Poetry for a Breaking Heart

This blog is entitled Something About Poetry, but as of yet, I have not posted a single poetic thing! So I suppose that this moment of sleeplessness at 2 o'clock in the morning provides an excellent opportunity for me to do so. Especially since my unrequited love has been haunting me afresh as of late. And whenever that happens, I find that scrolling through listings of relatable poems and having a good cry is immensely relieving. Perhaps at another time, I'll go into greater detail about this one-sided love, and try to relate just exactly how it feels. It is difficult to understand the pain of it if you've never experienced unrequited love before. But for now, I will let others express it for me.

All the love,

<3 Ashlynne

I watched
the rain today;

studied close, as it

collided

with the pavement,

and dispersed,

and it

reminded me

of the way I

fell into you;

helplessly

hopelessly

and in eternity;

the whole

of my self,

crashing down

and becoming

lost

in you,

while your attention was

ever occupied

by every other

drop

of water

that floated

so lightly

down

to kiss your skin.

--Unknown

*      *      *

Bring me your suffering.

The rattle roar of broken bones.

Bring me the riot in your heart.

Angry, wild and raw.

Bring it all.

I am not afraid of the dark.

--Mia Hollow

*      *      *

I thought

I knew what

real pain felt like

but I didn't

until I saw the way

you looked at her

--Unknown

*       *       *

Sonnet XVII

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforward, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way 

than this: where I do not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

--Pablo Neruda

*       *       *

There I was, way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute.

--F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

*       *       *

If I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more.

--Jane Austen

*      *       *

There

are fires,

vast and endless,

that burn in me 

for you.

And I will

carry them until

you are ready

to walk through

the flames of me.

--William c. Hannan

*        *        *

Dyslexia

There were letters I wrote you that I gave up sending, long before I stopped writing. I don't remember their contents but I can recall with absolute clarity, your name scrawled across the pages. I could never quite contain you to those messy sheets of blue ink. I could not stop you from overtaking everything else.

I wrote your name over and over--on scraps of paper, in books and on the backs of my wrists. I carved it like sacred markings into trees and the tops of my thighs. Years went by and the scars have vanished but the sting has not left me. Sometimes when I read a book, parts will lift from the pages in an anagram of your name. Like a code to remind me it's not over. Like dyslexia in reverse.

--Lang Leav