deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Hauntings of a First Love
My first love will haunt me for the rest of my life.
In sounds. . .
In colors. . .
In words. . .
In poems. . .
In stories. . .
In books. . .
In music. . .
It haunts me in September when the leaves are changing colors.
When the leaves are falling from the trees.
And all I think about is walking through them with her.
I know that I fell in love easily.
I was cursed to be a hopeless romantic.
The daughter of divorced parents, I longed to prove them wrong about love.
But when the cold air comes I think about waiting outside, for her, outside the school.
Or when I'd pick her up from her bus stop.
When she had to sneak under her parents' noses to get a ride from me instead of taking her bus.
It was one of the more bold and defiant things that she did while we were together.
The way she stood, the way she walked, the music coming from her headphones all dictated what kind of mood she was in that day.
Which (in turn) also dictated what kind of mood I was in that day.
My heart stood permanently on the edge of a cliff, waiting to be knocked over and shoved off.
Or if the situation called for it, my heart could leap off and destroy itself.
I'd eye her wrists for cuts, because I just never knew.
I never knew who I was talking to or what I was risking that morning when I woke up and forced my way to school.
It haunts me in winter when I think about her hiding behind her scarf, her nose red from the cold.
In haunts me when I think about lending her my hoodie, only for it to given back to me because she didn't want her parents knowing, about us.
It haunts me on Valentine's Day when I gave up my mother's birthday to be with her.
When I presented her with thirteen roses, twelve real and one fake.
A note attached saying: I will love you until the last rose dies.
I knew I couldn't keep the promise.
Because I knew, deep in my mind, we were not destined to last forever.
She gave me a necklace, it had gold heart with a tiny emerald in the middle of it, a crown on top of it with two hands holding the heart.
"Don't ever take it off."
I was the holder of her heart.
And so I never took off the necklace.
It haunts me during the spring.
One whole week when she disappeared from my life.
Onto a cruise with her parents and best friend.
And I was alone.
I didn't go to school.
I was plagued by panic attacks, so bad that I couldn't move.
Her touch haunted me.
I didn't get any calls.
Or texts for an entire week.
When I got her back, she wanted to tell me all about it.
But I didn't want to hear it.
It wasn't suppose to be fun, not unless she had went with me.
But she hadn't and so I didn't care.
So I lied to her and told her I had to be put in the hospital because of a serious panic attack.
She believed me.
And she felt bad.
That was our love by then.
Which of us is more fucked up?
Our love was a challenge.
A game, the rules we made up.
But I loved that game and I played it with all my heart.
Just like I loved her, with all of my heart.
Friends told us that they envied our love.
Thinking about it now I want to laugh at them.
Laugh at how naive they were to think that.
That her and I were a fairytale come true.
I fell in love way too easily, all the damn time.
I fell for a guy I never met.
I fell for a guy through a texting service.
I fell for a guy through a website.
I got a crush on a guy two years older than me.
I got a crush on a guy three years older than me.
I fell in love way too easily.
Then I fell in love with my best friend.
My best friend whom was a girl.
And she was my first love.
But she was no fairytale.
She was no Prince Charming, however she was charming.
Charming as the Cheshire Cat's grin.
And she was no damsel in distress.
Although she played the part very well.
It haunts me in the summer.
When we first fell in love.
When she was off hanging out with friends.
And I got tired of waiting for her, so I made my own friends.
But she wanted to be friends with my friends too.
While I really could care less about her friends.
And the entire time she continued to make me feel sorry for her.
No one should have to jump through hoops just for somebody to love them.
Or to prove to someone that you love them.
But that's what I did for her.
And I regret it, every fucking moment that I think about her.
It's not hard to think about her.
Everyone falls in love.
Everyone's hearts get broken.
And a first love will possibly, someday end.
I knew it, but I denied it.
I fell for her Cheshire Cat smile.
And dark auburn brown eyes that flashed in the setting sun.
I fell for her innocent girl charm.
Her broken heart that needed mending.
I fell for it all and now I'm the one that's haunted by her.
And the ghost of what once was our first love.
It was my birthday when she let me go.
When the truth was I tried to let her go way before that day.
"If you walk away from me, we're over."
I walked away.
I tried to get out.
It broke me but I tried, I should've kept walking.
But I didn't. . .
She caught my hand and cried for me to stay.
I wasn't in love with her.
I couldn't help her.
I wanted to walk away from her.
But I didn't.
I fell in her trap again.
I comforted her when I didn't mean it.
And then I took her home and went to my boyfriend's house.
I cheated on her with and without shame.
I cheated on her like a coward that couldn't face her tears.
She knew it was happening but didn't stop it.
Why didn't she just let me go that day?
She didn't want to be with me.
She wanted to go home.
Listen to her parents, whom hated me to begin with.
I know that I was wrong.
And I can't think of an excuse for what I did.
And the guilt of cheating will forever haunt me.
But I tried to get away, she told me that I could walk away.
But then took it back the moment that I tried to escape.
And now it haunts me, on my birthday.
When they were both in the same room.
Girlfriend and boyfriend.
He went home and she stood the night.
Her back to me the entire time.
It was the coldest night of my entire life.
I wanted to make it better.
I made love to her that next morning.
Later that day, she left me.
She decided then, after that day, after our fights.
After discussing how she doesn't treat me like her girlfriend.
"I always treat you like you're just my friend--"
Yeah, except for when you're in my bed.
Just this morning you made love to me between my sheets.
And now you're leaving me?
Now you're tell me that you're setting me free?
Of course. . .
Now she was the selfless one.
But when I wanted to leave.
When I couldn't take it anymore.
I was held captive by her tears.
Held by my breaking heart against my will.
She broke up with me.
She ended our pain.
She was the victim, now.
And so she haunts me.
And so does what was once my first love.
It's been three years since we broke up.
And still it haunts me. . .
In music. . .
In words. . .
In songs. . .
The necklace that I forced myself to give back.
The leaves we'd walk through together, still falling every fall.
The scarves I collect but never wear, cause they remind me of her.
The cold air of waiting for her and bracing myself for who ever she was going to be that day.
The songs that were written recently but match the memories of what I felt back then.
Or feel looking back at us.
Back at her and I.
I want to believe that your first love will always haunt you.
Or maybe this one just stands out in my mind.
It drove to the edge and pushed me to my limits.
I loved her and I hated her all at the same time.
She let me go.
Only for a week later want me back, again.
Which was when, over the phone I got to tell her that we were over and I couldn't do it anymore.
I had to face her tears.
I had to face the pain.
The affair was over.
And so was my relationship.
I had to pick up the pieces of what was left.
Sometimes it scares me how much she haunts me.
And sometimes when my boyfriend and I are arguing I wonder: Am I just like her?
If I'm going to push him away like she pushed me?
My first love went up in smoke and then down in flames.
But with my first love there wasn't a child involved.
Him and I have a son together and we live in the same house.
We're what my first love could have never been.
We're what she'll never get to have.
I guess that's why my first love just haunts me.
Like a ghost behind a shelf.
Playing tricks on me when the full moon is high in the sky.
She isn't really there.
And she'll never be here again.
She's a nightmare interrupting my daydreams.
She's a echo of a distant memory that a song has to drag out of my soul for me to remember.
She doesn't control my life, my world anymore.
And when I look her up, to see how she's been.
I don't see new poems about her life.
I see stupid pictures and random friends.
And when I log off my laptop and go in the other room.
My boyfriend will by playing video games, something she never taught me to do.
And my son will be playing on the floor or in his high chair.
And she's somewhere, doing homework for school and getting high because it's cool.
Maybe she thinks of me sometimes.
That girl she added to that long list of people in her life, that broke her heart and shattered her mind.
Or maybe she never thinks of me at all?
Either way, I don't care.
And it's nice, not caring about her and what she thinks.
Because my life is better not having to walk on thin ice around her.
Remembering all the rules that I have to follow.
All the tears she made me cry.
The necklace I had to be wearing at all times.
The phone that's volume had be on, otherwise she'd have a nightmare and attempt to commit suicide, again.
Yeah my life isn't perfect.
I argue with my mother.
I argue with my boyfriend.
I get frustrated with my stories, writer's block, et cetera.
And sometimes being a mother is hard.
Most of the time I don't know what I'm doing.
And because of my social phobia, I can't get a job.
But I play video games.
And go on day trips.
I read books and write poetry.
I hang out with my best friend when she's not busy.
And I watch movies with my mother, boyfriend and son.
I listen to music and dance around the house while getting ready to go grocery shopping.
I live a stress free life and only time to time.
When a song comes on.
Or a book falls from my shelf.
The rain is extra loud.
Or the leaves are falling a certain way.
Only then do I remember her, remember what it was like.
Her necklace hanging around my neck.
Us dancing together on Valentine's Day by the side of the pool.
Only for her to tell me several months later that she couldn't remember Valentine's Day.
And I had pretend that it didn't sting.
There was always some bitterness with the sweet.
Especially when it came to her and me.
But she was my first love.
And she will hold a place in my heart and mind.
It's not a cherished spot and I don't think of her in a fond way.
I reference her for pain, for confusion and chaos.
When I need to remember loving someone when they really don't deserve it.
She's a lesson that I eventually had to learn.
But I guess that's what first love is there for.
And that's why when it haunts me through my memories and poems.
Through leaves falling and snow dustings.
Through rain's tears and thunder's laughter.
I let her haunt me.
I let her follow me around.
The sounds--
The colors--
The tears--
The memories--
The songs--
The lyrics--
The music--
The dreams--
The books--
The poems--
The words--
The writing--
It all comes back to me, one piece at a time.
It's not a bad feeling, being haunted by my first love.
It's a reference of my feelings.
A chorological order of misconceptions and mistakes.
A disorganized chaos of lies and dreams.
Of promises, roses and presents that she'll always keep.
Because while her memory is haunting me.
She's also haunting the life that our first love will never be.
In sounds. . .
In colors. . .
In words. . .
In poems. . .
In stories. . .
In books. . .
In music. . .
It haunts me in September when the leaves are changing colors.
When the leaves are falling from the trees.
And all I think about is walking through them with her.
I know that I fell in love easily.
I was cursed to be a hopeless romantic.
The daughter of divorced parents, I longed to prove them wrong about love.
But when the cold air comes I think about waiting outside, for her, outside the school.
Or when I'd pick her up from her bus stop.
When she had to sneak under her parents' noses to get a ride from me instead of taking her bus.
It was one of the more bold and defiant things that she did while we were together.
The way she stood, the way she walked, the music coming from her headphones all dictated what kind of mood she was in that day.
Which (in turn) also dictated what kind of mood I was in that day.
My heart stood permanently on the edge of a cliff, waiting to be knocked over and shoved off.
Or if the situation called for it, my heart could leap off and destroy itself.
I'd eye her wrists for cuts, because I just never knew.
I never knew who I was talking to or what I was risking that morning when I woke up and forced my way to school.
It haunts me in winter when I think about her hiding behind her scarf, her nose red from the cold.
In haunts me when I think about lending her my hoodie, only for it to given back to me because she didn't want her parents knowing, about us.
It haunts me on Valentine's Day when I gave up my mother's birthday to be with her.
When I presented her with thirteen roses, twelve real and one fake.
A note attached saying: I will love you until the last rose dies.
I knew I couldn't keep the promise.
Because I knew, deep in my mind, we were not destined to last forever.
She gave me a necklace, it had gold heart with a tiny emerald in the middle of it, a crown on top of it with two hands holding the heart.
"Don't ever take it off."
I was the holder of her heart.
And so I never took off the necklace.
It haunts me during the spring.
One whole week when she disappeared from my life.
Onto a cruise with her parents and best friend.
And I was alone.
I didn't go to school.
I was plagued by panic attacks, so bad that I couldn't move.
Her touch haunted me.
I didn't get any calls.
Or texts for an entire week.
When I got her back, she wanted to tell me all about it.
But I didn't want to hear it.
It wasn't suppose to be fun, not unless she had went with me.
But she hadn't and so I didn't care.
So I lied to her and told her I had to be put in the hospital because of a serious panic attack.
She believed me.
And she felt bad.
That was our love by then.
Which of us is more fucked up?
Our love was a challenge.
A game, the rules we made up.
But I loved that game and I played it with all my heart.
Just like I loved her, with all of my heart.
Friends told us that they envied our love.
Thinking about it now I want to laugh at them.
Laugh at how naive they were to think that.
That her and I were a fairytale come true.
I fell in love way too easily, all the damn time.
I fell for a guy I never met.
I fell for a guy through a texting service.
I fell for a guy through a website.
I got a crush on a guy two years older than me.
I got a crush on a guy three years older than me.
I fell in love way too easily.
Then I fell in love with my best friend.
My best friend whom was a girl.
And she was my first love.
But she was no fairytale.
She was no Prince Charming, however she was charming.
Charming as the Cheshire Cat's grin.
And she was no damsel in distress.
Although she played the part very well.
It haunts me in the summer.
When we first fell in love.
When she was off hanging out with friends.
And I got tired of waiting for her, so I made my own friends.
But she wanted to be friends with my friends too.
While I really could care less about her friends.
And the entire time she continued to make me feel sorry for her.
No one should have to jump through hoops just for somebody to love them.
Or to prove to someone that you love them.
But that's what I did for her.
And I regret it, every fucking moment that I think about her.
It's not hard to think about her.
Everyone falls in love.
Everyone's hearts get broken.
And a first love will possibly, someday end.
I knew it, but I denied it.
I fell for her Cheshire Cat smile.
And dark auburn brown eyes that flashed in the setting sun.
I fell for her innocent girl charm.
Her broken heart that needed mending.
I fell for it all and now I'm the one that's haunted by her.
And the ghost of what once was our first love.
It was my birthday when she let me go.
When the truth was I tried to let her go way before that day.
"If you walk away from me, we're over."
I walked away.
I tried to get out.
It broke me but I tried, I should've kept walking.
But I didn't. . .
She caught my hand and cried for me to stay.
I wasn't in love with her.
I couldn't help her.
I wanted to walk away from her.
But I didn't.
I fell in her trap again.
I comforted her when I didn't mean it.
And then I took her home and went to my boyfriend's house.
I cheated on her with and without shame.
I cheated on her like a coward that couldn't face her tears.
She knew it was happening but didn't stop it.
Why didn't she just let me go that day?
She didn't want to be with me.
She wanted to go home.
Listen to her parents, whom hated me to begin with.
I know that I was wrong.
And I can't think of an excuse for what I did.
And the guilt of cheating will forever haunt me.
But I tried to get away, she told me that I could walk away.
But then took it back the moment that I tried to escape.
And now it haunts me, on my birthday.
When they were both in the same room.
Girlfriend and boyfriend.
He went home and she stood the night.
Her back to me the entire time.
It was the coldest night of my entire life.
I wanted to make it better.
I made love to her that next morning.
Later that day, she left me.
She decided then, after that day, after our fights.
After discussing how she doesn't treat me like her girlfriend.
"I always treat you like you're just my friend--"
Yeah, except for when you're in my bed.
Just this morning you made love to me between my sheets.
And now you're leaving me?
Now you're tell me that you're setting me free?
Of course. . .
Now she was the selfless one.
But when I wanted to leave.
When I couldn't take it anymore.
I was held captive by her tears.
Held by my breaking heart against my will.
She broke up with me.
She ended our pain.
She was the victim, now.
And so she haunts me.
And so does what was once my first love.
It's been three years since we broke up.
And still it haunts me. . .
In music. . .
In words. . .
In songs. . .
The necklace that I forced myself to give back.
The leaves we'd walk through together, still falling every fall.
The scarves I collect but never wear, cause they remind me of her.
The cold air of waiting for her and bracing myself for who ever she was going to be that day.
The songs that were written recently but match the memories of what I felt back then.
Or feel looking back at us.
Back at her and I.
I want to believe that your first love will always haunt you.
Or maybe this one just stands out in my mind.
It drove to the edge and pushed me to my limits.
I loved her and I hated her all at the same time.
She let me go.
Only for a week later want me back, again.
Which was when, over the phone I got to tell her that we were over and I couldn't do it anymore.
I had to face her tears.
I had to face the pain.
The affair was over.
And so was my relationship.
I had to pick up the pieces of what was left.
Sometimes it scares me how much she haunts me.
And sometimes when my boyfriend and I are arguing I wonder: Am I just like her?
If I'm going to push him away like she pushed me?
My first love went up in smoke and then down in flames.
But with my first love there wasn't a child involved.
Him and I have a son together and we live in the same house.
We're what my first love could have never been.
We're what she'll never get to have.
I guess that's why my first love just haunts me.
Like a ghost behind a shelf.
Playing tricks on me when the full moon is high in the sky.
She isn't really there.
And she'll never be here again.
She's a nightmare interrupting my daydreams.
She's a echo of a distant memory that a song has to drag out of my soul for me to remember.
She doesn't control my life, my world anymore.
And when I look her up, to see how she's been.
I don't see new poems about her life.
I see stupid pictures and random friends.
And when I log off my laptop and go in the other room.
My boyfriend will by playing video games, something she never taught me to do.
And my son will be playing on the floor or in his high chair.
And she's somewhere, doing homework for school and getting high because it's cool.
Maybe she thinks of me sometimes.
That girl she added to that long list of people in her life, that broke her heart and shattered her mind.
Or maybe she never thinks of me at all?
Either way, I don't care.
And it's nice, not caring about her and what she thinks.
Because my life is better not having to walk on thin ice around her.
Remembering all the rules that I have to follow.
All the tears she made me cry.
The necklace I had to be wearing at all times.
The phone that's volume had be on, otherwise she'd have a nightmare and attempt to commit suicide, again.
Yeah my life isn't perfect.
I argue with my mother.
I argue with my boyfriend.
I get frustrated with my stories, writer's block, et cetera.
And sometimes being a mother is hard.
Most of the time I don't know what I'm doing.
And because of my social phobia, I can't get a job.
But I play video games.
And go on day trips.
I read books and write poetry.
I hang out with my best friend when she's not busy.
And I watch movies with my mother, boyfriend and son.
I listen to music and dance around the house while getting ready to go grocery shopping.
I live a stress free life and only time to time.
When a song comes on.
Or a book falls from my shelf.
The rain is extra loud.
Or the leaves are falling a certain way.
Only then do I remember her, remember what it was like.
Her necklace hanging around my neck.
Us dancing together on Valentine's Day by the side of the pool.
Only for her to tell me several months later that she couldn't remember Valentine's Day.
And I had pretend that it didn't sting.
There was always some bitterness with the sweet.
Especially when it came to her and me.
But she was my first love.
And she will hold a place in my heart and mind.
It's not a cherished spot and I don't think of her in a fond way.
I reference her for pain, for confusion and chaos.
When I need to remember loving someone when they really don't deserve it.
She's a lesson that I eventually had to learn.
But I guess that's what first love is there for.
And that's why when it haunts me through my memories and poems.
Through leaves falling and snow dustings.
Through rain's tears and thunder's laughter.
I let her haunt me.
I let her follow me around.
The sounds--
The colors--
The tears--
The memories--
The songs--
The lyrics--
The music--
The dreams--
The books--
The poems--
The words--
The writing--
It all comes back to me, one piece at a time.
It's not a bad feeling, being haunted by my first love.
It's a reference of my feelings.
A chorological order of misconceptions and mistakes.
A disorganized chaos of lies and dreams.
Of promises, roses and presents that she'll always keep.
Because while her memory is haunting me.
She's also haunting the life that our first love will never be.
Published 7th Nov 2014
| Edited 8th Nov 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
reading list entries 1
comments 0
reads 1112
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
