#poetry on love

[lamentofspring]

— haley nichole green, excerpt from hope & a cup of tea

[die-rosastrasse]

[thehumbleonewrites]

It makes me sick to my stomach the way I left you

You didn't deserve the way those words dripped like honey

Coating the ground so you slipped over every time trying to grab a hold of each feeling.

My biggest apology is my biggest regret

You didn't deserve the way I ripped your heart

from your chest..

-sticky situations.

G.s.

[dame-nostalgique]

~From the unfinished poems in the back of my journal

[toomagazineperfection]

Look at you, ocean?

A condensed milk poetry.

A nine months in her love cycling bliss.

A night in her night.

A noon in her pearl.

An earring.

A sight.

A sing in her lie.

A sight in her lover hare.

A vision to let leave, a lot poetry.

Watchin'. Get to me, endlessly.

You and us.

Create.

Share.

Shyre.

Poet.

Sinkingly.

Dreaming like a water snooze.

A stay with it. Dreading of wilding love honests with her.

Endlessly seek thrust snippets of her into me.

Her.

Sunidhi

[ednacsworld]

"How many times do I have to pray to forgive?

Letting the burst of a millisecond becoming stiff

on my hand while they beg me to never leave

their side as if I have any idea how to shift

the train of unhinged thoughts on the wall with grief

that comes from the love I have never received?"

Unanswered by Edna C.

[coffeexxcigarettes]

Indiscretion

-

I don't believe I was created

To be a bad person.

My soul was forced into this reality,

Burnt by what they called love,

Ripped apart by what you referred to

As family.

To manage the blaze,

I found a flower within the smoke.

A brief reprieve from a world on fire.

You'll have to excuse my sickness;

The way I cough up blood beside you.

To destroy another in the name of

Your own happiness?

I curl beside the flower,

My breathing labored.

It shivers in the destruction.

I don't believe I was created to be

A bad person.

But I don't know if a good person

Would long for the flower,

Rather than fall to the flames.

x

[cosmic-blogs]

TO BE

I wear life on my soul, 

as a badge of honour.

For it taught me well, to say,

I am not a cynic, I am not a stoic.

I am not a saint, I am not a sinner.

I am not a blank canvas.

I am not your mirror.

No part of me was for you to claim.

Wholly or partially.

When I disposses all, finally,

having been with you does not 

become a crime.

It could not have been any different 

The power was never yours or mine.

I don't belong to anyone

Yet I am not unclaimed.

I am no one's glory

I am no one's game.

I wasn't born unfree of risks.

Nor was I meant to be safe.

I am a portal

That brings life to life.

For it to fold however it may.

In love or in strife.

Be it a tragedy or a game.

I was not the shoulder, 

you could rest your blame.

I am as fiercely my own.

As the love I know to give.

I am as breathless to a gasp

As I am death, to the need to live.

I shine more in utter solitude.

Than in the company, of a hundred one.

I see through disdain disguised

As platitude.

So I seek to renounce eclipses

You hide behind the sun.

I have known ecstasies

I have known grief

But I am neither a rejoicer

No am I a mourner.

I am,

that is all.

The same at this end

As in the corner.

And this life I wear upon my 

soul as a badge of honour.

.

.

[sunidhis-blog]

Dearest,

Love too. Love me whose glory speaks night. His war knits yellow moons of everything of Gold. Her night tells me every swept garden and God of blissful nights. In the God swept Earth of bliss takes of God. Her love in the spinning Earth vase. Her responsibility. Her night. Her love speeding on the God life is he.

Her.

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

I loved him, In tangled sheets, and half asleep.

he loved, the stranger beside him, a beautiful disaster, he thought he could keep.

with a soul too wild, to be chained to him. she dreamed, of paradise.

He craved control, and the thought of forever, touching his own lies.

We're Not Lovers

[lamentofspring]

— haley nichole green, excerpt from when in the moors

[thehumbleonewrites]

I was asked how I take my coffee,

To which I replied..

I like mine sweet with a touch of bitter. To remind me that things that are often sweet, when they leave, will still stain a dirty taste in your mouth while they're gone..

but the taste will never compare to anything else and will forever be craved each day again..

[dame-nostalgique]

Heretics in Love, 23 XI 2022

[toomagazineperfection]

A love from my bed.

A loose from my shed.

An ear-rape till we become lovers.

Her mist is the blow I know.

I know of her still till we become.

Her lover can wait.

Her.

Her, world of vy dye in her mate.

Hers is the God of her becoming.

Her art of being.

Her height knew me no more.

Her poetry stills in my hiss.

A poet in the warp kingdom of my roses bed.

A lover exists in these reckoned spaces adorned in love.

Rage is reddish mud in her mouth in disguise.

A love mist in the wood lights of her idle.

A revolution from my bed.

Sing to solaces in his head.

High till she is scar and crimson tasting violet blood.

Sally can wait.

Don't look back in anger hums of him. He was there.

Her.

Sunidhi

[ednacsworld]

"It's the way I could tell how the earth was relieved when you did something silly,

like this planet somehow knew that storms could never hinder your stupid grins from appearing swiftly,

and in the midst of it, I could feel a playful kind of embarrassment growing in me steadily,

my eyes couldn't take themselves off of you, as if they were being enchanted by an unworldly

charm that was unusually majestic, so out of reach that my surrounding turned burgundy."

I Made This One About You by Edna C.