L. R. Haven
Just here to spread my joy of writing, learn to love poetry, and meet some writers ❤️
L. R. Haven
Just here to spread my joy of writing, learn to love poetry, and meet some writers ❤️
Just here to spread my joy of writing, learn to love poetry, and meet some writers ❤️
Just here to spread my joy of writing, learn to love poetry, and meet some writers ❤️
Everything I touch shatters The fire in my eyes turns it to ash My heart is a rock, it was turned to stone.
I should stop touching things They may stop breaking But then how do I survive?
Stand back! Don’t come any nearer. I don’t want to break you too…
Oh my darling, Oh my sweet child, Oh my love.
Must you be confined to such pain? Have I trapped you in that prison, The prison of your mind?
You worry and it’s nobody’s fault Save for my own. The only solution Is for me to leave. I can’t.
Blue eyes stare into mine. Blue as the Carribbean. Blends of real, turquoise, and tiffany. Cerulean, sky, and lapis. How mesmerizing they are, at such a comical moment. Have I been staring? Is it as long as it feels? I’ve never felt time slow down before. I understand that it’s not longer a myth.
But after last time, how can I trust anything? Even _his _eyes weren’t so…striking. Is this even something I can trust? I never notice eyes. They’re all the same boring brown. Then, there’s you. Why? Why? Why?
You’re doing this to me. This trickery from the nature of you. I will shake your hand and leave now. I will forget this the moment our handshake says goodbye.
You’re hands are huge. I feel like a baby shaking a giant’s hand. Walking away now. Why haven’t I forgotten you? Get out of my head.
Life in your hands My life was in your hands, Ma
You gave it away Gave away me, my life In your hands
Now, do you know who I am? Born Asian, raised American Geez, Ma. I sound like a pack of meat.
Is that all you think of me? I don’t know who I am. You took away that “family legacy” part of finding identity.
I have identity crises now. Good job, Ma. Still love you though Still don’t know you.
And still you gave me away My life. The one that was in your hands.
Dear Mama,
I’ve always wanted to call someone “mama” and have it be true. “Mom” puts so much distance between a mother and daughter. You don’t know me, and I’ve only dreamt about you since I was four. Only. If I could find you, I think it would make a world of a difference.
I don’t think about you as much as I did, and I don’t know if you can miss what you’ve never had. In my case, someone I’ve never met.
I wonder if I have your eyes. My eyes look bigger because I have “the flap”. Do you have the flap? Are you happy and loud like I was as a kid? Or more quite and reserved, like I am now?
There’s so much I don’t know, so much I could learn about myself too. I just need one conversation. Closure. Do you play any instruments? Coffee or tea or matcha? Dogs or cats? Are you a short freak like me? Is your hair so thick it could be a certified gym rope?
Why didn’t you give me a chance? Why did you toss me to the side?
I need to know…
I need to know.
Mama, are you even alive?
It’s a funny feeling, when you realize you’ve forgotten somebody you once loved.
On the other hand, it’s a bit easier to describe the feeling of being the forgotten one: painful.
It was a dreary Monday when it occurred to me that you might have forgotten who I am, who I was.
When I thought my heart couldn’t break any more, it did. Once I found out it was partially true.
I remembered even the smallest of moments we’d shared, and you probably didn’t remember my face.
I know I can make you remember me, but what could I possibly do?
What must one do to find a ‘likeable’ personality? A life inside themselves? How can one revive a dull, bland corpse?
What remains is the question, simple on the surface, but dreadfully complex once you dive deeper: How?
Stolen kisses, sorrow-filled wishes Live as the mysteries of the night
Star-crossed lovers meet one another Under cover of the dim light
They kiss and cry, hug their last goodbye Nobody knows but the night
She leaves his side reluctantly, he holds her hand stubbornly They hide their tears in the night
One more wish, one long kiss Before they walk away, deep into the night
Warm brown pools as eyes, a smile that lights up the world. How could someone not love you? Whenever you talk, I see the world differently, and every time you laugh it’s like a new meleody I hear. You make me happy at the thought of you. Your kindness touched my heart, but sometimes when I see you…instead of bright eyes, they are sad voids. When I see your smile, it just isn’t quite wide enough to be true. So say what’s going on in that head of yours, that this face happens to be the perfect cover for?
Once I fell Deeply in love With the kindest man That I have ever met.
And it kills me every day Because I wasn’t able to say farewell.
This is my goodbye to you, the person Who makes me smile at the thought of him And cry whenever I remember what I can never have.
I will love you in my heart, and keep your kindness Forever in my memory. I miss you so much. Goodbye, my love.
Sitting at the edge of that church pew, your right leg was bouncing up and down next to mine. I crossed my left leg over my right to contain my shaking, placing my folded hands on top for extra stability. I took deep breaths to steady my heart. ‘Should I ask?’ I wonder.
Before I get the chance to overthink it, my mouth opens on it’s own. “Are you nervous?” I ask, leaning forward and trying to project my voice. People are always telling me to talk louder, and for once I want to talk to this person. You.
You turn back to me, warm brown eyes twinkling and you smile nervously. For a moment your leg stops bouncing and for only a second, I feel something pass between us. “A little,” you mumble, looking down at the ground, then over to the stage in front of us. I try to reassure you with a small smile and nod, but you’ve turned back to the other group singing by now. I’m tempted to reach out and grab your hand, but my brain has already dealt with enough of my body disobeying it.
‘I love you,’ I think silently, staring at the back of your head, as you wring your hands around your water bottle, taking one last nervous sip before we go. If only you knew, before it was too late.