Forgiveness, Poetry by Sherille Williams

His interest are no longer my interest.
Now this love that went on for so long has now become distant,
or should I say it’s the distance thats making my heart wonder .
They say shit like this makes the heart grow fonder. When he is around, all we do is bicker.

Genre: Relationship, Love

Forgiveness
by Sherille Williams

His interest are no longer my interest.
Now this love that went on for so long has now become distant,
or should I say it’s the distance thats making my heart wonder .
They say shit like this makes the heart grow fonder. When he is around, all we do is bicker.
His outlook on life is not the same when he first met me.
He cheated, which means all his morals and respect for me depleted my standards of what a real man wouldn’t do.
This made my heart bleed, because I thought I was his flower and seed, a seed that grew o’ so happily. Since then it’s been all backwards bends on my end.
All my deepest feelings are now complaints, and all his dreams is what he sees to succeed.
I mean, time and time again
I daydream of him being my husband.
My love for him runs so deep even
my G-spot senses him before he turns the corner.
Then, reality snaps me back and I recognize it’s just hopeful love that I’m fucking stuck in.
Holding on days he will change and maybe I can do the same.
Now, it’s not at all his fault because at times my emotions take me over the edge. I become weak and a bit needy instead. Give him head so he can forget the argument we just had.
Then I’m still fucking empty.
He never held me when I cried,
I just wanted a bit more attention and for him to stop thinking money will be by his side when he’s dead.
NO!
It’s not the bills, it’s his wife that will be there because once he dies I will too.
See my mind is misleading into thinking
everyone should love like me.
Now, statistically that extremely rare to find.
You know; the kind of spouse that sees things before it happens and that women’s intuition that never steers a man wrong.
A good women will make you shiver even after you bust a nut, making him wanting to kiss me on the forehead asking if I can hold him instead.
I hope one day this love theory of mine will come alive.
Yet its my fault, because I’m telling the story to all my family and friends of how much he’s hurt me, but I’m still with him in the end.
I love him and if forgiving includes spitting some poetry to mend
my heart then I guess this is where the true forgiveness starts.

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Soulmate, Poetry by Frank Carl John Wellenstein

Deep in my heart
Is where u exist
Stood thru time passed the test
Since that first date
Soulmate

Genre: Love, Relationship, Romance

Soulmate
by Frank Carl John Wellenstein

Deep in my heart
Is where u exist
Stood thru time passed the test
Since that first date
Soulmate

True love, true trust
A perfectness
Our souls together as one
Till kingdom come
A feeling of forever
Always with u my love
My destiny, My fate
Soulmate

We grow together everyday, every way
My best friend, till the end
All my life
Sharing smiles
Clearing tears
Our love wont wait
Soulmate

Our bodies grow old now
Our hearts still strong
A love forever long
Earth and heavens gate
Soulmate

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Dearly Beloved, Poetry by Marquis Green

And what, we ask ourselves to pick up the pieces because perfection is a picture not yet
attainable by protection.
We’re begged to let our hearts guards down, in some twisted attempt to let another in and board
up the damage found,
to take our hearts and bend the rules,
to look over pain, to not become bitter fools.
They’ll always ask “is everything okay”,
and you’ll sit there lying with grimace,

Genre: Love, Relationship

Dearly Beloved
by Marquis Green

And what, we ask ourselves to pick up the pieces because perfection is a picture not yet
attainable by protection.
We’re begged to let our hearts guards down, in some twisted attempt to let another in and board
up the damage found,
to take our hearts and bend the rules,
to look over pain, to not become bitter fools.
They’ll always ask “is everything okay”,
and you’ll sit there lying with grimace,
as you flimsily make your way out of each encounter forgetting each time to put yourself
together again, and your mind claws at its walls,
are we making the same mistakes again,
could we have found love again, and I’ll make my heart stand aside,
and ask if you could abide by my crazy demands,
because for some silly reason, my hearts demand is happiness.
We forgot what it was like to not know perfection but find it in each other,
and we started to learn how to live with regret,
and the burdens became heavier to hold,
still they became easier when we were together.
I met you on the side of a back alley in Calcutta,
and you met me for the first time as the dealer kept an ace under his sleeve to give Chris his
advantage. Don’t we all want that sunrise story,
that perfect encounter?
And yet everyone still looks down on my dearly beloved,
forced to hide feeling for ambition, as a hold of depression takes over and becomes her position,
her condition is worsened by the hate she keeps inside for herself.
I knew it,
I saw the signs.
I felt it, I wore the scars.
And I see everything and everyone pass you by, and all I know is that you’re running out of time.
Sympathy takes my emotion,
and my soul becomes a commotion,
gathering steam in an attempt to drown your sorrow,
and murder becomes the answer, and the mirror reveals all my horror.
Pain is gone. And we, as now one, can rejoice in the celebration that you are never alone.
And yet, you’re ready to let that go and I’m ready to let you go.
Was it a mistake, each moment that drives our abuse, each dose that douses our hopes, however
loose our bonds to dreams are, and happiness is never far.
And what will tomorrow bring?
Every new sound to hammer hope into a broken commitment will leave me without grounding,
and I’ll be left for dead at a destroyed altar,
and I’ve heard it all, found alone,
and all the walls marked with the words
to know life goes on, and that we will have the strength to move on.
And what did you find in me?
Some distorted truth, pinpointed poison
lies that helped you realize nothing’s perfect,
and the only time everything was normal was in this young love’s youth.
I feel it too.

I write this to you, my dearly beloved.
For the house we made has burned to the ground, but these bricks still stand.
Each picture depicts a crime scene, for we are all thieves now,
for stealing these moments from ones that we truly need.
For each person that took a part of you, I am sorry.
For each person who maimed your soul, I still worry.
For each ring that becomes a mirror into you, I am sorry.

Dearly beloved.
Today is 20 years ago.
17 we met.
3 we loved.
A lifetime, we knew.
Today,
we
grieve.

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Solutions, Poetry by Julius Wells

Fuck love
Because that other shit is permanent
She said she would hate me forever
And man I’m learning quick
That she really meant it
This feeling is so senseless
This feeling cannot last
This feeling shit is trash

Genre: Sad, Romance, Relationship

Solutions
by Julius Wells

Fuck love
Because that other shit is permanent
She said she would hate me forever
And man I’m learning quick
That she really meant it
This feeling is so senseless
This feeling cannot last
This feeling shit is trash
To be feeling shit like this makes me want to be feel my wrist with glass
And slice
But instead I just…
I fill my life with brashness
I feel and hope that it’ll cover up the sadness
And the madness but it fucking doesn’t, it’s endless
And I can’t make sense of why love left me defenseless
From this cold cold world that life gives, and now in listless
I’m feeling like if life providing answers, I really must’ve missed it
You came into my life and made me feel complete
But I never learned happiness on my own, this shit is weak
And I’m somehow even weaker
Because I’m dependent on this thing and I’m searching for it like a creeper
Stalker. Hiding in the bushes looking for you
Hoping I can be whole again, hoping I can renewed
But instead I’m strangely feeling so empty
Love left me with potholes on the road through life and so I’m tripping
What do I fill it with?
How do I cement my path?
I can’t replace this shit with something I do not have
Since love left me, angst has been my tool
But the hole that love left is the size of a fucking pool
So I strive for hate and despair, until I’m fat and full
And I Ignore and avoid the strength of loves pull

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Your Eyes, Poetry by Agata Pujsza

I like your eyes
looking at my eyes
mutual connection
of secrets from far
inexplicable
real
full of love..

Genre: Love, Relationship, Romance

Your Eyes
by Agata Pujsza

I like your eyes
looking at my eyes
mutual connection
of secrets from far
inexplicable
real
full of love..

I like your eyes
touching my eyes
this warm hug
deep
and gentle
full of sighs
as when we met first time..

I like your eyes
talking to my eyes
this warm voice of reassurance
that makes me feel
we are
from galaxy
of our own universe..

I like your eyes
dancing with my eyes
in these moments of silence
when we sit
by the table
unfettered
sharing voiceless stories from earlier..

I like your eyes..

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Lines, Poetry by Matt Griesinger

Lines keep us in order.
If we can keep ourselves between the yellow and the white,
pass when it’s dotted and stay patient when it’s solid,
we will arrive at the solemn promise
of shelter from disorder.

Genre: Romance and Relationship

Lines
by Matt Griesinger

Lines keep us in order.
If we can keep ourselves between the yellow and the white,
pass when it’s dotted and stay patient when it’s solid,
we will arrive at the solemn promise
of shelter from disorder.
But that shelter is mythical.
Magical, sure. Practical, maybe. But all the while, hypocritical.
See, the shelter doesn’t exist.
The mythical, seemingly magical, possibly practical, definitely hypocritical shelter
is what new fathers, holding a bundle of six pounds, yearn for,
what cracked out junkies burn for,
what ivory tower academics press you to learn for,
and what once drunken sluts now bored housewives turned for.
The myth of safety in numbers, safety in lines
is pervasive and attractive.
It is invasive and reactive
In nature.
And I don’t mean nature in the form of the waves on the beach.
The waves that destroyed the dunes
and the wooden stairs leading to my house.
The stairs, dampened from perpetual high tides that never returned to low,
that led to a balcony.
In five years, the waves will destroy the stairs.
In ten years, the waves will destroy the balcony.
In twenty years, the waves will still carry the Memory.
The Memory lives on the incalculable shape on each individual wave.
The waves carry no lines, no safety, and no shelter.
They carry the memory of my beautiful blonde running down the stairs.
My beautiful blonde smiling up at me on the balcony.
My beautiful blonde bathed in innocence and swimming with grace.
She is the Memory.
As She walks on the sands,
the commands and demands
of a life in worship
strike repeatedly with the waves.
So when She changes hands, I feel the weight of the laying of the hands
as I realize that while I leave footprints in the sands of time,
She leaves footprints across my soul.
As I leave footprints for forlorn and shipwrecked brethren,
She becomes a veteran of my soul
as She lifts the oppression
and shows me pieces of heaven.
She lives without lines and provides
none for me.
Instead, She divides what I knew and collides two views
as She decides on a life outside the lines.
We will reside in the world of the Memory.
My beautiful blonde shining in the ocean.
Me, Her hero in the strife, at work building a life,
watching over Her and Her innocence,
Her poise and Her grace.
There are no lines. There is no order.
Only the living Memory.

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