my lover poets
- Reads 666
- Votes 21
- Parts 106
MatureOngoing1h 17m
Last published Mon, Oct 9, 2023
the thoughts about love. Simplicity form yet addictive to consume your mind over.
Love isn't always perfect.
(I know I'm not a perfect writer in poetry, but I thought it would be fun to write out some thoughts I have, and things I've learned into a simple form.)
I would also like to mention @isabelladorta444 on tiktok! she has inspired a bit of my poems here, with the topics. Her poems are so incredibly beautiful, so definitely go listen to them!
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Amore.
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A book of poems I've constructed over the years, and currently, with each poem getting more recent and more interesting. Read till the end to see how a young poet changes both her tone and view of the world, and how she matures her writing. *The first 9 poems are older. Skip ahead if needed.*
WHEN THE RAIN FORGOT TO FALL
I wrote this because I needed to survive it. Because there are some feelings too big for silence. Some heartbreaks too heavy to carry alone. This isn't fiction. This is my heart, broken open and rearranged into verse. "I saw you standing where the sidewalk curves, and suddenly my chest knew different words." - That's how it started. A glance. A stranger. A feeling I couldn't ignore. "You said we needed to talk. Those five words, I knew. I already knew." - And that's how it ended. Not with fire. With silence. I won't tell you that time heals all wounds. I won't say everything happens for a reason. I won't pretend heartbreak makes you stronger. But I will show you that: You can survive what you think will destroy you. You can break and still become beautiful. You can love someone and lose them and still be whole. You can be your own happy ending. I wrote these poems with tears on my face. I wrote them on good days when I forgot to hurt. Every word is something I actually felt. Every line is a moment I actually lived. "You are not broken. You are breaking open. And that's where the light gets in." - That's what this taught me. That's what I hope it gives you, the comfort of knowing you're not alone.Complete
Yours Truly, Mooncalf
This is a personal documentation through poetry. I am learning to look inward now, give myself love when I least want to. I do not live to love others, I live to love myself. I will find and create what is enough for me, and you will learn to let it be enough for you. 2022Complete
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ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴀʟʟ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ? 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 is officially at rock bottom. Her moods are unpredictable, her impulses reckless and healing feels like a mountain too steep to climb. She's forced to leave her wild and carefree university student life behind. June struggles to come to terms with her diagnosis. Finding herself living with estranged mother in a quiet and unfamiliar seaside town, where the silence makes everything louder. 𝐎𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞 knows what it means to lose someone slowly, and then all at once. Grief sharpened him into something rough. His tattoos are his armour, humour and charm his defences. He learned the hard way that loving someone sick can destroy you. Together they are a wildfire. Intoxicating and comforting, finding refuge in each other. As their lives collide, the line between love and self destruction blurs. Healing and falling into old pattens are balancing a tight rope. And some wounds refuse to heal quietly. "By the time you are reading this, I'm gone." 𝐴𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑖 𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑? A story about loving someone at their worst, and what that might cost. - Slowburn angst - Smut warning (and kink) (𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞). 🏅1 in Moving Forward 🏅5 in Love & Loss
"I pretend I never loved you I will pretend it was never the easiest thing to do I will pretend that I'm over it Pretend I am over you But no one has a fucking clue And I'll throw my popcorn away. Hide my face. Wipe away my tears. I wasn't special enough And that is alright by me." ------------------------ At this point this collection of poems is almost like a diary. I always hated poetry. I like people who are direct and honest. And that's how I prefer literature. I believed myself to be bad at double meanings and metaphors and hated pretty words to cover up the ugly reality. Yet, I found myself being fascinated by it. I think it's the most vulnerable side of me. Wanting to communicate through a medium I think little of and yet understands me. It has no structure. It can be messy and yet beautiful. It's allowed to be unpolished. Wrong quotations. Or even lacking any. At this point in my life I feel like everything I thought was right to be wrong and so maybe something wrong could be right. You haven't even asked for this. And still you know it now. "Art is where what we survive survives" -Kaveh Akbar
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