r/poetry_critics

Where can I find
that kind of love
that doesn’t flinch
 
where my idiosyncrasies
are in lockstep with your
mannerisms 

my forehead seeks
witness from your lips
pressed in, indented 

for sacred 
to be domesticated
in the mundane 

my chest to your back 
under your arms 
my hands interlocked
over your heart

where you instinctively 
lean back
into my embrace
and squeeze me harder

self taught
polyglot of intimacy

your microexpressions 
my Encyclopedia Britannica 

come over here
and put your hand on my cheek

milliseconds before you
press your lips to mine 

let me feel the warmth 
of your breath

an eskimo kiss
for my lungs
to taste

and just like a needle on vinyl 
i’ll pick up your rhythm

as the butterflies
inside my stomach
settle down 

sustained by
the sugar water 
of your life force

syncopated to mine

how they do it

I see how,

they do it now,.

The sad look on my face,

feeling like waste.

I can even taste,disgrace

I still want to stop,

all of this,

even knowing.

You can't come back

from where I'm going.

Confused,

my hearts been bursied

I feel used ,

I always loose.

It's been those I've loved, I've lost before,

they couldn't take it no more.

I tried to understand what made them do it,

Now I know the pain won't quit.

I've already lost my heart,

and everything I had left of it.

My whole world has fallen apart at the seams,

I'm even scared to dream.

If I love something it dies,

or along with me it cries

I've done all I know to do,

I want to give up now,

and be there too.

It was okay for you,

I made it through.

I just feel like

I'm under attack;

Everyone I loved

stabbed me in the back.

It all in the records,

written as fact.

There's not a damn thing I can do,

about that.

If I stop my pain

What will they gain?

So i guess I still dont know,

how they do it .

Just let go.

Cause if I do ,

What becomes of you.

how they do it

I see how,

they do it now,.

The sad look on my face,

feeling like waste.

I can even taste,disgrace

I still want to stop,

all of this,

even knowing.

You can't come back

from where I'm going.

Confused,

my hearts been bursied

I feel used ,

I always loose.

It's been those I've loved, I've lost before,

they couldn't take it no more.

I tried to understand what made them do it,

Now I know the pain won't quit.

I've already lost my heart,

and everything I had left of it.

My whole world has fallen apart at the seams,

I'm even scared to dream.

If I love something it dies,

or along with me it cries

I've done all I know to do,

I want to give up now,

and be there too.

It was okay for you,

I made it through.

I just feel like

I'm under attack;

Everyone I loved

stabbed me in the back.

It all in the records,

written as fact.

There's not a damn thing I can do,

about that.

If I stop my pain

What will they gain?

So i guess I still dont know,

how they do it .

Just let go.

Cause if I do ,

What becomes of you.

Strings scream as they tighten— flesh pinched between wire and wood. Buzz gnaws my skull, teeth scraping jaw.

Duet sick and wet. Fingers frozen to frets, necks bruised raw, collarbones grinding.

Wrists slick. Hands the executioner. Voice crawling under skin, tongue serrated by teeth.

I press slower. Strings slacken. Hum sickly. Frets bite deeper. Marrow bleeds through wire.

Press again. Wire twists. Flesh peels. Sticky. Wet. I do not move.

unable to evacuate

the woes that bind me to

the namesake storm that is ravaging

the city i built for myself

the land has flooded and

the ocean steals my only grounding

ghosts i left to the sea long ago

grip my ankles and scream

in my ears begging for salvation

i swallow cold water defiled by

salt and despondency

the low tide rubs my back when

she drifts away to her home but

water always pools beneath my feet

again and i am stranded on an island

where my hands both

carry the guilt and inflict the damage

What do you call

a midnight car

beneath a borrowed streetlight

on a road

that doesn’t know our names,

where your breath catches

every time I get too close

to the center?

Would you call it friendship?

There is panic in your silence,

a twitch I’d hoped to see.

You shift before truth slips.

But I’m not the one

you’re trying to convince.

How can you sit beside me,

pulse bursting through your sleeve,

and pretend

this isn’t

everything

you’re terrified to want?

Tell me, love,

is it fear

that’s got your tongue?

Surely,

it isn’t me.

Two cans,

one pressed tight to my mouth,

the other,

I never thought to ask where it went.

I spoke in careful fragments,

light as breath,

afraid too much weight

might snap the line,

afraid the silence meant

I had done it wrong.

Sometimes there was a sound,

a faint tremble,

a distant hum,

and I named it an answer.

I gentled my voice for it.

I stayed.

Years passed like this

measuring connection by tension,

by how long I could hold the thread

without breaking what I believed was there.

Until one day

my hands slipped,

and the string fell slack.

Not snapped.

Not broken.

Just

untied.

The other can

lay somewhere in the grass

where no one had ever stood,

no one had ever listened,

no one had ever known my name.

And all that time

I had been speaking,

so softly,

so carefully,

to the empty end

of something

I thought was shared.

(somewhat sensitive content!)

If I jumped off of the bluff

Would my body be enough to burn

All that extra weight

Could prove tough

I folded my secrets tightly under my skin

Like pieces of paper passed to someone

Who didn’t love you back

Not for what’s within

Would I be considered pure

Or would I be full of sin

Would you hang me in a church museum

Or find a secular graveyard to throw me in

Could you even carry me

Would you even try

Or would you leaving me rotting there

In the sun to fry

I carry way too much

I’ve known that for far too long

I’m dense to the bone

And frail to the touch

I tried to pass some weight onto another

But they said it was too much

And that’s how I fell so fast

To the bottom of the bluff

Small as a seed on the wind,
yet it finds its place in the cracks.

It insists on light where no one planted it,
and drinks by virtue of the sky's own pity.

Even as the world seeks to erase it,
instead, it scatters and spreads.

Holding close the longing of countless,
as it begins again.

Much like hope,
it remains so stubbornly

alive.

1 shot will do it I will forget about him

2 shots this time it will work, I hope it works

3 shots man this not working yet

4 shots later okay I think it’s finally working

A whole bottle later

I miss everything about him, he was who I wanted to be with

But NOW I don’t know who I am

⸻

The iPhone alarm bleats at 6 AM.

I would surely awaken without it.

Shower, shave, and the uniform goes on.

Brown khakis, blue shirt, now with the “I really don’t care” hiking shoes on my feet instead of loafers.

The familiar coffee pot gurgling as the shower warms up.

I’m aware of the soothing nature of this routine.

There is beauty in the simplicity.

⸻

I walk through the door to some smiles and a little chatter.

A few sets of eyes show that the smile is genuine.

A food allergy alert on the door.

A clue about the team I will be with today.

There is beauty in caring and community.

⸻

A few patients that don’t need me, but want me.

Problems that are already solved.

Some the primary doctor can manage.

Some feel seen by the doctor who listened to them,

who spoke to them in their native Spanish,

who showed respect to their concerns.

And they follow up to show just how well she’s doing.

There is beauty in caring and humanity.

⸻

A baby of almost one year.

A very difficult diagnosis.

Painful years ahead.

Fear in an 11-month-old’s eyes,

just from seeing another white coat.

Of course, I haven’t worn a white coat since medical school.

Slowing the day to really hear a beautiful young couple.

Feeling impotent in my inability to change their course.

There is beauty in caring and holding.

⸻

A morning of TikTok reels about the length of medical school,

the cost of years of training,

sacrifices in one’s life,

and the inability to change the path once started.

There is beauty in making the right choice,

the choice that put me right here.

So Much it Hurts

Big boys hit little girls

He tells me he loves me,

as he knocks me to the floor.

And then he tells me to find the door,

cause I'm nothing but I whore.

Again I stay, only asking for more.

Before you know it, It's happening again,

He's bouncing around me yelling and shit,

but I'm the one who threw a fit.

There's been a few times when he put me first,

still only after a major outburst.

everyone told me it would just get worse.

They were right, it feels like a curse.

Now I know what they mean when they say,

I love him so much it hurts.

By Valerie Rice

So Much it Hurts

Big boys hit little girls

He tells me he loves me,

as he knocks me to the floor.

And then he tells me to find the door,

cause I'm nothing but I whore.

Again I stay, only asking for more.

Before you know it, It's happening again,

He's bouncing around me yelling and shit,

but I'm the one who threw a fit.

There's been a few times when he put me first,

still only after a major outburst.

everyone told me it would just get worse.

They were right, it feels like a curse.

Now I know what they mean when they say,

I love him so much it hurts.

By Valerie Rice

The last time I saw you, your eyes told me oh, it told me stories It whispered secrets, your secrets

As they dart about from left to right, up to down They spoke, I saw them

I saw you

They often landed on mind From one eye to the next

My nose

And at last at rest at my lips

They linger there, they ponder

Stagnant. Stillness

Longing

Emptiness

They analyse every indentation, every crease and every line Hesitation, confusion

Inclination

They trace back up to my eyes

Yours met mine

But you closed them and turned away and walked,

You walked away

(Feel free to give feedback,it was inspired by the movie call me by your name)

The earth heaved a rattling breath of finality;

Silence set over a cold house like night trailing day.

The reaper devoured the sun in one gluttonous bite,

Spitting out glimpses of your withering warmth

Like sharp seeds hidden in sweet citrus.

Peel my oranges one more time?

You don't go into the desert
expecting kindness.

You carry what you can—
one flask, half-full,
a mouth already learning
the shape of thirst.

The sun does its job.

It does not hate you.
It simply does not care.

Days pass
in the language of endurance—
heat pressing against your back,
horizon repeating itself
like a promise
that was never intended to change.

You stop believing
in sudden miracles.

Water becomes a theory.
A story other people told.

Then—

the air changes its mind.

Not dramatic.

Just a break
in the pattern.

A shimmer
your eyes almost dismiss.

You walk toward it
without trust.

Only curiosity.

And there—

not an ocean,
not abundance—

but enough.

A small, impossible gathering
of water
insisting on itself
in a place
that should not allow it.

You kneel.

Hands trembling slightly—
not from weakness,
but from the quiet shock
of being wrong
about what is possible.

The first sip
is not relief.

It's disbelief.

Cool against a mouth
that had prepared
for nothing but dust.

You don't drink greedily.

You stay there a moment.

Listening.

Because finding water
in a desert
changes more
than your thirst.

It changes the map.

You think of her.

And love—
when it arrives like this—

is not loud
or overwhelming.

It is precise.

It is necessary.

It is the sudden understanding
that even in the harshest places,

someone in the world
was always capable
of keeping you alive.

she’s perfect.

she’s beautiful.

she’s confident.

she’s skinny.

she’s stylish.

she’s smart.

her skin is flawless—

wait. what’s that?

a pimple?

everyone gets them.

no. no.

she doesn’t-

she’s perfect.

perfect girls don’t get pimples.

so… she’s not perfect?

and suddenly:

she’s not beautiful.

she’s not confident.

she’s not skinny.

she’s not stylish.

she’s not smart.

please be nice this is my first poem. i don’t like something about the end but idk how to fix it, or what to fix. i would love constructive criticism!

I gaze upon him

His majestic smile

His glowing eyes

Everything about him seems so phenomenal

 

Then my mind takes me to the past

I scoff and laugh at myself

Is this me

Really

Admiring the one who once infuriated me

What a sight to behold

 

I looked at him again

I looked at his friends

My heart shutters

My whole being filled with envy

My mind trying to pinpoint why them not me by his side

Why do they get to see him laugh and I don’t?

Why I'm I the friend who is left out

GO SAY HI

the only thing I can say to him in person

OH I wish our interactions could have been more like the virtual ones

But it will always remain to be a wish

 

Again I'm taken aback

The words

No, the sharpest double edge sword pierced my heart again

"We can never have a physical interaction"

And by recalling those simple words

My heart bleeds

Everything else follows

But that was not the worst of it

Salt was later added to the injury

"You can call whenever you want"

Could I do that

Not really

In reality I could never call

His words played in my head repeatedly

I DON'T LIKE CALLS

It was like ingesting a bitter poison

The one that could kill our friendship

Textanioship rather

But I couldn't that

Just the thought of losing him drives me mad

Now I was left with nothing but my imagination

His voice taken away from me

 

Walk away they say

I tried

I couldn't get far

He was like a drug

I was hooked

So I stayed

Took the crumbs he gave me if it meant I'll have even a small part of him

 

It's Dawn

Check the notification

Not texted

My mind starts to race

Come down

So I say

Check his profile

Posted at 5 or 6

My mind races

I'm losing him

What now

"Morning

A link is sent"

I'm calm

I was just overthinking it

We start to talk

I'm lost in a digital gaze

Smitten on my screen

Grinning like an idiot

 

My mind again travels

I look at the horizon we have outgrown our youthful banter

You with your family

Me with mine

Still friends but closer

Closer to become a family friend

Closer to the point that we arrange dinners

 I invite you and your family to my home and you do the same

I smile

My eyes brighten

I let myself sink in this delusion a little while longer

What a joy feel

Getting to witness you at your every milestone from now

Watching your world unfold

Your dreams achieved

 

I frown because I'll only get to witness this on my mind

Oh how soul crashing to be addicted to what you'll never have fully

Despite all this I'm glad to be have meet the most wonderful stranger

He is my joy most of the time

My light in this dark world of mine

Our conversations are what I look forward to

He never judge

I thank the heavens for this gift

He's such a treasure

I'll always cherish the most wonderful stranger

Wooden pews

Keeping me from sinking

Too low

Into my own consciousness

Into my choices

To become unlazy

in the life outside

the stained glass

doors.

Always shut

To keep me from

Sinking

Too low

Too alive

Too low

into myself.

-Holding Foxglove-

She stood, a foxglove,

tall and soft in the quiet light,

petals shaped like whispered promises

I reached for

before I knew the thorns were there.

You don’t expect danger

from something that sways so gently,

from colors like forgiveness,

from hands that feel like home.

I leaned closer

the way sunlight leans into morning,

the way hope leans into someone

it believes

won’t let it fall.

But the bloom had its own weight—

a sweetness laced with a sting,

a perfume that clung to my skin

long after I pulled away.

I loved the softness in your voice,

the quiet in your hands,

the way the world seemed smaller

when I existed inside it.

I didn’t see the poison.

I only traced your petals,

only breathed you in,

only loved the way your shape

fit against my chest

while the world went still.

And even now—

I catch myself

reaching toward that color again,

hovering in the hush

where I learned what beauty can take

before it gives.

Foxglove doesn’t stop swaying

because it drew blood once.

And I don’t stop standing close,

even when I remember

the weight of the sting.

I am careful now,

afraid and hopeful

in the same breath,

watching

the petals tremble,

wondering

if beauty like this

can ever learn

not to hurt

the hands that hold it.