r/justpoetry

​

Not carefully.

Not cautiously.

Not the way people

tip-toe into water

testing the temperature

madly.

The way storms don't ask permission.

The way the ocean doesn't

apologize for its depth.

Let's fall in love

the way it's supposed to happen

terrifyingly,

beautifully,

with no parachute

and no map

and no intention

of landing

safely.

I want to know you

at 2 a.m.

when your thoughts are loudest

and your guard is lowest

I want the version of you

that nobody gets to see,

the one you hide

behind cleverness

and composure.

Give me the unedited you.

I'll give you

the same.

Let's argue about nothing

at midnight

and make up

by morning.

Let's drive with no destination

just because

the radio played something

that felt like us.

Let's sit in comfortable silence

and feel

more connected

than most people do

when they're screaming

to be heard.

Fall in love with me

the way poetry falls

without logic,

without reason,

reaching for something

it can't quite name

but feels

in every syllable.

I want to love you

loudly on good days

and quietly on hard ones

I want to be

the person you call

before you've figured out

what you're trying to say.

Let's be

each other's

favorite interruption,

each other's

most welcome distraction,

each other's

reason the morning

feels different

softer,

warmer,

worth it.

Madly doesn't mean recklessly.

Madly means

fully

with every

hesitant,

hoping,

hungry

piece of yourself

offered openly

to another person

and trusting

they'll handle it

like something

rare.

So here

take my rare.

Take my ridiculous.

Take my 3 a.m. fears

and my embarrassing laugh

and the way I feel things

far too deeply

for someone

trying to appear composed.

And I will take

every beautiful,

complicated,

contradictory piece

of you

and call it

home.

You and I.

Let's not fall carefully.

Let's fall

madly

and mean it.

I hope to see you next time,

After walking a thin line of light.

Where the breeze ushers in a new start,

I hope to feel your hand in mine.

This time I’ll be your mother,

And you’ll be a child of mine.

I’ll love you right in our new life,

We’ll have a better goodbye.

I'm team Sxxxxx

I'm on your side

You don't make It easy

Neither do I

I'll love you till I die

I know you feel you already have

I'm still here

Always

Remove the dnr

Come live with me.

They called him a monster, a shadow, a ghost, The kind of obsession that hurts you the most.

I called him my anchor, though he dragged me down deep, the reason I’d wake, and the reason I’d weep.

He called me erratic, insane, and undone, yet if he had whistled, you know I would run.

Thank god that he blocked me and severed the thread, for I lacked the strength to bury what fled

i want to love and grow into it only for it too be ruined by intimacy
my dear i want you to destroy me
i want you to rip the skin from my bones
i want you to hate me
i want you to destroy me

Endless Fear

I gaze into the beauty of your eyes,

And watch as it slowly slips away,

So terrified to see the sun arise,

And mark the passing of another day.

For time is just a beast we cannot tame,

I am so scared to see our love fade,

What if the world never remembers your name?

And we lose the paradise we have made.

For the last 250 years lady liberty has worn the ole red,

White and blue, symbolizing the glory of freedom,valar

And virtue,where our four fathers built this nation on blood,

Sweat and tears,having faith,having faith over fear,for the

Last 250 years the old red,white and blue has been flown

For me and you,the threads of tattered flag has stood the

Test of time,threads of a tattered flag at home or behind

Enemy lines....

Threads of a tattered flag just as vibrant today as the day

It was made,threads of a tattered flag in all its splendor

And swag,flying high like a beackon of hope and true

American pride,from the Atlantic to the Pacific side,from the

Gulf shores to the mountains high,well the threads of a

Tattered Flag still touches the sky in all its splendor and

Swag,threads of a tattered flag,threads of a tattered flag...

Just like it was 250 years ago when George Washington

Came to Betsy Ross with the sketch and the idea of the

Strips and stars and hence thereafter has lived in every

American heart,in the good times and when things seemed

To be falling apart the U.S.A. never lost its way even

When things got a little dark,just like it was 250 years ago

When George Washington came to Betsy Ross with nothing

But a sketch and an idea of the strips and stars....

Threads of a tattered flag,just as vibrant today as it was

The day it was made,threads of a tattered flag in all its

Splendor and swag, flying high like a beackon of hope and

True American pride,from the Atlantic to the Pacific side

From the Gulf shores to the mountains high,the threads of

A tattered flag still touches the sky in all its splendor and swag

Threads of a tattered flag,threads of a tattered flag!

#9 from the songbook collection "Nitty Gritty"

Poetry is an interpretive art.
It is not always a direct reflection
of the artist’s well-being.
 
If you know the poet,
checking in on them through
the poem’s thread undermines the art
by turning it into something personal.
 
Poetry is a generational marker
of living life in a specific time.
It is not a note looking for sympathy.
 
If the poet is serious,
they are trying to build an audience
through a body of work. 
 
Appropriate engagement
is necessary for the piece to move. 
 
Inappropriate engagement
makes the piece harder to relate to.
 
Then it dies.
 
Engage with the work
in ways that keep it alive.
 
If you know the artist
and are worried about something they wrote,
reach out privately.    

(Yes, this poem was inspired by SP)

No matter where you are,

I want to save you when you drown.

Even if you're near or far, you know that I'll come around, when you're down.

All of my promises, you can believe.

You know that when I promise you,

I won't deceive.

No matter where you are,

I want to be a part of your dreams.

Even if you've broke apart,

Coming apart at the seams.

Sometimes life can get so dark.

So dark that all you can so is scream.

All of your dreams seem to be coming down.

I'll help rebuild them, when I come around.

You can trust me with your heart.

You can trust me with your dreams.

Even when you come apart.

Life can be much easier than it seems.

What must be the life
of a piece of décor?

Sitting in one place
watching people go on
with their lives.

How lonely must it be
No one stopping by
to admire it’s beauty.
Or is it even aware
of the beauty it possesses.?

Guess we’ll never know.
‘Cause for all we care
it is just a piece of décor.

 

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1un06m9/comment/ovgs1uk/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1um05vd/comment/ovgt7qa/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

I lost a friend today.

I didn't think I would.

I didn't think it'd end today.

I didn't think it should.

I lost a friend today.

Didn't think I could.

Didn't think my mind could stand it.

But here I am still standing.

Here I am, still standing on my two feet.

Here I stand, she seemed so soft and sweet.

Didn't think I'd survive another arrow in my heart.

But I'm still standing, even though I've come apart.

People come and people go, life's a constant revolving door.

I must be a glutton for heartbreak.

Here I am still wanting more.

I didn't think that I did anything wrong.

But I'm still here standing. Would you please help me be strong? Everytime I open my heart, people take a chunk away. I'm not sure if I'll survive another long and lonely day.

I lost a friend today. I'm not sure what I did.

It came to an end today. Now I'm sitting in loneliness. Just when I think I have someone figured out. They leave me feeling lonely. Now I'm sitting here with heartbreak and doubt.

Pop in a bottle wants to be free

Pop in a bottle no escape can it see

Pop in a bottle trapped behind glass

Pop in a bottle no arms for its task

Twist or pull and the thrill of the whoosh!

Pop in a glass thinks itself free

Pop in a glass an escape it can see

Pop in a glass its losing its zest

Pop in a glass well past its best

Blank spaces repeat.
Nothing to write. 
Nothing to see.
 
The tape is stuck on repeat. 
The rewinder is jammed. 
Nothing to change.
Nothing to be.
 
Blank spaces repeat.
Blank spaces repeat.
 
Nothing coming out.
None coming in. 
 
The rewinder is jammed. 
Nothing to write. 
 
Blank spaces repeat.
 
Nothing to change.
 
Blank spaces repeat.
 
Nothing to see.
Nothing to make. 
 
Repeat.
Change nothing. 
 
Be nothing.
 
Change.
Repeat spaces. 
 
Tape stuck. 
 
Spaces to write. 
 
Repeat spaces.
 
Write. 
Repeat. 
Write. 

You walk to your car and look at the stars.

I walk to my car and look for a shadow

between the Honda and the concrete pillar.

You wonder if you locked the front door.

I check the handle three times,

then check the backseat before I sit down.

It is not a choice, this vigilance,

not a conscious script we chose to write.

But one of us was handed an anchor at birth,

told to carry it, quietly, through the dark,

while the other was given the open air.

You move through the room like you own the floor,

your voice an unedited stream of space.

I measure my words like a heavy currency,

calculating the cost of being too loud,

or too quiet,

or too much.

Why does the scale tip before we even step on it?

Why does one side feel the gravity of the room

while the other just breathes?

It’s a quiet inheritance—

this peace of mind you wear like a coat,

while I wrap my arms around myself

and call it a shield.

The tragedy is not that I don’t love you
The tragedy is that I do.

If there was nothing beautiful left of us.
I wouldn’t write these pages.

The tragedy is there are beautiful things.

The tragedy is not that that you hurt me.

The tragedy is that I still look for you when good things happen.

The tragedy is not that you don’t love me, it’s that i understand why.

I understand almost everything you tell me.

The tragedy is that understanding it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The tragedy is how much I love you.

Distant voices heard
Immediate vices reached
Drowned by choices 
Naturally irrelevant 
 
The silent judgement 
A measured action 
A meaningless fever
With twisting truths 
 
The relapsing reminder
Falling asleep in an open tomb   

I'm Not Going to Lie to You

I'm not going to lie to you.

I think the first funeral I ever attended

never really ended.

People buried my father.

They forgot to bury the boy

who kept waiting for him to come home.

So he stayed.

He's still here.

Still listening for a voice

that memory can almost imitate,

but never quite reach.

I'm not going to lie to you.

Everyone says grief gets lighter.

Mine didn't.

It just learned my routines.

It waits in empty seats,

in Father's Day,

in the moments I accomplish something

and instinctively wonder

who I would've called first.

I'm not going to lie to you.

I don't think I grew up.

I think I surrendered.

There is a difference.

Growing up is supposed to happen slowly.

I woke up one morning

and childhood had already packed its bags.

I'm not going to lie to you.

I have spent so much of my life

trying to become someone worth keeping

that I don't know who I am

without someone else's approval.

Every medal.

Every title.

Every compliment.

Every ounce I lose.

Every smile I force.

Every promise I keep.

I lay them at people's feet

like offerings,

hoping this time

they won't leave.

They leave anyway.

I'm not going to lie to you.

I remember every person

who taught me that love

can have an expiration date.

I remember the promises.

The forevers.

The rings.

The plans.

The names I thought

would one day become family.

Now they're just echoes

that know my voice

better than I know my own.

I'm not going to lie to you.

The part that frightens me

isn't losing people anymore.

It's how quietly I've begun expecting it.

When someone says they'll stay,

somewhere inside me

another voice whispers,

"Not for long."

I'm not going to lie to you.

I hate how easy it has become

to disappear inside myself.

To answer messages.

To laugh at jokes.

To stand in crowded rooms.

To do everything

a living person is supposed to do,

while feeling

like I am watching someone else

borrow my face.

I'm not going to lie to you.

I don't think numbness

is the absence of pain.

I think it's pain

that has forgotten

how to introduce itself.

It no longer knocks.

It owns the house.

I'm not going to lie to you.

Sometimes I catch myself

trying to remember

what excitement felt like.

Not happiness.

Excitement.

That restless feeling

of believing tomorrow

might carry something beautiful.

I remember having it.

I don't remember losing it.

Only noticing

that it was gone.

I'm not going to lie to you.

I carry guilt

like other people carry wallets.

Everywhere.

Always.

For things I couldn't fix.

People I couldn't save.

Love I couldn't force myself to keep feeling.

The child I never got to be.

The man I still don't think

I've become.

I'm not going to lie to you.

If you asked me

what loneliness feels like,

I wouldn't tell you

it's an empty room.

I'd tell you

it's realizing

you've become so accustomed

to carrying everything alone

that when someone asks,

"How are you?"

you genuinely don't know

where to begin.

So you don't.

I'm not going to lie to you.

Sometimes I wonder

how much of me

is actually me,

and how much

is just scar tissue

shaped like a person.

Because scars don't disappear.

They simply become

what the body calls itself

after surviving.

I'm not going to lie to you.

This isn't a plea for pity.

It isn't wisdom.

It isn't resilience.

It's only the truth

I've spent years swallowing

because I didn't know

who could bear to hear it.

I have spent so much of my life

trying not to become a burden

that I became invisible

to myself.

And I still don't know

which loss

came first.

My love, the first moment i met you, i was starstruck,
even calling myself obsessed would be understatement.
With you i want to run and in our own corner away tuck,
because other people want deliver permanent abatement.

Now want to devote my whole life being only with you,
hope you dont mind, want to almost be on you all time.
But unconstrained crying and endless laughter we can do,
and making our bodies move close, syncrhonize and rhyme.

Our limitless love so intense, all the emotions too,
that it makes my head feel like up inside clouds.
But you're the gravity that brings me back to you,
so grounding and secure, for your love have no doubts.

Promise you can lay all your worry and trust in me,
heart safe in my arms, and nobody gets close to you.
Watch your favourite cartoon, sleep together past three,
and got shoulder to cryon, and ear to hear your vent too.

I know you felt the fire too, long before we allied,
but want all of you, even darkness and chaos to see.
Your eyes tell me everything you're trying to hide,
and your body language is like second nature to me.

Your most loyal servant and proudest king you'll find,
you're saving grace, only one i followed from start.
I am the peace for the war inside your chaotic mind,
and you're comfort zone and safe place for my heart.

Now my darling, we dont have to playfully fight,
to see which one of our love to other is stronger.
I'm only asking you to be my forever love, my life,
we can stay like this, together, little while longer.

Mourning Laps (self written)
In the morning, just before the sun awakens,
I swim laps in the cold pool,
so that when you greet me,
turning the corner of the stairs,
you’ll find me beneath the morning light.
You’ll think the droplets on my face
are only from the water—
true,
salty,
like our pool.
But they have come from another ocean.
They are drawn from my eyes,
salted by dreams denied their dawn.
A towel, please.
“How was your swim?”
“Good.”
“Good…”
“Good morning.”