#12 word poetry

[euesworld]

"La, la, la, la.. I'm crazy!! Crazy for you.. I'm crazy and I'd kiss you too!!"

I la-la-la-lava you!!! - eUë

[lua-pele]

how does it feel when you keep making me look like a fool? when you keep letting me drown in my thoughts in the middle of the night asking myself

"am i not enough?".

was it satisfying?

[tremendously-crazy]

"My love language is physical touch" "My love language is words of affirmation"

Nonsense.

My love for you transcends the physical world. Our fleshly bond speaks not for the love I harbor in my heart, nor does it adequately fulfill the wants of my spirit.

Words are easily bent and used for deceit. They are propelled by emotions, and emotions are notoriously fickle.

For those reasons, I shall not use physical tenderness or sweet declarations of love to show my endless devotion to you.

I will lend my time to you, which is far more valuable than my physical body or my words.

I will study your character and offer you gifts I know will lift your heart.

I will let my soul speak the words of love that do not reach my lips.

"My love language is receiving/giving gifts and quality time"

[jb-cohen]

People around me keep getting younger. I find my way back on the rocks. Listening to the water

thinking about cows.

Last night I left

Without moving my body—

Last night I left without moving my body

And she asked me where I went

I’m on the rocks,

There is a beautiful man next to me

And I can’t help but to wonder

How I got so lucky

But maybe I always have been

There is love everywhere

It’s out there for you

It’s out there for me

It’s where people don’t mind your silence

It’s in the dog who made you hesitate going out the door

It’s in patience

It’s in listening ears

You’ll see it between the two geese

swimming together, communicating

to the one across the pond

It’s in questions

It’s in allowing youthful connection

It’s in a willingness to learn

It’s in the ones who ask you were you’ve gone

Where you’ve been

and how it was

[twoinoneflesh]

I must be feral. Something about him today just seems more delicious, more tempting than usual. I watch from my usual hiding spot, porthole and all.

The way his jeans hug in all the right places, emphasizing the ass you’d never know he has because he hides it every other day of the week. I just can’t put my finger on it, why he tugs at my feelings and lust in all the right places too, but at all the wrong times.

You’d think by now we’d have kissed— but no. Instead I am wrapped up completely inside of my head, tumbling over my feet, loving and hating every second of the game. A game is all it is. One second they ignore me so hard my head hurts and I hate myself and feel unlovable, ostracized. The next they give me more attention than they’ve ever given me and I still long for more. Greedy. For something that means nothing. The longing will kill me if I let it, and I will. The only thing I want but can’t have, an apparition, compelling but never mine. A trick of my mind, a spell of his to keep me pleased. Docile. So weak, easily driven, wishing I could have more and knowing it’s so close but that he will never give it to me.

I think we fear each other. I think we fear the cliche way mountains seem to part and the room suddenly clears when we connect in that very clear, very close way but we are always far when it happens. I know we fear each other. I think of what might happen when he reads what I think, will he know it’s him? Better yet— will he care? So self righteous in my knowledge of his interest in me, but so insecure when it comes to the delivery. I won’t wait for him forever. In fact, not at all. I’ve waited longer than he deserves, and I am like the unused nightstand, stale 5 week old glass of water, condom and candy wrappers from a past life and all. I’m discarded, forgotten like the toys you never like at the bottom of the drawer, no longer the utilitarian favorite I long to be. I am not in heavy rotation, I’m the last record you want to play. I’m the vhs tape in your storage unit begging to be popped in, played, and rewound in the true nature of my purpose. Molding. Waiting for the precious connection that tape cleaner and my nose have better than tape cleaner and an actual tape.

He teases my need to feel needed, my need to feel noticed. The redirect or the blatant lie to quell my obvious desire to share our worlds with each other. His enthusiasm for me is something I fear, because I fear it is not real. I’m convinced it isn’t.

My effervescent heart. It burbles like a dying man’s last breath, choking on his own blood. It feels that way too, when I feel love. Something I do not think I was meant to feel. A revelation my body and mind are not ready for.

[autumnsunshine10]

Next Stop

Okay so here's the thing--

My guard went out to lunch

Then one shuffled up offering

Profundity temporarily covering

Nitty-gritty insipidity--for shame!

Trenchcoat drenched...look away.

Parking my backside on a bench,

Sitting out another grand slam game;

Pop up scrimmage on the fly,

Suiting up umpire style...

Learned lesson, belatedly applied.

Supplanted, supply and demand

Disenchanted by an elephant

In the room I read wrong.

My head can't wrap around

Tunnel vision distance...

Put the fun in funneling,

The scam in scampering.

There's nothing to see here--

Heavily cloaked fully clothed,

Dragging busted baggage...

So it's not just a compact carry-on.

That's fine, I'll take my chances

On the next bus to stop by.

Prompts: there's a thing, park bench

[fairydrowning]

"And when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?"

– Charles Bukowski

[writtenbrushes]

now i know you #3

12 years of knowing him. But it's the first time I know his heart. Truly. Genuinely. Dreadfully. The way his eyes roll back, lids heavy at the pleasure of my fingertips, as they brush against his skin, slowly, As I felt him against my lips, soft and warm. and we fell, together. In each other, we got lost. With passion and longing.

[babsbabbles]

I can’t decide which art

will best capture your essence:

written word,

or artist pen,

or bardic chord,

or sculpting thumb.

I think I’d settle just to hold you.

They’d never be enough

[scarsandmoons]

The urge to be Aunt Jennifer's Tigers

[thegirlwholovesliterature]

“Hurt? Hurt is just a passing bruise, a fleeting pain. What you left me feeling was a cataclysmic upheaval, I was debilitated and traumatised. I was not merely hurt; I was devastated, consumed by a catastrophic sorrow that shattered my very being. It was a symphony of chaos and calamity, a storm of ruin that left nothing but desolation in its wake.”

- Excerpt from a story I no longer share #2 // saying you ‘hurt’ me was redundant // krupapatelreads on Instagram.

[lua-pele]

Your beauty lights up my night as your soft glow soothes my soul. Yet it cant fill the void, for i long for the sun that vanish at dusk.

"Full Moon"

[a-quiet-observer]

[jb-cohen]

The intimacy of the escalator

Knowing there is depth

and warmth to every

Coat and bag around you.

Most people are good

I think most people may just want connection

in the same way I do.

-may 12, 2024

[dolores-hazy]

And Scene

Damn if I don't

Want you, all of you

All on me up in me

Sending shockwaves

Through me an aching need pulsates

Like wildfire licking around

The edges of night to melt

Stars from the sky.

****************************

If I were in school your name

Would be scrawled across every page

Of a notebook; if this were a movie

I'd be swept off my feet--let you

Go all the way and then some

In the back of your car parked

On a lover's lane looking out over

A twinkly sleepy town

We'd sneak off from every time

We had the chance often making

And taking our own chances friskily.

****************************

But this is cold hard reality

And you are nowhere near

A missed opportunity alone

In misery...I'm dying

To know but afraid to see

Whether or not you could ever

Want me.

@dolores-hazy

[evergreenwords]

Myrtles, motion, misbehave.

Toxic perspectives make us slaves.

Climb the trees, become immortal.

Live a life more free of toil.

Emerging through a secret garden.

Softer hearts can often harden.

Please fret naught for you are gold.

We hear that story you've never told.

Just take a breath and pick your flowers.

Don't be afraid to leave your tower.

-s.z (Cyclic)