baths- there are 7.

All of the bds. are basically the same size.

Of course there’s an elevator. 

Plus, there’s an home gym area. 

Lovely yard and gardens also include a pool and patio. 

https://www.redfin.com/KS/Wichita/320-N-Belmont-Pl-67208/home/120878456

[clvxrxox]

I wish you could see through my eyes the devotion and love I have for you, how I try my best to know everything about you and when I do, I'll end up loving you so much more.

I wish to write to you so much, write pages and pages, and when the pages end my love, I'd write on my white walls for you even if my hands are aching, even if every bottle of ink I own is finished.

I feel so much it's unbearable.

[im-writing-again]

Loves never seized, instantly lost on station platforms, Watching you look back at me as you board your train- The one I am not getting on. And you're off, to Liverpool, to Edinburgh, to Neverland, Wherever I will not be...

I should have asked you about the roll of papers, that fell to the ground, That I picked up for you. Was it an art project? Important work documents? Architectural plans? God, why didn't I speak to you? Beyond the polite 'thank you' and 'it's alright.' Why didn't I speak to you?

I wonder what could have been, if I'd gone your way When we were on the station platform, Or if we'd sat together on the train seats... Would you have the same music taste as me, And like the same songs I would play on our anniversary? Would I map out your gleaming smile, Like the moles on my body you'd join the dots of? Would I have met your friends coming off the train, And seen the confusion in their eyes, As I looked at you with the stars in mine? Would you have known my parents, In this distorted future, Would they have become just like your own?

But I didn't, did I? Go your way- I could have done, you know... Changed my destination, Followed your blue eyes across the country, Across the sea, Across the globe... I would have done. I should have done. Do you think? Would you? Did you want me to? To follow you- You looked back at me like you did...

But I didn't, did I? So I sit glumly on the platform and wonder: Are you seeing my eyes among the falling leaves, Like I'm seeing your smile throughout the station stores? Are the rolling hills the shape of my cheek, Like your hair is the warm colour of the heated lights? Are you thinking of my face, the one you glimpsed, On a nowhere station, Like I am thinking of you, Looking back at me as you board your train? The one I did not get on. So, when my train comes, I take my seat, Excusing, cursing, my ignorance, All the trains I didn't take, And all the you's I will not keep.

[tuhainkahan]

“Sympathy's easy. You have sympathy for starving children swatting at flies on the late-night commercials. Sympathy is easy because it comes from a position of power. Empathy is getting down on your knees and looking someone else in the eye and realizing you could be them, and that all that separates you is luck.”

— Dennis Lehane

[kairos-thehumanpoet]

(Every Single Atom)

you don't just

make my heart

beat faster,

my every atom

starts to speed up.

you raise me to

a higher vibration,

full of heat

and wonder.

~kairos 💛

[a-world-trapped-in-a-person]

Silence

Since I was young,

I was told to be quiet.

"Keep down your voice"

"Don't speak so loud"

"Don't make no sound"

"A girl should only be seen and not heard"

And now I'm in my twenties

My brother younger than me

We both play the keyboard

When he raises it's volume,

I'm always frightened

For I could never play

for others to hear

But he has no fright

To play as loudly as he desires

Sometimes I wonder

Why I think,

"Am I disturbing someone?"

If I let my songs be heard

If I let them hear me play

Why does my mind always remind me

"Stay quiet" "don't be loud"

"keep it down"

Even when it's unnecessary.

Thinking I'm a disturbance

To others all the time.

Habits are hard to kill

But I will try.

[acelynnfisher]

The stars. They’re like people.

some of them, they burn so bright

that they’re like beacons in the sky.

you can see them from miles away.

they shine so bright that

you can’t take your eyes off of them.

but then some of them,

they burn out early.

and it can be easy to forget

that they were there at all.

but even when those stars burn out,

they leave something behind:

a beautiful afterimage in the sky.

they leave a mark that they were there,

that they were beautiful.

and you can see it, even after they’re gone

and that’s how you remember they were there.

that’s how you remember them.

and just because they’re gone,

that doesn’t mean they’re not still beautiful.

their beauty just looks different now.

[httpch3rry]

justify me

justice doesn't exist

a ten-year-old girl proclaims

why does he get to change

when the scars he left her with

cut so deep she'll never forget

justice doesn't exist

a fifteen-year-old girl proclaims

he's straightened himself out

forgotten all about her

but she'll never be the same

predators get to redeem themselves

i get to watch myself learn to breathe from afar

[v0idedduck]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

It was dawn when the moon fell in love with the sun,

And it got a glance of the others beauty.

It was dusk when the sun caught a glimpse of the moon,

And it's breath was swept away.

The moon was shy,rising and falling behind clouds,

Its cycle of nights accompanied by us stars.

The sun was bold,gleaming with pride in the sky,

Its rotating days spent gazing at humans.

The moon fell for the sun,

The sun fell for the moon.

In twisting agony I watch them both.

I hide in the day,

Brightening in the night.

The moon weeps for its lover,

Whilst the sun forces a smile.

I watch my sun and my moon,

Never together, always apart.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎