Someone will tell you that she’s seeing someone someday and that she’s happy and your hands will stop working. You’ll have to work hard to hold onto whatever you’re holding. I hope it’s not glass, I hope it’s not breakable. Suddenly you’ll remember everything that you ever loved about her. Everything that ever moved you to tears, made your insides feel like they were tying themselves into knots. That she was loyal, that she was open for you, that she smiled against your mouth when you kissed. That it felt easy, like God had put the two of you together deliberately, like it had been the plan all along. But for whatever reason, you let her go and you thought that it was the right thing and for a little while, it felt like you knew exactly what you were doing. Except now all the parts of you that touched her knows that you’re never going to be able to touch her again and that hurts. Even your fingers are sad, even your stomach is aching from the loss of it all. You’re never going to get that again and that’s why your regret looks like artwork that would have been masterpiece if you’d finished it. Your regret looks like plucking a flower before it’s bloomed. So maybe you’ll call her and you’ll tell her that you miss her and she’ll sound gentle on the phone but not in love with you anymore. She’ll say ‘we happened and we were important but you let me go, I’m sorry, but you let me go’ and that’s how you’ll know.

Azra.T (via 5000letters)

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jesjohnston

moonlyaffairs

Two years later A girl sits in front of her ex lover. He doesn’t say a word And her heart doesn’t ache for him anymore. Her hair is longer than it’s ever been. She is even more beautiful than the day he left her. And at that moment, He panics. He lost her. And he can never have her back. He can just watch her be beautiful And in love With someone else.

Zienab Hamdan - The day when the tables turn (via moonlyaffairs)

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jesjohnston

He’s going to leave you, Like few have, and others will. And he’s going to take from you when he does. He’ll take your heart and your favourite book. He’ll take three years of your life, And your ability to trust. But remember what he gave to you too. A lesson in never being reckless, just because you’re restless. You know to guard your heart but to never lose your passion. It’s your passion that drew him in, and eventually drove him away. Not everyone will be scared of fire. He taught you that too. You’re fire and he was gasoline, Together you were lethal, But fucking beautiful to watch.

(via jesjohnston)

#trust #sad poem #poem #poets on tumblr #new poets society

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misswallflower

visualoptimism.blogspot.com

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jesjohnston

there’s nothing romantic about three empties wine bottles, burnt spaghetti on a stove i never use, and flowers i bought myself wilting in the corner of an apartment haunted by you. yet we teach ourselves, our friends, our daughters that love is unrequited, tortured, and true. but tear stained cheeks aren’t beautiful and each night you left me isn’t undone by the mornings you decided to come back.

Jessica Johnston (via jesjohnston)

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misswallflower

The Benjamin Franklin of Monogamy

“Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice the ring that’s landed on your finger, a massive insect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the end

of a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurt in your voice under a blanket and said there’s two kinds of women—those you write poems about

and those you don’t. It’s true. I never brought you a bouquet of sonnets, or served you haiku in bed. My idea of courtship was tapping Jane’s Addiction

lyrics in Morse code on your window at three A.M., whiskey doing push-ups on my breath. But I worked within the confines of my character, cast

as the bad boy in your life, the Magellan of your dark side. We don’t have a past so much as a bunch of electricity and liquor, power

never put to good use. What we had together makes it sound like a virus, as if we caught one another like colds, and desire was merely

a symptom that could be treated with soup and lots of sex. Gliding beside you now, I feel like the Benjamin Franklin of monogamy,

as if I invented it, but I’m still not immune to your waterfall scent, still haven’t developed antibodies for your smile. I don’t know how long

regret existed before humans stuck a word on it. I don’t know how many paper towels it would take to wipe up the Pacific Ocean, or why the light

of a candle being blown out travels faster than the luminescence of one that’s just been lit, but I do know that all our huffing and puffing

into each other’s ears—as if the brain was a trick birthday candle—didn’t make the silence any easier to navigate. I’m sorry all the kisses

I scrawled on your neck were written in disappearing ink. Sometimes I thought of you so hard one of your legs would pop out

of my ear hole, and when I was sleeping, you’d press your face against the porthole of my submarine. I’m sorry this poem has taken thirteen years

to reach you. I wish that just once, instead of skidding off the shoulder blade’s precipice and joyriding over flesh, we’d put our hands away like chocolate

to be saved for later, and deciphered the calligraphy of each other’s eyelashes, translated a paragraph from the volumes of what couldn’t be said.”

- Jeffrey McDaniel

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b-e-a-u-t-yisonlyskindeep-deact

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b-e-a-u-t-yisonlyskindeep-deact

boredpanda

Russian Illustrator Reimagines Different Coffees As Cats

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b-e-a-u-t-yisonlyskindeep-deact

pleatedjeans

via

jesjohnston reblogged

misswallflower

When you’re twenty-one, life is a roadmap. It’s only when you get to be twenty-five or so that you begin to suspect you’ve been looking at the map upside down.

Stephen King, “Joyland” (via misswallflower)

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angelasheaa

fawlliams

We have this idea that love is in grand romantic gestures. But it’s not. It’s in the little things. Love is “take a jacket, it’s cold outside” and “come to bed, it’s getting late”. Love is “I’ll help you do the dishes" and “I’ll walk you to your car”. Love is “I’ll be there when you’re sick” and “I’ll hold your hand when you’re scared.” Love is in all the ordinary, mundane, things we do for each other. Make sure you take the time to notice it.

f.a.w (via sinfull-saintts)

jesjohnston reblogged

misswallflower

Look closely and you will see Almost everyone carrying bags Of cement on their shoulders That’s why it takes courage To get out of bed in the morning And climb into the day.

Edward Hirsch, “Gabriel: A Poem” (via misswallflower)