Category Archives: Love Poem

Eric and Ash

Here’s one selection from a series of narrative poems written by a new member of our writing community. She’s in 8th grade.

Night Terrors

by Kyrridwen

The dark and the cold
wrapped around her waist,
chilling her to the very core.
She whispered louder,
bare feet sliding
the hardwood floor.
“Eric, please wake up!”
She called, voice louder still
Trying to let him hear,
Over the creaking
Of the mill.
“Eric, don’t leave me here!”
She screamed
Calling out in fear.
She really shouldn’t
Have come here.
Came a creaking wall
Looking like
It would fall.
“Ash, please wake up”
Called the
support beams
Looking about to
bust their seams.
“Ash, baby, come back to me”
Cried an
Old, fallen tree.
“Eric, Eric! Is that you?”
“Please, please wake up.”
The world around her slim frame
Began to quake and shiver
The entire thing crumbled down
Burying her, light not a sliver.
A hand shook her shoulder bare
A new light began to glare.
A voice was calling
A voice so tender
Calling her back to the living
“Ash, shh… It’s ok now.
It was all just a dream.
Not need for you to fret,
No need for you to scream.
I’m here for you
I won’t ever go.
Ash, my Ash,
I love you so.”

Quietly, in the windy night
In the dark,
A girl had a fright.
Her lover came
By candle flame,
To scare the
night terrors



I was wondering if maybe you could

see me.

Do you? Can you?

I see your eyes

Like staring into an unlit window

There’s something inside, I know

There must be

But what is it?

Can you see me?

Do you?

Can you?

I think I can see you

I don’t think they can.

They see someone else when they look at you

And I know how that feels.

I just ask for the chance to

see you

and be seen.


Two Coyotes in the Yard

The most haunting piece of poetry I’ve found on youngwritersproject recently. It refuses to give up its hold on me. (audio)

I’ve got a loneliness that I pray to

that has your green eyes and my soul.

There are coyotes in the yard now

and when I called you

you spoke to them

told them that I am very frightened

of their blackness, their eyes in the night.

She is, you said, blind right now.

She cannot see you. If you come into the moonlight

she will know your soul

and she will not be so afraid.

And we stood at the back window

and watched them stand still, hundreds of feet,

merely, of separation a greyness in the night

and lift their heads, the pair, and howl one after the other

It is about speaking the same tongue, you said.

And I told you that fleeting love

has too many words, and not enough

and that it outlines itself along the spine, see, and you can hear it in her howl

in the night

in the way that she calls back to him from across the broad lawn

afraid of an echo back that says, “I am

farther away than you thought, darling”

or worse, her own voice, empty,

only one pair of tracks.

by rebecca_v

WikiHow Can’t Tell Me How to Love You

by Usagi

WikiHow can’t tell me how to love you
WikiHow doesn’t have a fuckin’ clue
I went to Yahoo Answers, they said shove it up my ass
So I went to SparkNotes, told me how to pass my class

but WikiHow can’t tell me how to love you
WikiHow can’t tell me how to love you
WikiHow can’t tell me how to love you
WikiHow doesn’t have a fuckin’ clue

about my arm around your waist
and your disappointed face
and your perfect lips saying that we’re through–
what did I do–

WikiHow can’t tell me how to love you
WikiHow doesn’t have a fuckin’ clue
The Wikipedia page on love’s
all hearts and doves and stars above
and dopamine and serotonin,
no apologies and no atonement
the Internet’s no place to go
to look up what I should have known

WikiHow can’t tell me how to love you
WikiHow can’t tell me how to love you
WikiHow can’t tell me how to love you
WikiHow doesn’t have a fuckin’ clue

So if Google cannot save the day
I’ll shut my mouth, behave, and pray
that magically you’ll take me back right now–
or someone will respond on Wi–ki–How——–


Your Last Goodbye

(One of the most popular pieces on recently)


Your Last Goodbye

by flaming tears


I turned my head to the sun.

I let my skin absorb the sweet sunlight.

I let my eyes behold its beauty.

You were a star on your stage,

little sun.

And I’m that guy who came to every show.

You danced and sang,

you laughed and joked.

You were special,

you were real.

And darling,

real is a dying art.

You taught me what I could never forget,

You’re the reason why I am who I am today.

The reason why I have the crazy jumble of awesome in my mind is not me,

it was never me,

it was your beautiful heart that made mine grow.

I reached out for the sunlight you radiated,

the life you taught me,

I held onto them

as they became more important to me than you will ever know.

But somewhere along the line I took too much sunlight,

I took your lesons and smeared the name of them into the sewers,

somewhere along the line I became a chore for you.

Somewhere along the line talking to me became a pain.

And all I can do for you is say that I’m sorry in a poem that you’ll never read.

All I can do is cry tears that you’ll never know were cried.

Somewhere along the line

somewhere between the jokes and the insanity,

you left.

You knew that you had wanted to leave,

and were just working up the courage to do it.

Working up the courage to finally tell me,


You’re a nice guy.

And I used to enjoy talking to you.

But somewhere along the lines talking to you began to worry me,

the pressure of it was just to great.

So this is my goodbye,

from all of me,

and if our paths shall cross again in the future,

I shall not be displeased.”

And now I’m here looking at the empty stage,

the lesson on how something doesn’t need to be real to be real

(it really only makes sense when you teach it, darling).

Now I’m here swearing at myself for being so damn clingy,

for not giving your enough air to breathe,

for causing you stress.

And now I’m sitting here,

staring at the empty stage,

and wondering what more there was.

What you said made it seem

like maybe you weren’t as fine as I’d like to believe.

You haven’t been on a stage in a while,

though I think that you’ll come back.



were meant for the stage.

But maybe you didn’t think that you were worthy,

maybe you hung up your crazy mind and put it to rest.

Maybe life was too much,

maybe a bullet solved everything.

Maybe your body is at the lowest part of the ocean right now,

and if it is,

darling I hope you’re smiling.

Frowns are not becoming of your pretty face.

I’m sorry!

All I can do is say that I’m sorry and scream it to the mountains,

praying that you’ll hear me.

Praying that you can forgive me,

praying that this nightmare of a life without you can somehow change.

And I want to cry,

I want to cry and be done with it all so badly.

I just want to scream my apologies to the heavens

to see if anyone cares about them at all.

I just want to cry and wail.

But it’s not that easy, is it?

It’s not as easy as crying and letting the tears wash you away.

Because every time I think of you I feel my heart break in two,

over again,

and over again.

By now it’s in so many pieces that it is a molecule’s molecule,

and atom’s atom.

And I wish that I could just cry,

because maybe then I’d feel better.



losing you can’t be solved by

just some water

and some salt

flowing down my face from my eyes.

I’m sorry.


is my last goodbye.

Though you’ll never recieve it.


This one was titled “—“


You’ve decided to sign up for long distance,

But are you ready to proceed to check out?

Firstly, are you aware of the differences between you

And your subject?

See, this one here,

She’ll always be six hours behind

Beginning her day, when his is almost over.

See, this one here,

He’ll always be six hours ahead,

Finishing early,

Adding to the three odd years he already has on her.

Now, have you read the licensing agreement?

Are you prepared to always be alone-but-not-really?

Would you prefer anesthetic for this splicing?

Are you ready for wow-you’re-still-together?

Are you ready for alone-with-no-one-to hold?

Have you prepared yourself for this practical exam?

Ready for the mystery questions?

Define us.

Define you.

Map out your location and destination.

Are you ready for frustration

Late at night when you fall asleep last when

you always would fall asleep first?

Are you ready to cry yourself to sleep for missing them?

To be reduced to smelling deodorants

Are you ready to see them everywhere,

But hurt by knowing they aren’t there?

Can you change your schedule to glean quick moments?

Can you properly bottle and release your anger,

Diffuse the ticking bomb?

If yes,

Proceed to check out.

If no,

No hard feelings.

by IrisDoll

Start with a Quote…

I saw you with another girl.

You were practically holding hands.

I can’t believe your lies anymore

I did for a while, and hated what I became.


You saw me with another girl,

That much I can understand.

But lies aren’t what I’m here for

I want to take all the blame.


I get nothing more than silence now

silence………… and my shame

You have always been my everything

My world will never be the same.



Combined Thoughts and Flashbacks

You smile at me

and suddenly I’m okay.

Not okay

like I was at that concert,

but okay like

I know I have friends;

I know I have potential;

I know I have you.

Our hugs are awkward,

but comfortable.

You’ll drop your books

just to wrap your arms

around me.

And then I speed-walk home

in the freezing darkness

to East, sweet East,

but I keep glancing

over my shoulder

at the spot where we kissed.

Your hand in my hair

behind my neck

running across my shoulder

comforted me.

Your quiet, easy panting

reminded me that

you were nervous, too,

and honest,

and real, if just

for a moment.

Your nose ran up and down my cheek.

Your thumb caressed

the skin on my thigh.

You pulled away easily, fluidly

and bit your lip…

And remembering it,

I was miles from everyone

but your kiss,

your ominous presence

kept me grounded.

And the way you smile

when our fingers are intertwined

lets me know

you dream of me, too.

by interpid_heart

Remember the good times. Promise.

My mind

brings me back

to another time:

“Where’s your spot?”

He reaches for my head and tries to 

find the place it fits perfectly into his shoulder,

he’s trying to get me through 

this crying and shaking. 

He strokes my hair and 

tells me that everything is okay,

but I know it’s not. 

I’m so stupid. 

We’re stupid. 

We’re smater than this! 

“Shhh, it’s okay alexis. Everything is okay. I’m here.” 



“Just promise me one thing, okay?”

He takes me out from my safe spot, and makes me look directly 

into his eyes. 

Oh, god. His eyes. 

“Promise me you’ll remember the good times.

Promise me you’ll remember everything but this.” 

I promised.

by alexistexas27

One of our most prolific writers who has really developed into an impressive story-teller and poet. I love to be able to watch that development, even if the story it tells is one of heartbreak or pain. I’m so proud of the way our community nourishes this type of writing, and even when someone is clearly emotional, he or she still takes in rational, constructive feedback and uses it moving forward. Run-of-the-mill teenage angst poetry can become something truly beautiful if given enough time and effort.

Those Buttermilk Braids

by DeathNoteMathChick

I wished for a girl with buttermilk braids,
A squiggle of sunshine and mother’s pearl cream.
She was nesting in my secret window-box,
Nursing a rag doll of sunset silk.
I dreamed I fed her cornspun moonshine;
Her teeth were ice cube straight when she laughed.

I planned for a girl with buttermilk braids,
A tangle of stunning galaxy hearts and plain earthen souls.
She was gathered in my pencil-box,
Growing eyes like pools of solid lithium.
I aspired to clothe her in the lily-scented tides;
Her skin was carbon-clear as she laughed.

I set a snare for a girl with buttermilk braids,
A net of entrusted encounters and bejeweled bewitchments.
She was stretched inside my lighted cupboards,
Seeping gossamer gowns colored like twilight lilypads.
I begged her to still her frantic snow-bone struggles;
Her tears were cold oxygen cobalt when she died.

I remembered a girl with buttermilk braids,
The red phosphorus burn on the oak-and-cherry floor where she fell.
I enclosed her in a burnt-sparrow-feather coffin,
Sprinkling excess pine needles to float among the lilies.
I glimpsed that her hair had darkened in death, a shade;
Her blood-drops were dead rubies when I uncoiled the elderberry syrup formation.

Stone cold.