Got a girl
100% new..Not me..
Good for you
I'm so Damn proud
That you're too good for me
I put on a show
Just for you
His hands on me
Ended with nothing.
What am I say
Was it for you or him?
Who's to say.
You were jealous.
He loves me
Really this time
Funny how this poem didn't rhyme
You can see it all from my window;
open wide, no blinds,
all at my window.
The show has begun.
Every night I headline,
dress then rewind; so fine.
Moonlight on skin;
sin invites our minds.
You strive to remain in hide,
outside my window.
Lust drives me and you.
Slow, ribbons flow down to my shoes;
heels, a seductive red.
On my bed, I relax.
Be my witness to climax,
from outside my window.
cross my heart and hope to die
without a trace and no goodbye
I'll leave you gaping with a hole in your chest
I stole the one thing you gave freely and yet
woefully in denial you scrape up whats left
which wont be much as I took all you had
you search and search but
you're always two steps back
you stop and remember how I use to laugh
how I use to kiss you and stare into your eyes
if only, you say, you had known they were lies
cross your heart and hope to die
you vow to find me or perish trying
(Inspired by the new TV Show Impostors)
We both read our scripts,
but we're not on the same page.
You and I are just actors
who treat life as the stage.
We rehearse our lines,
but they're not what we mean,
for once lets break character
and call cut on this scene.
We could steal the show
if we rewrite the play
and end the charade
of this macabre matinee.
We've reached the finale,
there's no encore after all.
This is our shot,
our last curtain call.
*Ever since you left,
I put the fall,
in night fall…
The sheets have ceased to comfort me with the smell of your scent,
the pillows are no longer able to hold my head,
heavy from the painful thoughts and longing,
for someone who was never quite strong enough to hold my heart.
I thought it was cute when you dropped it the first time,
like this was all so new to you,
and this was your first time.
I thought i could teach you.
teach you how to cradle the muscle in your arms,
put it at ease when it lost it’s peace,
I convinced myself,
that I could show you how you should love me.
That I was the one that was supposed to show you. *
The draping curtain draws back
revealing a dimly lit set.
The cast scuffle backstage
in their daily quarrel.
I wish their din would cease.
The lights awaken,
Silhouettes of exasperated
hands come into view.
"A Comedy, it must be".
"Satire, surely, is what she needs".
"No, no, another Tragedy".
"Lets sing and dance; fill her with glee".
"Can we not do this again",
comes the voice of Reason.
Meanwhile, the protagonist;
She waits 'till the eleventh hour
to know of the script.
It's all an act, at the end of the day!
Love hard, my friends. Love noticeably.
Love does not deserve to be shoved under the rug, to be disguised, or to be quieted. Love does not mean conforming to the idea that genuine affection is “sappy,” “cheesy,” or “cringeworthy”; instead-- love loudly.
The world wants to tell you that relationships are to be silenced. That posting multiple photographs of each other is tacky, uncomfortable, and something to make fun of. That devoting time with your favorite human being is disgusting, overbearing-- especially when you are young and the future does not exist in your hands.
Too bad, future. And how unfortunate, world. Because at the end of the day, the world does not own love. You do. It is yours to have, to keep, to share, and to do whatever it takes to hold onto it. It is mine.
When you find love, shout it from the rooftops and frame a million photographs. Post selfies of the two of you smiling wide and unwavering. Wear its colors on your face and shamelessly declare it to the whole universe and beyond: You are in love. You are alive.
And likewise, this is my philosophy: Love intentionally, fiercely, tirelessly.
Love so hard it makes people dizzy. Take it as a compliment. In an exhausted world that spins with violence, hatred, and monstrosity-- praise its joys. Snap those pictures.Tell your friends. Scrapbook it, publish it, make art out of it. Laugh about it, display it, live it. Put an end to the grotesque concept that something so beautiful, perhaps life’s most magnificent, should be sheltered. Let it grow.
This is a declaration. I am boisterously in love. There is no quiet here.
One day, you will find someone or something that your heart will never be able to shut up about. And that’s okay. Let it scream.