Poem

617 – “I have this bad habit of” a Poem

I have this bad habit of
getting close to people
and thinking that they’re
always going to be by my side;
but eventually they always leave.

I have this bad habit of
loving people a little too much,
when they don’t even love me back;
and when they leave me my heart
feels like someone threw it from the sky.

I have this bad habit of
caring for people,
when they don’t even care about me
at all. Perhaps, if they saw
through my eyes they’ll see
the scars I have deep down inside.

I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired.
I wish feelings didn’t exist.
Why do feelings exist anyways?
I always fall for everything and
let it destroy me. It’s my fault after all,
but I still have hope that one day
I find a person that shares
the same bad habits as me.

–anonymous

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596 – “All that is gold does not glitter…”

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.”

– J R R Tolkien (more…)

444 – “Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star.”

–e e Cummings [See Source Notes for entire poem]

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361 – “The New Colossus”

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

‘Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!’ cries she
With silent lips. ‘Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’

–Emma Lazarus

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135 – “It was rather beautiful: the way he put her insecurities to sleep. The way he dove into her eyes and starved all the fears and tasted all the dreams she kept coiled beneath her bones.”

Christopher Poindexter (more…)