Keeping A Secret When I first saw you, you were acrossthe room from me.I would like to say I felt something, butI have to warm up to people.Not to mention to the other guy –I thought to be in love with –always waiting for me tocome home, to ask about my day.Time passed and suddenly my head wason your chest.I could feel your heart beat…Somebody was waiting for me to come home.The same went for you.Nothing happened, we never kissed –but I wanted to –we laid there with half closed eyes, and I wondered…The what if? Sensation flooded my veinswith electricity, like currents.Thoughts of you were even
In Memory Last night I kissed someone, but not you.And I danced with him in the darkMy lips formed a smile, I felt like it could last a while.Last night I felt happy without you.Yesterday I held a hand, but not yours.We were lying in his bed, I felt his heart.Sun was setting ahead, I felt no regret.Yesterday the world turned without you.Only time could take away the pain.Memories of us will remain locked away.Only change made me see beauty in the rain,As it slowly washed the memory of what we called ourselves.In memory of what we use to call "in love."Today I fell in love, but not with you.The moon holds no more meaning to y
She gave herself to him fully. But he wasn't her's.
Wishes on 11:11 I wish there was a special window – maybe through your ear, or maybe within your eyes – to your thoughts, to see what's going on through your mind. All the time. I wish I could recount every single moment, every memory we've had together and catch me falling for you, and you me……So I could stop it.What point of you and I is there, if we cannot be something more than what we are? I wish I never met you. But I wish you could be there for me.I wish you needed me. Isn't it better to be needed, than wanted? What good is being wanted, if you can live without it? Want can so easily be described as greed…but could need,
A Sketch Of Something More I am thinking our eyes are mirrored images;Corresponding shapes,Puzzle pieces,Thoughts.I tried to scribble an endless sketch of (my words never came out right)the story of our lives.Instead I came up with a metaphor ofhow the colors of ourlives mix to a perfect shade of somethingmore.We wish we had this.
Wildfire I am the dusty remains of what's left of a star.I am the dents of the pale, lone moon.I am the tail of a comet slowly disintegrating.I am the ashes of what's left of a wildfire.
Words. Love isn't about kissing in the rain,or the cool touch of your other's skin,the way their fingers entangle with yourstrands of hair.Love can simply be a smile from across the room.Love isn't about one-time summer flings,or the way grass pricks at your skin like anitching question as his hand fills the invisiblecracks in your skin.Love is a whispered secret.Love isn't about the words –But he spoke words beyond me.
Love. I know what it's like to write clichés.I know how it feels; how a million-and-one stars could not nearly compare to what you feel head-to-toe, for what runs through your veins like currents. You want to cry and laugh at the same time. Your chest rises to beyond what you call happiness. You are light and you are floating – oblivious to everything and everyone.I know how it feels. I know how a little crush, or lust becomes so much more. How a stranger becomes your world. How emotions are shared in so many different ways. How a kiss on the forehead means more to you than the world. How the blades of fingers or warm breath against y
Cliche If this poem was a romance everyone wanted to read…I would write about how the sky's color was blue velvet and the stars shined like faces of angels. I would write about finger-blades brushing the tips of dewed green grass, and tangled legs. I'd write about wishes coming true on 11:11, and love expressed in sighs as the moon shines from above.But it isn't.It's about being alone in a room, imagining it instead.
Pretending I'm not going to pretend this isn't wrong, because it is. It is completely and utterly wrong to take away someone's happiness. But I won't deny it, being with you makes me happy…and seeing her happy with you makes me sick inside.I'm not going to pretend that I don't like you, because I do. There is no other way to say it without sounding terribly cliché – I utterly, and truly, want a chance to be in your arms all the time.I'm not going to pretend I understand how you can kiss and hug a girl you're lying to for hours, and then come around and kiss me…as if you love me too…do you?It's hard not to be happy thinking
Angels and Demons The world is full of angels and demons.Whoever you spend with, the choice is yours alone.Demons have nothing to give you but tears.Their lives are empty so you may fill them.They haven't a heart or moral sense;Anything goes when you're already broken…Angels are found already perfect.Good looking, full of life, full of promise.They have all the time and love in the world.You are not needed.No one falls in love with angels.We rather feel needed than loved.But what happens when demons no longer need you…?
No One's Listening The guilt kicks in and I start to see how your skin makes me cry.Doesn't matter what I've done,that I have fantasies about being alone,she gives me everything I can wish for.So for one last time, make some noise.Sing me something soft, sad and delicate...Again the words contained have bled the page,'Cause I need you to hold me again.I need you.You.
Onion Patch I'm a flower in an onion patch – it is all I ever knew,until one day he came, not to rescue but pick me up;to show me another world of roses, which smelledso sweet.He held me close and I felt belonged, but it was onlya taste of what could be. You can't just leave anotherworld behind, there were things I had to let go.So he put me back, and onions don't smell half as sweet.
I don't even know. Time heals all, my friend says. She said that from the start – or rather, the end. "All you need is time."And time went on…Two days after the end, it finally hit me. I was in the laundry room of all places, folding clothes. A bit of gray stands out, compared to all the color. His jacket. I rolled it into a ball and threw it into the corner of the concrete room, so it would be gray on gray, and I would never have to notice it again.The fifth day I sat in school. Voices around me were a buzz in the background, people's faces were unfocused. Fuzziness. No one could understand this, I thought. They don't feel this.The seventh ni
We Evolved from Fire. Intoxication respires through my being.Sparks fly and cracks ignite; a new beginning, and sincerity here have no meaning.Reveal what's become of me – My life, my song sung so delicately.Is there anything more to see of me?What is there to expect if there are no guarantees?All the world burns, but still we breathe.The end breathes life; essence of how we came to be…With these two hands I release the iron chain brought down from seas, and end all the lies you've perceived of me.
Insignificant. I feel so stupidbecause this little haikumeans nothing to you.
Sta.sh
