TrustJust because I didn't smile when I saw you
Didn't mean I wasn't smiling because of you
Just because I couldn't hold your hand
Didn't mean I didn't want too
And just because I couldn't always tell you everything
Didn't mean I didn't like you
Even though I couldn't always look you in the face
Didn't mean you didn't make my heart sing
But now every time you look my way
I remember all the pain you bring
Remember how, on that one night
I asked you if I could trust you
Your answer filled me with delight
But then you went and reminded me how I can never trust again
And despite how much I hate it
how very much I hate it
Once I love somebody I never stop loving them
So when you consider looking my way
When you think of speaking my name
Always remember you are the guy who left the girl with green eyes
Standing there hiding the pain.
Cross my heartCross my heartCross my heart1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and hope to die,
I never thought
we´d say goodbye.
I promise honey
I´m being good,
I´d be with you
if I could
but I must wait
till God decides,
to place me once more
by your side.
Cross my heart
I still love you so,
you have to know.
The place in my heart
that you once filled,
is longing for you
and always will.
Cross my heart,
it hurts so much,
not to have your gentle touch,
not to hear your wonderful laughter,
stuck here in this life ever after.
Cross my heart
this life goes on,
even if we want or not.
Happy or sad,
if we live or if we die.
A poem by Suzanne Karbach 15th July 2014
Burning Out, and Falling FastYou're sitting in your parents' old corvette (if you had bothered to check, you'd know it was older than you), flicking your eyes between a lighter in one hand, and a box of matches in the other. You forget when fire became such a need, a distraction.Burning Out, and Falling Fast3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Spencer is right beside you in the car, his fingers stroking idly at your forearm, watching you with hooded green eyes.
"If you want to die," he says, "then just kill yourself, but do it with style."
You met The Boy Under the Sycamore Tree when you were four. Your mom encouraged you to go see the lonely boy, and when you first went over to him, he ignored you. The Boy Under the Tree, that's what you called him for the first day you knew him, was a little older than you with dark hair and smoky green eyes.
With encouraging looks from your folks, you walked right next to him and sat down, pressing your back against the tree's rough trunk.
Talent-lessLost in the shadowsTalent-less2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Lost in the lies
And in the doubt
I don't know how to get out
I don't know if I want too
All I know is that I'm alone
There are no others like me
If there were we'd all be forgotten.
They say I'm good
But I know I'm not
They tell me I'll get better
But I know I wont
I can't do anything right.
I'm like a broken machine.
Unable to make anything of beauty.
I can't paint.
I can't write.
Nor sing or dance.
Nor draw or compose.
They all tell me I'm not
But I know their lying.
They say I'll get better.
But their all lying...