#excerpt from a poem I'll never write

[writingthethoughtsaway]

“I believed you even when I knew you were lying.”

- S. C. C.

[letterstokami]

[vomitingwords]

and then I learned

how to cry

without tears

falling from my eyes

behind clouds // ma.c.a

[thewaitingluna]

currently in an unhealthy relationship with myself.

[cvtastrophee]

i have yet to find the end to this pain.

[rizuuspoetry]

[amateur-scribbler]

“I really want to be friends.”

We’ve both said that so many times, and I honestly don’t know what to say about us anymore; I’ve lost all words, reason, and rhymes.

Because we are just friends.

I know it’s what we both think will cause the least hurt, and we keep speaking it into existence while we brush off any I love you’s that annunciate the wrong word.

I know every friendship looks different but, people always seem to have questions when it comes to me and you.

I’ve been told the way we look at each other is not in a way that normal friends do. I know my eyes linger on you, and now I’m wondering if your eyes find me when you gaze around a room.

But, we’re just friends.

I think we’re rather good at it too. It’s not like we’re playing out a script that millions have tried before us and hoping no heartbreak ensues.

And, I think it’s fine that I love looking at your eyes and finding new shades of blue; surely, that’s just a normal platonic thing to do?

I really want to be friends, because I can’t imagine losing the conversations where you tell me not to worry about the words I said after too many wines.

I can’t imagine losing the feeling that we were meant to meet each other and trade stories, laughing at all the ways we are so very much alike.

So, let’s practice being friends.

We’ll get better at not reading between the lines. I’ll stop smiling when your name pops up on my phone, and you’ll stop looking at me like you’re wondering if things could’ve been different in another life.

just friends - t.k.o

[stormykatie]

october reeks

of silent whispers,

of hopeful stares,

of acute nostalgia

october tastes

of drunken kisses,

of bourbon whiskey,

of you,

of me,

of new beginnings

-katie

[tellherium]

It was Never about You //

3 of 3: Poems From the First Evening I've Spent Alone in Over a Month

[hakaan05]

Please stay on my skin, stain my clothes, exchange breaths. Carve your existence into mine, go beyond just memories, leave a tangible scar. I don’t want to just remember you

[writingthethoughtsaway]

“Do you have any idea of how many little things remind me of you everyday?”

- S. C. C.

[letterstokami]

[10.09.2023]

[thelastwordsofashootingstarr]

there’s a pit in my stomach that’s calling out your name. a keen eye kept watching for any signs of discontent and shame. so much for first love and now i’m just empty. so much for forgetting, i find traces of you everywhere in my city.

they had to pry whatever was left of us from my tightly clenched hands. all that’s left is a streak of blood scarring my shaking palms. i hate myself for thinking our endings would be grand. would anyone believe me when i told them how this actually died a quiet death, in the corner of the room, choking on its own breath?

i want to scream why why why why why. like the broken record player next to your bed. but don’t we know that this is how it was always supposed to end? boy meets girl. boy loses girl. boy doesn’t find girl. she’s nowhere. reduced to ashes by the flames of her own despair. i could’ve survived on scraps of love while giving you all of me.

so what do you do? when the only one you trusted to call “home” doesn’t want this version of you? carved so carefully according to everyone’s whims. my heart is nothing but a mirrorball that i placed in your reckless hands. one that would’ve bled glass to reflect your dreams. i guess it doesn’t matter anymore, now my boy doesn’t like to do what he swears he means. // small cuts, big wound

[beasteaterr]

i tell myself i’ve made peace with the rot,

but the truth is, i wear it like perfume—

its rancid sweetness, a comfort in my throat.

you can find me where all things go to die,

somewhere between here and nowhere,

where nothing stays long enough to matter.

i am beautiful in the way broken things are—

sharp, strange,

stretched thin in places

but never enough to tear.

i love how good it feels

to be this lost,

to hold what’s gone and pretend

it’s still something i can keep.

what if to love it means i must disappear?

what if to love it means

i am already gone?

halo • “here and nowhere/rot”

[thewaitingluna]

I loved you in the purest forms, only for you to hurt me in the cruelest ways.

[cvtastrophee]

it was like suddenly you lit up every street lamp in this abandoned neighbourhood.