115 posts
  • _notapoet_ 3d


    No ones princess, no ones girlfriend, no ones wife. Be the queen of your own Kingdom��

  • arshad__ahmed 3d

    You're my dream.

    Today I saw u in my dream,

    I as the king and u were my queen.

    You, you were in a white dress,

    With all the beauty the moon,

    In all its glory can't suppress.

    I was conquered by your first sight,

    And having no more strength to fight.

    I came to you,

    I called the priest and kissed my bride.


  • mkandres 1w

    Darkness Comes

    A horrible taste backed up in her throat. She couldn’t believe it was happening. The flowers smelled wonderful. Roses, daisies, and carnations. No, it wasn’t happening. The music began. The song was so sweet. She refused to believe it was happening. She shred the wadded tissue in her fingertips, the texture offering no comfort. She squeezed her eyelids shut. She couldn’t bear to see him lying in that cold wooden box. No, it wasn’t happening. No, not to him. Death had come too soon.

    Phyllis and Perry Sherman had been together since they were teenagers. She had been a grade school teacher for fifty-one years. He worked hard in his supervisory position at Jarrett Lumber for exactly forty-eight. They were a happy couple and passed their love on to four children, fourteen grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

    “Gramma seems to be holding up okay,” a grandchild whispered.

    “Looks like it,” a cousin agreed. “She’s a strong lady.”

    Phyllis stared straight ahead, barely noticing the touching video filled with pictures depicting her husband’s life.

    “Perry Sherman was a wonderful man, provider, father …” her preacher’s voice boomed throughout the church sanctuary but the words didn’t register.

    She picked at the family meal after the funeral. Phyllis knew the food was probably delicious but the chicken, potato salad and bread rolls all tasted cardboard bland.

    A longtime friend plopped herself into a chair at the table.

    “I can come to stay with you for a while if you’d like, Phyllis. Now that I’ve retired I don’t have anything better to do.”

    The older woman patted her hand. Sophia? Sylvia? Stella? No matter.

    “Thank you for your kindness, dear,” she croaked. “But it’s not necessary.”

    That evening, as darkness came, Phyllis Sherman noticed the silence for the first time. There was no sound. No sound at all.

    She would miss her husband’s once-annoying snore most of all. No, it wasn’t happening.

    --Melissa Andres

  • _silent_miracle_ 1w


    "Why don't you leave me alone!!
    Who are you to me??
    I don't know you.."

    Alzheimer might make her forget the memories made with him.
    But Nostalgia keeps reminding him of his pledges made to her.


  • priyanshuraj 1w

    Me & You

    People Will Think You Are Mad
    Sometimes, You'll Feel Sad
    But Don't Worry About These
    Always Have A Face Of Cheese
    Because Everyone Falls In Love
    And Becomes As White As Dove
    We'll Have To Overcome The Pain
    Otherwise Everything Will Be In Vain
    Ah, Sure!
    I'll Love You Till My End
    And Don't Let Our Relation Bend
    You Are My Guide
    To Take Me From Mid Sea To Side
    When Everything Will Be In Darkness
    Pls Come To Me As A Lamp of Whiteness
    Because White Includes Every Colour
    Which Can't Be Buy By A Dollar
    Hey It's About To Last
    Don't Remember Our Painful Past
    Finally We Are Going To Start A New Life
    With All Our Love And You My (Future) Wife


  • mkandres 1w

    Cheap Romance

    Times were tough. Despite each holding down two jobs, money was still scarce. She knew she wouldn’t be getting the long-stemmed red roses or boxes of heart-shaped chocolates most girlfriends or wives received. Valentine’s Day would be just another ho-hum ordinary day for Dalia Grant.

    She didn’t blame Will. They just didn’t have the money to be romantic; that’s all there was to it.

    Pulling a pad of sticky notes from her desk drawer, Dalia quickly wrote, “LOVE YA” in the center of the yellow square.

    “I’ll put this on the bathroom mirror where he’ll see it,” she whispered to herself.

    She’d have just enough time for a fast microwave dinner before dashing off to her second job.

    Once inside their tiny apartment, Dalia shrugged out of her tattered coat and stared at the paper plate on the coffee table. A gooey peanut butter sandwich and a white carnation stared back at her.

    “What’s this?” she asked the bare walls as tears leaped into her eyes.

    Dalia Grant had the most romantic husband ever.

    --Melissa Andres

  • tlk2u2myself 1w

    A bit of advice to anyone hurting over someone

    The hurt and pain some one has caused you
    Will be there as long as you let it be
    Your sky's will be blue again as long as u want them to be.......

  • mkandres 2w


    She stood beneath the oak tree, shivering, waiting for him.

    The air was still yet full of a cold dampness that made her uneasy. Why? Tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention.

    Looking up into the tree’s branches a faint smile played across her lips. She’d met him here, on this very spot. So handsome, so gentle and those piercing gray eyes. She smiled in anticipation of meeting her lover once again.

    “Fear of God.”

    She turned her head sharply at the fading whisper.

    “Who said that?” Her eyes scanned the darkening landscape. “Who’s there? Nico?”

    Lucia Cantori pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and watched as the fog rolled in. Shrouded in mystery, just like her Nico.

    She didn’t know much about him actually. He was married. He had children. He loved her. She knew this because he told her so.

    “Fear of God.”

    There it was again. The tone was low. Man? Woman? Or just the wind?

    Lucia began to shake, her eyes darting from tree to tree. Faster and faster. She squinted. The fog was making it more difficult to distinguish shapes.

    “Fear of God.”

    She pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket. She’d been waiting for over an hour.

    “Fear of God.”

    “Okay, Nico, if that’s you, it’s not funny anymore.” Lucia’s voice trembled as she fidgeted with her hair. “And I’m not afraid of anything.”

    The wind howled, nearly knocking the young woman off her feet.

    “You will fear me.”

    Lucia gasped. She had seen the wife, but only in pictures.

    Cloaked in a heavy black material, Gabriella Moreno eyed her husband’s love.

    The misty, white fog muffled the screams.

    --Melissa Andres

  • priyanshuraj 2w


    Today I'm gonna propose ya, according to the rule
    And I'm gonna make this proposal very beautiful
    I don't have any bracelet or ring for you
    So I am reciting a poem which is new
    I don't know how to say my heart's words
    So I'll write, 'coz a pen is mighter than the sword
    I wanna convey, 'I Love You' to U so badly
    That if I don't, then I'll burst out very loudly
    I can't think anything except U from day to night
    I get worried and irritated when U leave my sight
    U have come very, very close to me and my heart
    Just like milk is so close to yogurt
    I wanna ask, if U will come and stay with me, in our life
    I wanna ask, if U will, from my girlfriend, become my wife.

  • fmcstarr 2w

    The Lady With a Legacy

    “You can fight this you black, beautiful stallion! “
    He shouts as his love passes away due to the illness that made her ghostly.
    Now in his heart, she’s a ghost.
    He loves her still, no one gets the love he gave her, anyone else fills the void.
    Her legacy, he keeps alive in her honor.
    His and her kids will know their mom was special and her spirit lurks within their hearts.

  • unekha 3w

    Check out and follow the writer @junglebook

    Tag #unekha to get your writing posted. Check out our website link in bio.

    #unekha #unekhatalent #writers #writersnetwork #writings #marriage #love #bond #husband #wife #relation

    Read More


  • mkandres 3w


    He wound the woolen scarf tighter around his neck. The temperature must be messing with his mind. He had to be hallucinating. It was her. But it couldn’t be her, could it?

    Blinking snowflakes from his dark lashes, he looked again. Yes, it was her. His Kalena. His love. The painting was beautifully exotic, capturing the essence of her serene nature. The wild green eyes followed his movements, beckoning him to her bosom and her bed.

    “Oh, my Kalena,” he whispered to the wind. “Why did you flee?”

    Breathing warmth onto his frigid fingers he longed to caress the dark paint that formed her flowing locks. He pressed his nose to the glass separating him from the mysterious woman.

    “Exquisite,” a masculine voice announced. “Simply exquisite.”

    “Each brush stroke is divine,” a woman agreed. “The man is a genius.”

    He turned on his heel to find an older couple emerging from the art gallery. “Excuse me, might you know who painted this masterpiece?”

    “My good man,” the elder gentleman scoffed, “do you not know the works of Master Kenley Allington?”

    His companion covered her lips with a gloved hand and tittered.

    “I’m afraid I do not,” he replied.

    “He is inside.” The gentleman upturned his coat collar. “The exhibit closes promptly at six. If you wish to meet him and admire more works you must enter straight away. Cheerio.”

    And then he and the woman were gone.

    Opening the gallery door, Henrik Lymsey stepped into another world. Abstract paintings, still life sketches and gorgeous landscapes soothed his bloodshot eyes. “The man is a bloody genius.”

    The splashes of reds, blues and greens were lovely but none as lovely as the sweet Kalena in the display window. He sought more of her. Perhaps she was here? Perhaps she was searching for him too? Perhaps her departure had been a mistake, a terrible, horrible mistake.

    “Might I help you with something, sir?” A small man with a greying goatee asked.

    “Actually, yes,” Henrik brightened. “I would like to speak to the painter if at all possible.”

    “I am the artist.” The compact man extended his hand. “Kenley Allington. Speak to me.”

    Henrik’s brow furrowed. How did this individual, so frail of stature know his Kalena? How could he have persuaded her to sit for him? What else had he persuaded her to do?

    “Your painting in the window,” Henrik explained, “how do you know the girl?”

    “Ahh, the appealing Kalena,” Kenley Allington stroked his whiskers. “She is my wife. She is not for sale.” He hesitated for a short moment and then giggled. “The painting, I mean.”

    Wife? She had a husband? Sweet memories tarnished quickly.

    “Here is the report of yesterday’s sales, Ken.” A beautiful woman, hips swaying, sauntered into the room.

    “Here is the glamorous Kalena now.” The artist puffed out his chest.

    Kalena nodded her head. “How do you do?”

    Henrik’s mouth fell open. There was no recognition in her eyes, those wild, jungle eyes. Nothing. None at all.

    “He is interested in your portrait in the window, darling,” Kenley Allington said. “I am sorry, your name, sir?”

    “Henrik Lymsey.”

    Still nothing.

    “We are closing now,” Kalena smiled. “A good evening to you.”

    Back on the sidewalk, Henrik stared at the painted green eyes until the gallery lights were extinguished. How could she not remember? How would he ever find another woman to love, to possess his every thought, hope and dream?

    “I’m sorry to be an intrusion but could you be of assistance?” A young woman with sea blue eyes brought Henrik from his trance. “My vehicle has broken down along the corner.”

    “Do you know anything about art?”

    “No, why?”

    “No reason. No reason at all.” He smiled and followed the petite blonde down the walk.

    --Melissa Andres

  • iinked_mistake 3w

    Keep me

    I woke up to like 78 notifications this morning

    When I realized none of them were from you

    I just pushed 'clear all'

    And laid my phone back down

    All I want is for someone to keep me
    I'm looking at you
    And you look right through me
    My nights are blue icy
    Cold and lonely
    I just want to take you home
    And you stay even if I'm gone
    I'll always come back to being

    I'm like the ocean
    Pushing and pulling apart my own soul
    The bottom I can't reach with my toes
    And the outer depths grab for the flow
    Of words streaming out of my mouth
    I try to close but if I choke
    I'll never catch my breath

    Lakes of fire can never warm me
    Up because I seem to set everything ablaze when I touch
    What I'm supposed to love I should
    Be soothing but they all scream away
    Crying my name not in ecstacy
    But agony of our every encounter

    I used to think it was my body
    Not perfect but perfectly fuckable only
    I thought my tummy and imperfections caused
    All those messages to fall flat and never get answered
    Back to reality where I can clearly see it's not
    It's my stinging and hated personality
    Bending over that table, submissive, I die
    Because I opened my mouth twenty minutes before
    Trying to flirt and he said don't
    Just don't

    Someday someone will want to keep me
    For what I wonder but will it matter because he
    Will be there either master or abuser
    I'll say his name with the reverence of
    Recovering from ashamed user and
    Beatings of the night before
    Perhaps his hand will be light and I
    Can breathe and say his name with placid sigh
    Of happiness at his competence of master and pleasing
    But either way I wait with
    Sweaty hand clutching death and the other holding
    Tattered rags of life I laugh with relief as
    Days pass and I find no release but still I stupidly wait
    With stars in my eyes so bright I
    Am blinded every day as I look for the right
    One to keep me

  • unekha 3w


    "what are you doing since an hour??
    I'm hungry. Will you get me some food tonight or not?" She shouted on him

    "Just a second. I'm done with cooking, adding drink to it." He said and started feeding her.

    She just looked into his face and he is completely tired after coming from the office.

    But there is no feeling of hating in his eyes what he is doing for his physically disabled wife.


  • elonmusk 4w


    Me: What does 'bleak' mean?

    She: It means 'Dreary'

    Me: Ok?

    She: I don't get another word to describe it.

    Me: Ok! (Googles what's dreary and bleak)

  • grim_lyssa 5w

    One I loved dearly has passed today,
    Grandfather, not bound by blood,
    But still as great.
    Just like your son, who I called Dad.
    A place in my heart, is yours to have.
    Thank you, Paw Paw,
    For your laughter and love
    Today now you walk with your wife,
    In peace, with your sons.
    As for your granddaughter,
    My sister I vow to protect.
    To nurture, to guide her
    To Remember and not forget.
    As we walk with the Holy Spirit,
    You are never quite far away,
    As you walk with Our Lord, you hear us.
    You are blessed, for you I celebrate

    ©Alyssa Schneider
    December 15,2017

  • flyboy 5w

    She is not my Wife, that's her choice.
    But she is my life and it's my choice.

  • nilabhtalokar 5w


    Always he looks like charlie chaplin while arguing with his Wife..

    Nilabh Talokar...

  • nilabhtalokar 5w


    So the bet is...
    If he wins , she will shop online .
    If she wins , online turn into offline & he has to accompany as a Yes-man as well...
    The bet is made on a precondition of seizing the credit card by her.....

    Nilabh Talokar...

  • letterstomyone 6w

    TO YOU

    I want to be that girlfriend, you can show off to the world
    A wife, you can proudly claim yours
    And a best friend you can totally count on