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Why is it so hard to write poetry when I'm happy?
When I'm content?
When I'm gloriously in love?

Is it a requirement that I be in rage, in sorrow, in pain?
Drunk? High? Comatose?

Can I just not find the right words to describe my feelings?
Or maybe I don't need this outlet when I'm happy. I don't need to cut my emotions from my chest and attach them to words. I want my emotions here with me.
If** only I could love you enough to
keep you from the blade
If only I could love you enough to
get you through the day
If only I could love you enough to
protect you from the shade
If only I could love you enough you wouldn't go astray.
If only me carIng was enough to
keep your head up high
If only me caring was enough to
get you through the night
If only me caring was enough to
stop you wanting to cry
If only me caring was enough your noose wouldn't be so tight.
It's not love it's not passion
It's two insecure people trying
To lean on each other until they **** themselves
It's not cute it's not healthy
It works but for how long?
At least they're finally trying but in the end
We all end up alone
Pet
I look down on you without pity
The view is breathtaking from up here
I could never abuse you, use you, confuse you
But I will spit on you and pull your hair.
It's one thing to push you around
It's another to call you mine
It's one thing to kiss you on the nose
It's another to fill you with wine.
You beg you plead you kiss my feet
I come down from the sky's above
Because even though I call you my pet
I do it out of true love
I may plague your thoughts
but I can't ruin your life if I'm not in it
I have a lot of love for the broken, the tattered and torn; those who carry the burdens of a human heart.
One of my goals is to be of service to people, especially in the mental health and criminal justice field. It is a driving force within me that pushes me past my social anxiety to interact with people, extending compassion, acceptance, and most importantly, showering them with love.
I wish you didn't have to hurt like you do
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