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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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a reason to love

I’ve always been the troubled child,

the one whose anxiety prevented

words from leaving my mouth and

from making connections.

My mouth stayed sealed because

then maybe I could give you a reason to love me.

If I didn’t say anything, there would be no reason to hate me.

Like a pretty person at the airport,

I would stay in your mind,

always wondering what kind of thoughts

passed through my brain like clouds

and which thoughts remained like rain puddles on a cloudy day.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 1 year

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to kiss you

I want to kiss you in public

for the world to see

who I give my love to

and who I want to go home to

at the end of the day.

I want to show off my love

and the beautiful human

who chose me to love.

Dancing with your face pressed against

mine,

and it feels like nobody else exists but

us and the world we

create for ourselves.

every moment led me to this one

where I could feel at home

walking around in my underwear and a face free from makeup,

knowing I am loved by your side.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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storybook romance

Too much too quickly,

I don’t crave midnight meetups

or boundaries broken before

I even know your favorite color.

But when will I ever ask if

you prefer green or purple

if the chance never presents itself?

Perhaps I’m destined to

remain as I am,

the poster-child for the single life—too

absorbed in the arts to remember

that humans exist outside of the page

she writes on. But some

days I wish I could fall through

my page and into

the arms of someone

waiting for me.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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let go

And suddenly nothing in the world mattered.

My soul craved laughter and freedom

in a way that only the Earth

can provide.

I have yet to find a problem

I cannot solve through writing

underneath the moon

and humming a song

for only the two of us to hear.

Sometimes the best things in

life and uncovered

through secrets

kept between me and the moon.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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circle of love

what comes around goes around,

but the circle is broken.

I’m still waiting for all of the love that

I’m giving to

come back around to where

I sit so patiently to be wanted.

Even my own mother doesn’t tell me she loves me

after we fight and she goes to bed.

If parental love is conditional,

where does that leave me

when I’m told I’m difficult to love?

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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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from the pages

childhoods spent reading

about a dystopian world where

all become powerless,

and we said we would save them.

we promised to save the world

if we had the chance,

and now our voices shake and

grow quiet.

The fear fills our bones and cements

our feet into place,

but we will not cease to fight.

It is not our end.

The pages are still turning,

and the pen keeps moving.

We have not reached our final chapter.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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prepared

Nothing could have prepared me

for the way I would feel

meeting you

after spending all this time

listening to the sound of my own breathing.

But as I return at night to you in

bed,

I’m coming home I

know in all of the ways

I never imagined I would be.

Creating a home from a person

is a delicate task,

but nothing has ever felt easier than this.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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teenage depression

I will not cry over a boy

I’ve known for a month and a half.

I will not let myself release all of the

emotions I feel,

but I will cry and sob

wondering if anyone actually means the things that they say.

Did he actually mean to call me pretty?

or was there an error in translation?

I will feel myself fall apart as I wonder

if I’ll ever be strong enough to love

after being left without so much as a goodbye too many times to count.

Or if Ill ever fully trust after my cries of “no” weren’t heard

and the only responses I received were

lies.

I can’t even explain the way I feel because

I shouldn’t have to feel this pain

at such a young age.

I want my teenage romance,

but all I have is teenage depression.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 3 years

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Everybody loves the therapist friend,

the friend who will

stay up until 2am

because you had a bad day,

the friend who will drop everything

in a moment’s notice to be by

someone’s side

or will sacrifice their own wants for another.

Everyone romanticizes the heart

that lies within the body

of the therapist friend.

Nobody stops to realize

there is no one for the therapist friend

to turn to.

There is no listening ear or

warm hug

waiting for the right time.

So at midnight, when they can’t sleep,

the helper

sets down their phone—

silent of notifications—

and does the only thing they know how to do— write.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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I can’t honestly tell

if you have feelings for me or not.

Dork,

I know I have feelings for you,

and I wish I knew how to tell you

without fearing that you would

laugh at the thought of someone liking you.

Maybe you do have feelings,

but you seem unwilling to act on them.

You seem unwilling to stand out from any other guy who flirts with me at the

coffee shop, and I can’t do anything

about that besides wish for you to

please

please take a chance on me.

Innocent guy who

refuses to cuss and who could take over

the world if he wanted,

please take a chance on me.

Those girls you tease you were right about one thing:

I would say yes to you if you asked me.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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bruises of yellow and purple on my body,

who said that words never hurt?

I hear them say the words that do

not belong to me

as the nail is pounded deeper into

my skull.

my outfit doesn’t match quite

right today, and

my hair pulls to the ground from the roots.

all I can do now is whisper to myself

and hear the quiet echos.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 3 years

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I want to fall in love with you like they do in the movies.

I want to feel your body press against mine and feel the warmth of your skin.

If I could hold your hand and watch the word fall away,

I would never feel out of place.

Love songs are only fun when there’s a face to go along with the melody.

Oh, I want to be so immersed in love

and desire

that nobody could pull me from my

illusion.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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impulse

impulse decision to spill

the thoughts that spent so long

hiding in the attic,

tucked behind the spring decorations.

impulse decision that resulted in

acceptance for the first time

in two years.

he said “everyone is unhappy in their body,”

and they uninvited me from

the group chat and the chosen family I had found for myself as I was left

in the driveway a week after spilling

my thoughts to them.

but just this once,

I found the acceptance I craved

within the chaos I live in.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 3 years

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I don’t need anyone,

but I need someone to need me.

I need someone to rely on me

to make them smile and to

hold their hand when life gets rough.

I need someone to trust me enough to

let me learn them like my favorite book

To let me prove to them that

they are worth all of the stars in the sky

whether or not they can

see it for themselves.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 3 years

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There are three kinds of people

in this life.

The first

are those

who have poetry written for them—

Whose warm hearts

enchant a lonesome poet

and catch his eye.

They bewitch his pen

and convince him to

give away a portion of his soul

etched onto the page.

It is impossible not to become infatuated

by the way they exist

so easily,

without any care in the world.

Secondly,

there are those people

who have poetry written about them—

Whose captivating soul

creates flowing poetry and rhymes

buried deep in the head of a poet

long before the words

reach the page.

The kind of people who are

so easy to fall in love with and who

emanate light from

within their hearts.

And finally,

there are the poets,

the dreamers,

who have no one to write

for or about them.

A poet knows the longing ache

of wishing someone

would write them a legacy

in the stars,

always wishing someone would

fall in love with

the things that

make them ordinary,

the things that make them nothing

more than

a person with a

pen, a notebook, and

a heart filled with desire.

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poetry-byyourstruly · 2 years

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I still think of you more

often than I should,

of our one day of romance,

two summers ago,

walking around the park

and holding your hand.

Knowing my face was as pink as the

raspberry lemonade that sat between us.

One Direction

has played in my head every time

I think of you

and our moments alone in the car.

If I knew that distance wouldn’t have torn us apart the second

I let my guard down,

I would have kissed you.

I should have kissed you.

I wish I kissed you.

And now the distance feels even

farther than it did back then.

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