I remember he had the dreamiest eyes I could think of
They were as deep as that sultry voice of his
Well, a charming shade of brown
Ebony, to be more specific.
When he was out in the sunshine, I still remember how they used to glisten and sparkle
Overflowing with wetness which looked like warm liquid gold
Like an ocean of nostalgic summer waves, his eyes hid something.
So much. Another world, perhaps.
Whenever I tried to get to the core of his mysterious beauty, those lips used to curve into a smile gently .. slowly
Without notice, like how the sun rises up from under the horizon
******* out all the strength it took me to not touch him.
He was the Prince Charming on drugs, I'd say
A drunken Romeo at night with ripped off clothes
The love of his dreams is a crazy fantasy, he says
And he always messed up his fantasies so fine.
I would never forget how he asked me to stay away
How artistically he put it all together, trying not to hurt me
He used to say "love is unhealthy for me.."
How delicate and effortless he made it sound
Maybe he knew that anyone who looked deeper into his eyes,
beyond that beautiful brown, would fall for him.
And fortunately or unfortunately, I did.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
She is not a prize but that does not mean you should not prize her
Keep her heart on the mantle but light a fire beneath it to keep her warm and kind
Don’t keep her hidden like a secret she has already been bottled up her whole life
Show her off like a lottery ticket it was nothing more than luck that brought her into your life
This was not your own doing and you will do well to remember that
Give her a place to hide when the sun is too bright and the wind is too loud
But don’t treat her like a caged animal she does not belong to you
She is a canvas but you are not the artist and you do not touch her without her written consent
The right to decorate her body with your fingerprints or your kisses does not belong to you
Keep your hand outstretched to her at all times
She knows herself better than you do and she will take it when she needs it
When she cries don’t stop her and when she smiles smile with her
These are honest forms of communication so listen when she talks to you
Never yell at her she doesn’t deserve that
Don’t treat her like a child anymore her parents did enough of that
If she falls asleep first she feels safe whatever you do hold on to that
She is already scared of the ways she can hurt herself she doesn’t need to be afraid of the ways you can hurt her
And whatever you do don’t give her a reason to leave
She might think you want her to
~W.C.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
Artist
The only description of her
The way her eyelashes glitter
In the shining sunlight
The way her pale face
Is angled to imperfection
In a captivating way
Where you have to feel every curve
Every indent on her cheeks
The way her wrists are stained
With the color of her hair
A raw red
Exploding into the world
Exposing her
From all the rest
It's just a shame
That art is only admired
After it's lifespan is gone
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
She weeps not for the shore
As distance creates a shadow
She embraces the current
Becoming the wave
And gently pushes her sea home
She chases not the sun
As the day is put to rest
She is the moonlight
That cradles the stars
Tightly to her *******
She yearns not
Her pain-streaked tears
That fall below her feet
She is the soil beneath her toes
Her pain now colors the tree
She worries not
The flowers' bloom
Or the leaves that fall like rain
She is the wind
That will kiss the ground
And sweep it all away
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
One day I'll see the world,
Have dust on my feet
From a thousand different lands.
I'll travel with dusty feet,
Musty books,
Camera in hand,
Adventure beckoning me on.
Maybe I'll have no home,
I'll be a wanderer-
Maybe we need more gypsies-
Maybe I'll have
Barely a penny to my name.
I'll spend it all on plane tickets,
I'll earn my roof and food
By telling stories,
Penning poems.
Maybe when I'm an old lady,
People will tell stories
Of the crazy girl
Who came from a town so small
She had to travel the world
To find out more
About who she was.
Maybe people will be talking
Before I've even left,
About the crazy girl
With crazy dreams
Who's going to do crazy things
And change a crazy world.
But being called crazy
Is a small price to pay
To do things no one's done.
It just means I realize
The stars aren't so far away
If you know how to believe.
It just means
I'll have stardust
On my feet
From a thousand different suns.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
In an old...
wallet
box
attic
was an old faded photograph of a photographer.
Meant to be...
left alone
put to rest
forgotten
it was since then brought back by nostalgia and the impossible life that was now to be lived without you.
You liked to be...
behind
smiling through
holding the camera
as you were the photographer but not this time, as you were the photographed...
In front of
smiling at
holding a pose
while I became the photographer, photographing you, the freshly captured photographer in the faded photograph.
In an old...
dream
heart
memory
you never faded but remained the still whole of a perfect silhouette.
The perfect photographer preserved in the perfectly faded photograph for...
love
life
forever.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
to me
scars are beautiful
they show us where we've been
not where we're going
they remind us of battles
we once had to face
to me
scars make us strong
they paint a picture
of the darkness
you once lived in
to me
scars show us the past
they take you places
of sadness and sin
but look around
everyone has scars
some old
some new
they're all special
to me
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 2:35 AM UTC