Tag: Unrequited

Bad timing

It was just bad timing As you always said it was When we fell, when we met When you left, I was bereft It was just bad timing As you always knew it was When we kissed, when we fell When I lost myself, heartbroken hell Bad timing Syncopated love Taken in stolen seconds Shared…

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A poem about a woman unable to overcome her fear of trusting and sharing her feelings with the one she loved

My heart waits for unrequitedness
And then my speech is free
My mind tells me I'm safe to feel
When hearts no longer feel for me
It's a pattern of behaviour
And a rhythm I can't break
It's my heart and head I battle
Then my confession comes too late
I've loved and lost before
I've always wanted to resolve
I've never understood myself,
Or how my head and heart revolve,

It's my fault, my selfish stuttering, my emotion - I've denied
When you asked me and you held me
My mouth shut me away and lied

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# Permanent link to Too late

Unrequited

It’s an eternal conflict and love, It’s a fear I can’t place If I can’t open up my heart and give-in to your embrace How fast my heart broke When I saw you with another, Like lightening, like a spark, with my love left uncovered I gathered my courage, to hope and to show Prepared…

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A poet struggling with the unrequited love of their muse
Published on Spillwords in 2016

And so it starts; the question of the ending begins.

Knowing you can't love me.
But your arms can hold me home
Knowing you can't need me
And I can't bear to be alone...

Omnipresent stuttering holds the pen fast in my grasp
And the juxtaposition of my desire is disillusioned fast.
Tortollogy of my feelings fall fast upon the page
But ink kills the creation - (more…)

# Permanent link to The poem that can’t be written
A soliloquy written for puck; her love for oberon. Excerpt From an original play: 'Cubed'

A soliloquy showing Puck's love for Oberon. From an original play: 'Cubed'

Our love is as a melody; once magical – now mundane.

If he could simply take his time to listen, truly listen to the words with his heart he should find what he fell for, what enchanted him about our song.

He loves me not, but my heart holds me to his will at least a while longer. I cannot work my charms upon him, he is immune to such trickery, and I could not live with myself, nor not with him neither if he were not to be authentic in his love.

(more…)

# Permanent link to Puck’s heart