I used to read your poems but lately you don't write you're silent and aloof you know that isn't right. You can't close a door once opened you can't abolish all your dreams you're a poet of the heart mustn't fall apart at the seams. Say what you can in words they speak the message true spoken from the heart the poems will see you through. A hermit's not your style a recluse, you are not never give up writing of things that you've been taught. I used to read your poems I'd read them once again if you would send them out (this one's from a poet friend)
To my friends who can write fresh-smelling bouquets of words with splendid color, I offer my envy. Mine are the blunt, stunted words, rooted in the cracks in pavement, or forcing their way to light around overbearing rocks. Some useful in their own way, edible or flavorful, some with a pedestrian beauty, but few that one would bring home in a bunch with a box of candy. More appropriate in a grimy, young fist crumpled in love, destined to be vased in a water glass by a doting mother, or shredded petal by petal for the sake of soothsaying... he loves me, he loves me not.
The beauty of your words takes my breath away some days. Thank you.
I love him I tell myself I know that We will be together forever I don’t believe that We could be separated My thoughts tell me that He’s the love of my life Sometimes my heart lies and says I could live an eternity Without him Like my friends say “We’re perfect for each other” And you can’t tell me He’s not the one.
because of you when feel defeat i now bleed black ink
to hello poetry: thank you for giving me an outlet. a place where I can speak freely when i am at my lowest, in the darkest place i can reach. thank you for giving me a place to i can put the thoughts that i cant comprehend in my head, and making me realize I'm not alone. i cannot thank you enough!
so you're an e-girl havin fun online girl patreon subscribe girl premium snapchat girl I'm that white knight asking you for nudes type saying I'll treat you right crying about Chad type I'm the niiiiiice guy
"What colour is my heart?" she sings, And as her voice soaks into me, I feel you slink and coil yourself around my heart. At first it felt like you were meant to be there, But the longer her set goes on The harder you squeeze. "What colour is my heart?" she sings. I know the answer. My heart is black and blue, Thanks to you.
Grant me the knowledge to know what I write is palpable and not contrite. Bless my brain with rationale. Expunge any trauma from the birth canal. Allow this poet a little slack. Permit me to write and never look back.
I want to taste the miracle of your desperation, need, lick the sweet sweat of tense from the hairline well hid on the back of your pleasuring neck.
I need your needing constant completion, but not succeeding.
The airborne aroma of your desires are fiery, arousing, stimulus sensating me by the unending beauty of dissatisfaction, this virus desirous, infection, makes my perpetual wanting for an incomplete perfect woman, forever seeking betterment, perfectly complete.
11-15-17 11:51pm mixed up emotions re this one; who is the striver, who is selfless and/or selfish; can be understood in many different ways
I listened to her say the words that i would never be able to say, he was the object of the love that i craved. she looked at him with the same affectionate eyes that i gazed, he was the one hearing: "for the rest of my days".
They said, "The most beautiful art is looking into someone's eyes when they talk about the things they love." And I said, "Or looking at someone you love. Or maybe, just maybe, by looking at the mirror is the most beautiful art anyone should appreciate."
Appreciation post for myself; for you and for everyone as well. You deserve more than the world has to offer.