endings
Learn more about other poetry terms
while traveling abroad
within the confounds of your mind
you will discover the passages
entering through those
the gods and goddesses
have granted access
throughout your mindful jog
My life before was perfect,
I was to young to wonder why.
I was to young to charish life,
Before I said goodbye.
Goodbye to all the people
I knew and loved and hated.
you were my true blue soul friend
we had a bond deeper than any I had known before
we laughed and cried
we shared our secrets
i trusted you with the deepest parts of my heart
I'm going to start this out like I start everything else I write you
Even though I doubt that you'd ever see this
I swear to God that I'm not mad at all
There is no hate in my heart toward you or anyone
Most people are afraid of spiders or public speaking,
Or maybe dark rooms and floor boards creaking,
And while these may perhaps be on my list
The first breath is full of tears and smiles,Awoken by a beam of light.It is cherished by many for a lifetime,Allowing more than million wonderful wis
They told me about you.
You always came to me in the end.
The end.
“Keep writing poetry, Erin,” my Literature teacher told me
At the end of the fall semester.
The end.
They knew they should be happyBut it had lost its spark.The light of the relationshipHad faded into dark.They didn’t want to tell h
Dear ex-bestfriend,
Im sorry.
I want your forgiveness I think it's the only way for me to forget you.Then again, I don't want to forget you.
I miss the form. The elegant beauty of the landscape. That's what I'll call it,
The landscape
It was like a landscape
Long and lean, tended to
Graceful and wind blown
As I watch the setting sun
I think of how our end will come
Will we go unnoticed, forgotten in silence?
Or will we go in history, like the greatest stories?
We battled and fought, for this future we sought.
We are born, We breathe, We blink. We hear
Blaring and screeching sounds of bundling babies,
Basking in the blazing light, unaware of their destiny.
The same Destiny of us all, our deafening demise.
People write because they are sad
about a past trauma, so
Poets are called poets because
they hold on to this trauma,
and turn it into tragic creativity
I cannot write about you anymore
Change.
Change.
Change.
The concept is so new.
Yet I know you like an old friend.
The kind of old friend that is always doing what she thinks is for the best.
The kind that eventually gives up.
I’m done writing about you.
In the spirit of passive-aggressive stares
and comments from our mutual friends
and constant texts that always say
The sun spreads out like a golden poolOver the newly shorn fieldsThe halls smell like wax, fresh ink and new cottonCarried along with a tide of bodiesI remember suddenly that
I sat with my hands trembling
The bell rang as I sprung up from my seat a smile so wide that it made my heart leap
He stood there so perfect, that smile! oh my.
I am from cells, built together to make my mother’s uterus,
If I wasn’t supposed to come out, then how did I,
don't tell me things about myself
that i know are lies
don't say that i am not good enough
when i know the truth
don't say that i am ugly
when i can see clearly
That first week I sat behind you,
Staring at your butt-crack.
You squished the scriblings on your desk,
you can act like you're my friend
but we both remember the end
let's stop pretending it's alright
Sunrise, sunset
Dawn and dusk.
A starry net
visible, but only just.
Ruby-orange
fades to blue
begins to change
right on cue.
Dawn begins-
yesterday is the past.
Dusk ends-
I don’t know you anymore.
Yes, I know your name.
But I don’t know you.
I know who you use to be.
We talked about everything under the sun back then.
I feel cold; I'm suffocating.
I cried as loud as I could.
I didn't know that "outside" was bright.
Why does everyone look so glad?
You say you are docile
But you say a lot
You are a better liar
Then I have thought
But your pleas
Won't get you far
When the proof is
Fifteen, my body curved like a question mark as you delegate my presence to your fingers like a Jesus prayer.
The beginning of the end of our childhood.
The first semester of the last year.
So many endings.
like reading the last book of a series
after each chapter, wanting to reread it
so the story never ends.
It's empty in the desert you call a heart,
Every drop of water turning volatile,
