Relationships Poems
do you think we're friends in every universe?
by t.e. talbott
"do you think we're friends in every universe?"
i think sometimes
you're an unexpected present in June,
the gift of consideration outside of birthdays.
sometimes i'm gratitude, a full heart
thanking the heavens for you.
sometimes i’m the white-washed face of God
in someone's painting,
......
Oobleck
by Aditi Hayaran
Cornstarch and water blend,
Firm or soft—let's check.
The whimsical non-Newtonian fluid,
It's called Oobleck.
For a tiny test, it's given to two.
Firm for one, soft for whom?
Curious to see the fluid's behaviour?
Let's peek into each room.
......
Unlearning
by Kara Prince
Mama and Daddy are good people. Mama picks up prescriptions for the elderly, and Daddy reads to elementary schoolers long after both kids got their degrees. But when it comes to being a partner, this is what they taught me: love works like a dog that you forget to feed, love means always sacrificing, because anything else would be greed. Love means always bending and folding at another's words, and sending the kids to bed so you can draw your swords. Love is a prison sentence for which you can't remember the cause, but you never tell anyone your love has flaws.
I learned my lesson, so I’ve run from love like a Smith and Wesson. But this crooked smile given so easily and freely, well, it has me thinking maybe love isn’t that at all, really. When he holds me, and I try to run, he doesn’t chase me, but reminds me there is a seat next to him for one. He tells me I am smart, that I am strong, and beautiful, and that sometimes I am too willing to be dutiful. I tell him to love me like he's cooking a frog, slowly at first, so I won’t jump scared and head for the bog. This boy is honest and patient, his love is simple and kind, he makes me feel like love shouldn’t hurt. I hope for his sake I can mend my own mind.
If I had a Son
by Lisa Kupietz
In the depths of a fruitless nightlife
Sitting calmly on a cold bench,
Looking towards this compulsive endless sky.
If I had a son he would be with me,
His tiny trembling hand in mine.
I would teach him a strange sense of humor,
To laugh out loud and laugh loud cynical whenever he feels loved.
I would instruct him to be cruel and deaf.
I would advise him to never say goodbye.
I would hate him to protect him and reward his solitude.
......
werwerwer
by aaa bccewrwer
Continue readingThe Calendar That Learned Our Names
by Oscar Auliq-Ice
There was a spring when we mistook beginnings
for permanence.
The world, newly rehearsed in green,
seemed to agree with us—
as if leaves were promises
and every birdcall a signature
on something neither of us had read closely enough.
We spoke lightly then,
......
Unlearning
by Kara Prince
Mama and Daddy are good people. Mama picks up prescriptions for the elderly, and Daddy reads to elementary schoolers long after both kids got their degrees. But when it comes to being a partner, this is what they taught me: love works like a dog that you forget to feed, love means always sacrificing, because anything else would be greed. Love means always bending and folding at another's words, and sending the kids to bed so you can draw your swords. Love is a prison sentence for which you can't remember the cause, but you never tell anyone your love has flaws.
I learned my lesson, so I’ve run from love like a Smith and Wesson. But this crooked smile given so easily and freely, well, it has me thinking maybe love isn’t that at all, really. When he holds me, and I try to run, he doesn’t chase me, but reminds me there is a seat next to him for one. He tells me I am smart, that I am strong, and beautiful, and that sometimes I am too willing to be dutiful. I tell him to love me like he's cooking a frog, slowly at first, so I won’t jump scared and head for the bog. This boy is honest and patient, his love is simple and kind, he makes me feel like love shouldn’t hurt. I hope for his sake I can mend my own mind.
I Don't Love You Anymore
by Richard Randolph
What I said was right,
you said was wrong,
we both tried our best,
but we couldn’t get along.
Neither of us knew
what the future had in store.
Now it doesn’t matter.
I don’t love you anymore.
What you thought was weak,
......
Oobleck
by Aditi Hayaran
Cornstarch and water blend,
Firm or soft—let's check.
The whimsical non-Newtonian fluid,
It's called Oobleck.
For a tiny test, it's given to two.
Firm for one, soft for whom?
Curious to see the fluid's behaviour?
Let's peek into each room.
......
On an Amber morning
by Sapper Morton
I like my coffee bitter: the bite of the day to come. It is a brace for the velocity with which I seek to conquer the world.
Black as the night and stripped of distraction—Occam’s razor in a cup—it is the guaranteed path to victory. I love its caustic, grounded depth; that scent of maple, nut, and smoke that fills the nostrils like a gentle hand upon the cheek.
It is a kiss of fervent intention, a warmth, an earthly deity.
But more, I like my coffee made by loving hands—with eyes as still and calm as the liquid in my cup. I seek a smile as sweet as the gentle lapping of milk against the inky, grounded brew.
Every sip is a kiss from the hands that made it; every stir binds the sinews of my heart.
......
