Just Poems - Poems about Just

i used to think loving you too much was romantic. now i see— it was me giving away parts of myself like clearance items, hoping you’d find value in something i had already discounted. you thought my devotion was desperation. you watched me fold into smaller versions of myself just to fit your world. and when i broke, you called me dramatic. but i wasn’t asking for too much. i was just asking...

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no gain without pain you gotta push on, right through to the bitter end it's just in sight, bend, bend, bend ~ moan, groan, scream ~ Oh my Hammie !...

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A single star flickers in the winters sky, As she make her way home slow and still wondering why. Why did this happen to me, Slowly those frozen hopes and dreams fall all around beside me. Just falling all around like forgotten memories. As just a foolish young girl wandering alone, Wondering if she...

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YOU MEAN LIKE PETERS BOSS OF BOSSES DETROIT HITMAN OBSESSED WITH BEING BIG PAULIE THE MAKING OF JOHN GOTTI BOSS OF ALL BOSSES INCLUDING BIG DON OF CLASSIC SCUM PAYOFFS BRIBES BULLYING CAR BOMBS IGNITING MY FACE CRUSHING MY SKULL STOP TERRORISTS THREATS DON BELIEVING HE COULD IMPERSONATE MY DECEASED FATHER BORN SEPTEMBER 1942 HE...

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A mirror isn't just a frame, A sheet of glass that speaks your name. It shows your image. Yes, it's true– But now the whole of what is you. It doesn't bend, it doesn't fake, It captures truths you cannot break. But mirror hide in the other forms– In quiet thoughts, in silence storms. In words that bruise, in eyes that...

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Just Life Just life, everywhere, in all parts of the way. On all the paths of the road. Dry world, vision. The beauty of life is just an invisible follower. But I believe in the dream life. A fact of life. A fact of life: there is no law, no love—just Light. Live, live in the infinitely vibrant radiation of Light. Souls...

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A mirror isn't just a frame, A sheet of glass that speaks your name. It shows your image. Yes, it's true– But now the whole of what is you. It doesn't bend, it doesn't fake, It captures truths you cannot break. But mirror hide in the other forms– In quiet thoughts, in silence storms. In words that bruise, in eyes that know, In...

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IX. In the ICU, machines create their own songo— ventilator, heart monitor, IV pump— forming an accidental orchestra the clutch of machinery holding time like a hi-hat choking its own decay. Underneath the electronic rhythms the human body maintains its own stubborn organic tempo— proving that even at the edge of existence we are fundamentally musical beings. The climate protestor's chant becomes a militant clave pattern— Save our planet!...

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JUST IF I could smell you, Would you smell like our Father; If I look at you do I see God; If I could taste you would you be liken manna; If I could hold you, you'll be liken second skin; If I could speak to you would you listen? If I wereto dream of you would you...

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A little bird sat upon my window steel, Cheep cheep it hummed as I sat so still, I wondered how where and when ,why and if ever it had adventures yet, For I sit still and gaze about no adventures here near or bound, Sadness forms from sitting still for if I had wings I'd fly free...

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Just The Way You Are We first met so long ago. Our first date was at Sonic you know. You were so giving. You were always patient with me. I would read your letters. Next to you, you made me better. You had green eyes and beautiful hair in the sun. We held hands and...

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Just As I Am This was a great song to sing. Back in the day, I do believe. Just yesterday was so long ago. Just like fishing, It’s where the river flows. I remember living in my first house. I miss those days living in a small town. Going to church every Sunday was a...

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cursive letters pale fade into weathered parchment— they were stories once....

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Maybe I was too much— too loud in a world that whispers, too present where absence feels safer, too eager where waiting kills quietly. Maybe I sent the first message because silence scared me more, because every ‘seen’ without reply felt like a door slowly closing on my chest. Maybe I asked too many questions— not because I doubted, but because I needed to know if...

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“Why are you so obsessed? It’s just love — why suffer that much?” A patient who just had a stroke. What do you expect them to say but not being able to move? I tried to feel sorry to understand the first time you told me about her — your loyal, broken love story. You waited for her at the same old bus stop, for hours, cried under the rain. While...

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