Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Genesee Mar 2018
I almost let it slip
How I am a poet who writes intensely
Passionate and all at once
I'm not used to having a muse
Or the possibility of writing for someone
Writing my feelings about someone's love for me
It scares me to no end how easily the words flow when I think of you
I'm tempted to not write about you
Only because of the past
How they all fell in love with the words that dripped down from my mouth
Endlessly then all at once almost like a rose blossoming
I wrote for so many people
Only to have them turn right around and hurt me deeply
Making me delete the poems and poetry
I guess I'm terrified of that happening with us
I don't want it to
I love writing about you but I also realize that
I'm not about to make someone a home to come home to
If that makes sense
I've done that with numerous people only to be
the one who's left in the dark
Because what people don't tell you is
when you try and make a house out of a person
It can start off as loving, beautiful, thriving
But over time the idea and how the person
might view you will change over time
No one announces these things of course
But unfortunately when a person decides to
throw in the towel without a reason or stop loving you
It comes as a shock and then the idea of having that one person who you consider to be your house so to speak
One to come home to when things get too much or a person who you love so intensely it even catches you off guard
It all fades away
After they stop loving you
Reasons why I'm scared to love you so intensely and the way I'm trying to force myself
to love someone like I did before with the gestures
But it'll take a little while for me to even consider showering you with crafts
Only because if it mysteriously crumbles
I don't wanna have to look at damage control
I'm sorry baby you'll have to prove that
you'll stay first and won't abandon me
Like the others, before you did
Rachel Barnett May 2015
everything i feel is a Molotov cocktail
then, here, and now
and i don't love him,
but his tongue is full of violets and he says he could blow my mind when we're on a different frequency than this
and i carve his spine into a crescent moon and etch my initials under his tongue
does it make a difference?
a belly full of flowers, missing love.
go back to your first love, tell her you never want to leave her, rid her of the longings that brought her to her knees; was i that to you?
and i don't love him, but he's here and you're not
i have turned him from a prayer into prey, a box of cypresses split in two
but does it make a difference to you?
i'm only a few hundred miles away, sticking my fingers in electrical outlets to remind me of what your lips felt like on my hands.
i don't love him, but he's dark energy, a mindfuck.
i don't love him but i bet if i turned off all the lights in the room he'd glow in the absence of it; and i'm trying not to think.
they say vampires can't see themselves in mirrors- is this what i've done?
the monsters slide back beneath my bed, and even though they stay quiet when we touch, it still hurts me too much.

— The End —