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Anais Vionet May 12
During finals week, I’d spent days on various reports and papers, scribbling in the margins of notes and books, checking facts, revising flashcards and prepping with friends.
I’ve an unshakable faith in plodding persistence.
We were tested and sent packing.

Today, I’m in Geneva, with Peter (my bf). He works for CERN. I’m on vacation - but he has to work sigh. Peter apartments with a roommate, so, oh-****, we had to make alternate arrangements.
We’re ensconced at the fabulous Hotel de la Paix. It’s my treat, I’ve been dorm-roomed for months, and Vive la différence!

The hallways are hushed here, as if moss-covered - noises fade quickly after use. The purposeful quiet feels physical, like a cotton covered fairytale hug after noisy dorm life - where doors slam and people yell at 3am.

Freshly cut flowers accent with color, and infuse the suite with scents that calm and relax like subconscious aromatherapy. This is the land of chocolate, and little treats are stashed everywhere to surprise and delight.

I’m a cryophile - from the Greek "kryos" (cold) and "philos" (lover) - I like my environment cold. In the dead of New Haven winter, when it’s 20°f, I sleep with my dorm room windows open and I seldom use more than a sheet for cover. When Peter would sleepover, he’d try and close the windows, “GEE-zus,” he’d say.
“Don’t be a big baby,” I’d suggested, generously cracking them back open again, “I’ll keep you warm.”

That being said, have you ever slept under freshly starch-pressed egyptian-cotton sheets?’
The cotton is orchid petal light and soft - the starch-pressing means the top sheet stands-off your skin, only barely resting on you, as needed - like an angel's kiss.
At college, I handle the menial chores of daily existence, like laundry service, and there are no freshly pressed sheets.

Hmm.. ok, something poetic-ish

Our experiences are stacked,
laid and layered like bricks.
We’re making something
but the form isn’t clear.
Is it solid and cohesive
- will it last - who knows?


I’d been Facetimimg with Lisa (she’ll join us next Friday), while Peter looked through some work papers. Since he isn’t on vacation, he wants to finish something before we leave for Paris tomorrow, where we’ll meet my parents for mothers-day.

As I came into the bedroom, Peter, propped up on the bed, said, “You ladies were talking for a while.” And still not looking up from his papers, he added, “How’s Lisa?”

I thought I’d made a firm decision - but now I was afraid.  
Still, after a moment - I just blurted it out, saying, “I told her I love you.”
I’d said it in a rush - my pounding heart sounded like thunder.

He looked up. “You did?” He asked, radiating an irritating amount of pleasure.
As I’d said it, I felt a relief that turned into a wave of anxiety verging on nausea.
He still had an open mouthed expression of success and pure joy, so I said, “Shut up.”

“Say it again,” he asked, laying down his papers and taking off his reading glasses, “what you said to her.”
For some reason, I felt a sudden hopelessness. “Not now,” I said, turning away.

“Why,” he asked, I could hear the smile in his voice of insistence.
“Because.. reasons.” I explained, then I went into the bathroom and turned on the water.
“Tell me!” He pleaded from the other room.
I felt flushed, and didn’t want to talk, so I squeezed-out too much toothpaste and started to brush my teeth.
“I can’t heah muuf,” I said, purposefully inaudible through a mouth full of suds.
“Anais,” he called, but I closed the bathroom door and leaned back against it.
I suddenly wanted to go home.. or back in time.

Later, I’d calmed down. Was my declaration really a secret - or common knowledge available to the most casual observer?
We’d had dinner room-serviced (Nordic-fusion cuisine from the Fiskebar) but I still felt a little off and moody. We were settled on an uncomfortable, Ikea-like, off-white couch and we’d queued-up ‘Parks and Rec,’ when I had a terrible thought.

“You must think I’m easy,” I voiced it, looking down, my hair hiding my face from him, “the way school ends and I just flee into our arms.”
“You.. EASY?” He said with a chuckle, “NNNOO,” he added snarkily.

I turned on him sharply, tucking my hair back behind my ears for verbal combat. “I feel like I’m being very vulnerable with you and you’re just laughing,” I pronounced.

“ALL right,” he said softly, as he turned and wrapped his arms gently around me, “don’t get yourself all wound-up - or I won’t get a chance to say ‘I love you,’ back.”
.
.
songs for this:
Good Life by Sammy Rae & The Friends
​​Swingin Party by The Replacements
Redwood Tree by Jamie Drake
All My Girls Like To Fight by Hope Tala
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: Cohesive: sticks together to form something closely united.
Jellyfish Mar 6
These are confessions I can never send.
Because they blatantly won't understand
and that is something I need to get,
They don't care for me enough to accept the ways they hurt me and say sorry.

They are hypocrites,
Because they want me to stay weary.
They want me to always let go and cry alone.
They don't care if around them I'm woeful.

Mom,
You always said I was in the wrong,
Cleaning and chores were our only "bond"
You never chose me unless you could brag.

Dad,
You broke my heart,
You'd catch me when I'd fall
But never stuck up for me in the end.  

Mom chooses to make me a villain,
All I wanted was her acceptance
but she sees me as a sinner who's selfish,
I should put my pain aside and pretend I'm good.

I will be left to wonder forever,
Why my pain doesn't matter
In comparison to my sister,
Why am I less accepted when I'm in pain?

Dad loves me because he sees himself in me.
I look like him, we share a hobby
but growing up I believed that was the only thing he loved about me
Because one moment he'd be there, but would runaway when I needed him most.

Alone, he would listen,
He would say he'd help me
But in front my mom he was different.
Suddenly, what we said in the car was insignificant.

I'm an adult who doesn't know her needs, wants, and likes
Because I spent my life trying to be accepted.
No one taught me how to accept myself,
Or how to know what I need or want.

If someone cared unconditionally,
I clinged to them.
I hoped they'd never leave,
because I never got that from my family.

Now I'm in therapy, crying in every session
That I'm hurt again because of them,
Or hurt by myself because
I don't know who I am.
Joshua Phelps Sep 2023
it's a bittersweet
moment, to leave a
page in the making

a hopeful, beautiful
story

filled with
confessions
and life's lessons.

haunted by a
tragic story
from the beginning,
to the midsummer's
end.

you caught me
right at the moment
when i felt
a little less than.

there's weight in
these lines,
and sometimes
it's hard
to take in.

the words,
just out of focus,
but clear in my
head.

it's a bittersweet
moment,
to leave a page
in the making.

i can't wait
to see you
again.
Angela Rose Mar 2022
Ily
I am irrevocably in love with you.
This is not a poem.
This is a confession.
This is an outpouring of my heart stings.
I am so in love with you that I needed to get it out on the internet and let the world know.
You possess my whole heart.
Oh dear God, I am so ******* in love with you.
Melody Jun 2021
No devil may care for me tonight'
roaming, hunting a soul.
It is only a tinge of light
illuminating these corridors;
filled room to room with confessions,
murmurs adorn each one of their frames.
I climbed up the third nearest hill
to watch the sun set,
on the day that you said
you love me..
Alone before sundown with time to spare.

I hoped to catch it amber and full,
on a hungry mid-cycle race all the way up there -
where exactly, I did not seem to care.
You disarmed me.
And on trial I were.

Alas my time wasn't worth it.
The sun hid behind thick layers of cloud,
the wind picked up and I could sense the rain coming.
It kissed me.
A bypassing train covered all other sound.

And to think I quite longed to hear this,
as if I didn't already know.
The forces of nature felt like an omen.
A warning,
against a tempting last straw.

Not sure how long I ended up sat there,
but Venus rose up to wish me goodnight.
If this is a test,
I’m determined to pass it.
An omen at half-light always means no.
Paige Feb 2021
To love tastes like sweetness
Fresh strawberries
And few drops on skin
It feels like grassy green hills
Starry night skies
And murmured words
Carried across state lines
Letters bundled in brown string
Lavender stems
And wax buttons
To love looks like her eyes
Mountains and earth and life
It looks like sunflowers
And bonfires
And nervous car rides
Sometimes I close my eyes
And her voice is there
At the back of my mind
Her laughter playing over and over
And I think to myself
This
This is what it feels like
But tongues these days
Were made to be held
And I’ve made it a hobby
To keep to myself
And the moments I steal
Between thought and dreaming
I spend realizing that many could do
So much better than this
But love looks a lot
Like who she is to me
Whether it’s not the right time
Or it may never be
And despite my desire
To face the world on my own
The sound of her voice
Never leaves me alone
And I find myself in bed
Lying awake through the night
Smiling at her humor
And thinking she might
Think of me too
And I don’t know why it happened
Why I can’t erase her from my mind
But I find I don’t want to
That I couldn’t if I tried
That every second of her presence
Every moment in time
I spend craving more of her
Always more of her
Lunar Jan 2021
Today the wheels of thinking run faster
My motherboard is almost fried
I wonder why this makes my brain exercise
Why does your confession do this to me?
I was so set, my paths clear, my goals lighted.
Why does your confession make me feel like running the opposite way?
Why does it make me think about a future I never knew
A future that I denied myself from
A future many crave for, but I labelled average
Why am I ready to throw everything I worked for for you?
Where’s the fear I built over the years?
Where are the barriers I built?
Why have I fallen?
Maybe it’s cause you want me even in my dust form ...
Because you like the form I hate...
The form I don’t think deserves love



By
Lunar
Megan Parson Jan 2021
~°~°~°~

The rosy bride didn't pace the hall,
Nor was there a wedding ball.
No bridesmaids, no flower girls,
Nor did I wear my mothers pearls.

For without the groom,
Playeth not the loud bassoon,
Tis the words that played,
While my heart like thunder relayed.

Melancholy, like Caesar, did I feel,
Piercing eyes, put forth the deal,
Closer to a faint, did I reel,
And like Calpurnia, I now kneel.

Hoping you'll read this through,
Hardly ebbing the feelings, I grew.

~°~°~°~

Commit I, what I detest,
& leave you culprit, like in Gone Girl.
Painful thoughts, my mind did protest,
To new ventures, it would whirl.

A letter of love & apology,
on the very last day.
bearing, like Juliet's analogy,
Concealed beneath the fray.

'What ifs' sadly got the better,
But letter, tis the right way!
Or so I thought, while my mind did fetter,
To take action, a letter will I lay...

Sans number or address,
To test you, cuz love finds a way.
But this too, did I redress,
The masts somewhere else will sway.

"Don't be so ******* him,
Leave your number deep within."
"No, no, that'll make him dim,
give not even the pin."

Yet another did say,
"Leave clues, in & out,
work em woe till the gray."
These nasty devils dashed about.

~°~°~°~

At last did I none,
But write this terrific pun.
I know you know what I did
last summer. That has rid,

All that went on for the past 3 years?
Reality had become my fears,
Alas you believe the deed is done,
But you're right, you weren't the one.

If you had the patience,
To read this till the end.
Sans showing indifference,
Gratitude, I do extend.

By now, far away I'll be,
If Shrek could reach, so could you to me,
But there's a reason, it's a fantasy.
So goodbye, cuz I see,
Life has bigger plans for me.

~°~°~°~
Hey guys! Back after a looooong break & writers block. This poem was inspired by The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, an all time favorite ❤️
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