All Ears

Tell me your stories,

the ones from you past,

the secret ones,

the ones you wouldn’t tell anyone else.

Whisper the details,

and laugh at the memories,

laugh to the point you can’t tell the story straight.

Cry, if you need to, when you get to the sadness,

the moments that tested your resolve,

and smile, let those happy tears show,

when you speak about the prideful moments

when you showed the world you could do it.

Take me along for the journey through your life,

the over, under, sideways, the magic carpet rides,

and when you get to today, tell me you love me,

tell me your journey continues, but together,

with me by your side.

Take my hand in yours, and know,

that I’ll always be here to listen, if you need me.

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Giving Up

via Daily Prompt: Faint

I heard a faint whisper and I thought it was you,

but it wasn’t and you were never there in the first place.

I guess I should have expected it,

exclusivity isn’t a thing you would be forced to adhere to.

I wonder, though, if you felt for him, what I feel for you?

I lessened the pain by pretending I was better without you,

but it stings… burns almost, and when I’m feeling better,

you scorch me with your presence.

I don’t sleep much anymore, you haunt me nightly,

and when I start to forget you,

my phone buzzes faintly on the table,

it’s you, reminding me again that you’re still in my life,

if I throw my phone on the bed I won’t hear you buzz,

but the temptation is far too much, and I yield to you.

I’ll try again to forget you tomorrow.

Faint

Leaving Soon

via Daily Prompt: Mystery

On Monday, she told me she was leaving,

moving away, too far to follow,

too foreign to visit.

She told me it was a personal choice,

something that would make her happy,

and when I expressed sadness,

she said it wasn’t about me.

True.

I tried to be supportive, “That’s good,”

“You’ll love it there,”

“Maybe I can visit you someday.”

She said, “you won’t, but sure,”

I said, “I promise I will,”

knowing I wont,

and it went on and on.

We might have been something special,

we might have found love,

but now it’s all a mystery,

because we won’t have the chance.

Mystery

Not That Brave

via Daily Prompt: Brave

Can we pretend, for a moment, that I didn’t care for you,

that my heart didn’t hurt when too many days had gone by,

that I didn’t make up excuses to be in the area so I could see you,

that I wasn’t on the verge of tears when you said goodbye?

Can we pretend that your eyes aren’t the most beautiful shade of brown,

that your eye lashes aren’t so perfect that every blink makes me smile,

that your lips look so soft from close up and your smile catches my eye,

that when you speak I fall deeper into love with you?

Can we pretend I never met you?

I’m not brave enough to move forward if all I want is you.

Brave

To Write is To Risk

via Daily Prompt: Risky

As I show the world what I’m thinking,

I expose myself to danger.

“But they may not like it,”

is the immediate thought,

but if I do, does that really matter?

“Come from the heart,”

is the advice given,

“if it means something to you,

how can people say it sucks?”

Oh, but it can, and at times, it has sucked.

Writing is not a simple thing,

effort and time intermingle to create

a lasting piece of evidence,

that on good days, or melancholy days,

or mediocre days, or medium-rare days,

you will be able to revisit, relive, or scrutinize.

The problem… once it’s out there

everyone can see it, and if read once,

someone will always know what you thought,

what you felt, or what your point of view was,

for whatever subject it was,

that spurred the written piece in the first place.

It’s far too risky to write, it’s easier to just read,

pass judgement, critique, criticize, compare and contrast,

but I’ll keep writing because I find solace in the process.

I don’t love to write for the outcome,

I love to write because it is a journey, unique,

and specifically my own.

Risky

But I am a Fraud

via Daily Prompt: Fraud

I will listen to your gripes,

allow you to vent until there is nothing left

to complain about.

I will bring you coffee when your hands are cold,

offer warm coats from my own cold shoulders

so that you do not freeze.

I will offer you advice when he doesn’t show interest,

explaining things about his plans that I have no clue about,

pretending to be a friend.

But I am a fraud,

I am no friend of yours,

at best an admirer from close up,

at worst obsessed with your very being.

I will go on with this deception,

because I can’t have you,

and because your eyes look past me,

when you’re searching for love.

 

Fraud