May 1998
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Poetry by guys who just got dumped

The Other Side of the Road

I'm sure she's hiding...
Why would anyone want to be reminded of the pain they inflict on others?
She's busy putting up walls and windows  (you can look but can't touch).
What makes her think she will be happier this way?
Breaking the news to me didn't make her any happier.

I'm looking for some sort of revelation here... it's beyond my grasp.
What could I possibly do to make this situation better...?
Nothing seems like the best answer.
Idle hands in times of trouble make me feel so...

It's the uselessness that soars above my head.
Dive-bombing me to pick away at my ears.
Gloating at my morbid situation
While I just sit there and take it.
There's nothing I can do.

I've tried everything...

She told me that she wanted out,
And I gave her a hug when she cried.
I asked her if there was a compromise,
Some middle road between my highland and her lowland.
Or was it HER highland and MY lowland?

I told her to come back to my room and talk some more.
I gave her a back rub while she fully explained herself.
I was almost crying... then I was...

It would have been so easy to stand up and start yelling.
All the insults that come to mind to explain...
My frustration with her...
The situation she placed us into.


I know the situation she's in...
I've been there before.
Too soon,
Too fast...
Not enough time.

So this is what it's like to be...
On the other side of the road.

By Erik Hromatka

Thinking. Realizing. Searching.

I dwell in the open waters of the ocean.
This is where i remain.
Thinking.  Realizing.  Searching.  
There is naught else to pass the time.
The search goes unfound, 
Thoughts stab like daggers, 
The realizations all too true.
And all the while you float and sink
But it is all the same.

Pain is when you realize all you know is wrong.
What was, is no more.
Beliefs were built in falsehood.
The truth lies in the introspection of ones own reality.
All of the contents inside Pandora's box were evil.
Not one leads to a blessing.
All lead to pain.

Milton knew the pain
and could not find what he searched for.
For I, in the ocean, am as close as he could ever get 
  to it.
His writing may have eased his pain
However, he suffered the same pain as he lost.
He suffers my fate.
In the ocean alone, sinking.
Thinking.  Realizing.  Searching.
And accoplishing nothing.

By Aaron Morris

Do you have poetry?

Send it on in! It can be romantic, heart-warming, humorous, or epic--we dont care! But if it makes the cut, you'll see it in the next issue of The Shrubbery. E-mail it to

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