Tag: heartbroken

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: Love Sludge

kylefreelander

You choose to make me live a lie

when that is not a choice you are allowed

to make alone. I know you and I know

when you lie, when you cross lines

only to pretend you are innocent.

I gave you the chance to confess,

to put the pain of a lie touching

my “I love you”s to rest, but you continue

to play with me and my heart. I try

to move forward with you but lies

keep us tethered to the past, unresolved

and consequently bitter to the point

where three simple words become

so complicated, pouring out like wet sand

instead of sugar. I want us to move along,

to go forward, but I cannot be the one dragging

you through the sludge we’ve made

with every lie and secret and half-truth

that stole our honesty and our love.

Creative Writing, Dating/Relationships, Poetry

Poetry: Suppose

kylefreelander

Suppose we never met.
Suppose we never dove into love.
Suppose you weren’t at the bar
to catch me as I fell down.
Suppose we never kissed.
Suppose we never felt the fireworks.
Suppose I wasn’t there to fill
the void she left inside of you.
Suppose we never lied.
Suppose we never said goodbye.
Suppose we never did
get it quite right.

Creative Writing, Dating/Relationships, Poetry

Poetry: Gatekeeper

kylefreelander

I know there are times you don’t see me,

times when we are apart and I am so far

from you that I don’t cross your mind.

Those are the times the gates fly open

and you round up the cattle to keep

you company in the empty field.

You tell yourself it’s innocent,

I know you do, that it’s all in good fun.

It’s a game with no rules

but everyone, including me, know

when it’s played. I fear these times

the most. It feels like my heart

is buried under stone after stone,

a weight so heavy I begin to choke.

You know nothing of that though.

It is a concern I keep to myself,

in my locket that I guard better

then I am able to guard my heart

from you and your field that feeds

plenty when I am away. I wonder

how long it takes for something

to remind you of me, if it happens

at all. Does it take minutes or hours

or even days? Maybe you don’t think

of me the whole time I am away

for I am not there to keep them at bay

and you are too weak in the knees

not to fall at the feet of these sheep

and ask them to play with a big bad wolf.

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: Pillow Top

kylefreelander

Some stories end

and some go on.

 

I told you “I love you,”

but I was wrong.

 

Too many nights of uncertainty

were lying next to me,

 

pillow top couldn’t make lies

STOP

nor put me to rest

anymore.

 

I tell you a story

of boy meets girl.

 

You buy a ring.

You buy a dream.

 

With words like diamonds,

you enchant and hurt me,

 

relentlessly, effortlessly,

until tears are considered normal.

 

It was a story of a girl

who loved a boy too much.

 

A cut I know won’t heal,

a scar I will always feel,

 

tongue lashing, we’re crashing

and I cry out for you—-

 

Some stories end,

and some go on.

 

Boy meets girl,

and it was wrong.

 

There was a ring

and a dream,

 

and a girl who loved

a boy too much.

 

I say, “I love you,”

but the pillow top

makes it all STOP.

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: Windows

kylefreelander

Windows that have been shut should not be opened.

From time to time you can glance through them

and remember a life you once led, but be careful:

too much time starting out a window surveying

memory lane is a trap. You don’t look forward

because you’re too busy looking back. With palms

pressed against the fragile glass, you beg for the familiar,

the embrace that once protected you,

instead of seeking something new. You don’t age

and you don’t grow, you’re always that little girl

crying at home alone. Saliva kiss marks on salt-stained glass

from a girl who knew it wouldn’t last. A slam of a fist

with a wish to be fixed that no one can grant.

A crack in the glass where he tries to make his way back

to her but she cannot be found waiting there. She has changed

and she has grown, done staring at closed windows getting cold,

and when he reaches for her again she knows to pull back and turn away,

for this wasn’t forever they were facing together. It was the end.

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: Best of Luck

kylefreelander

You were always looking to replace me

and I wish that you knew what that felt

like, to be constantly not good enough

to compete with yet another pretty face,

a secretary with benefits I didn’t see

coming. I guess there was always meant

to be a punishment for loving so blindly

and for being invested in something

you had already decided to return,

but I move on and move forward

every day because I know you have

it coming for you. You did it to yourself

and I owe myself an apology for letting

it go on for this long, for not seeing

the signs that you were a boy

when I already knew I needed

a gentleman. It is too late to dwell

on all of that now. It is the time

for me to wish upon a shooting star

that all of this will blow up in your face,

that she decides you are no longer

a pretty face and that she leaves

you with no reason like the way

you so easily left me. I would never

wish bad things, but I don’t feel

the need to be nice to you anymore,

and one day she won’t either.

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: Bloody Bullet

kylefreelander

I tiptoe but you hear

me coming your way, it’s too late

for games, you say, it’s too late

to play. So I retreat

to my seat in the corner

where I am to be shamed

by your red words once more.

A bloody bullet you used before,

a bloody bullet off the un-swept floor

pointed directly at me,

so sullied, so dirty. I can’t help

it anymore than I can help myself

at this point. Stranded. Screaming,

pleading, bleeding, begging for you

not to pull that trigger again.

This is the end, you say,

it’s too late for games,

it’s too late to play.

It is time to pull the trigger,

to attack me with all you’ve got,

an old wound ripped open

that keeps me in my seat,

where I retreat when I try

to move us forward together

and you leave me to bleed out alone.

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: Our Demise

kylefreelander

I don’t usually dedicate my poems, especially ones on my blog, but I am mixing it up this time. Someone who is very close to me is feeling some serious heartbreak right now, and I wrote this poem with her in mind. It has been a few months now, but the heartbreak is just as real as if it were yesterday. I want her to know that I feel that, and I want to help her through it.

As most people know, that is a hard task for anyone. So, I have taken to what I know best: writing. This is a poem about love just as much as it is a poem about loss, and I dedicate it to my beautiful friend. You are more than like a sister to me. <3

” ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” -Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Our Demise

I.

His eyes are wide with smiles, and I wonder how I am so lucky.

 

II.

I ask him what he sees in me.

He simply replies, “What others do not.”

 

III.

It is late one night when I say, “You feel like home.”

 

IV.

He tells me that I am beautiful today

and kisses me on the forehead.

My skin enters into a waltz I cannot control

but have no desire to wish away.

 

V.

I tell him he is my future, and he replies, “I’m okay with that.”

 

VI.

He stares at me quietly

and I feel the minutes wind

around my lungs and loop

themselves into a tingling hello

that precedes the words, “I love you.”

My insides do somersaults for days.

 

VII.

Everything is perfect until it is not.

 

VIII.

I ask him to open up to me,

but he keeps me in the dark.

Once again I hold his hand,

but I know I don’t have his heart.

 

IX.

His fingertips pull away, and I beg for them to come back.

 

X.

I catch him in a lie again and he knows

to say, “I’m sorry,” but he says nothing more.

 

XI.

His eyes are wide with miles, and I wait for goodbye.

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: You Miss Everything

kylefreelander

I don’t know how

to be someone you miss

as much as football season,

or holiday drinks at Starbucks,

the kiss of a new year,

a hand held on Valentine’s day,

a free slurpee on July 11th,

the smell of the ocean,

the stroke of a snowflake,

the taste of a new book

devoured by your fingertips.

I watch you grieve

the loss of all these things

from afar and I wish

that I could console you,

that I could tell you

these moments will come again,

but being missed

is not my area of expertise

and you know that

better than anyone.