You never cared. I kissed you. You kissed me. It ment nothing. Ashes to ashes we all fall down. I crumbles for months. Instead of 3 a.m. Non sleepings it was 5 a.m., blankly staring at the Ceiling, I know know that I erased you from everything except my mind. It's not hard anymore without you here. I deserved better. Now it's over.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
the problem with
being a poet in love,
is that you savour
& trust each word your lover has
without question.
we are simply in love
with bare literature,
spoken from the lips of someone we hold
in higher regard
than ourselves sometimes.
when you love a poet
each word you utter,
should be a piece of artwork
each sentence,
a highly thought out structure of awe and beauty to leave us seeping
in the warmth of your voice
caressing such fine words
so when deciding that you love someone,
who writes or reads
fill their souls with beauty, memories & truth especially,
for a poet's heart breaks at ease.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
When I first met him, I warned him,
"I'm kind of a depressed mess. So if I don't accept your love right away, I'm sorry because right now I'm trying to figure out how to love myself before I can figure out how to love anyone else."
He looked at me, big brown eyes and all, and said, "Maybe I can help you."
In that moment, something inside of me changed
Ever since that day we started talking and talking and talking
The days I knew him turned in to weeks and the weeks then turned into months and soon years
But somewhere along this mess of love and trust,
It turned into tragedy and betrayal.
Basically what I'm saying is this ******* cheated on me. It's funny because all this time
I thought he was going to be the one to throw floaties at me while I was slowly sinking into this sea of sadness, It turns out he was the one tying anchors to my wrists causing me to sink more while slowly whispering to me empty promises.
Instead of preventing my scars he was the one causing them.
Instead of keeping me warm he's the one taking away my blanket
It ***** because all of the soft touches we shared and all of the secretive whispers we would tell each other within the late hours, he would share with someone else.
He would softly touch someone else
Love someone else.
All this time I saw him as sweet and caring
I found out it was just a facade he would put up around me.
On the outside he was beautiful on the inside he was rotting.
He was fake. It was all fake.
Now here I am crying with my head between my knees because I wanted so badly for him to be the one.
I want so badly for him to be the one, but he's not.
He never will be.
Maybe I'm the reason he decided to share our love with another or maybe I never had his love in the first place
-b.c.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
And some nights, I look outside and find your smile in the shimmering light of the moon
I find your big eyes in the stars
I can hear your voice in the sound of the wind
I look up at the sky, how its so vast and endless,
and I think about how its similar to our love
And I sit here and hope that you find me in the sky too
-b.c.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
I remember the first time I saw you.
You had this light gray shirt on and
your dark brown hair was styled to the side.
You wanna know a secret?
Gray looks exquisite on you.
You have these dark brown eyes and freckles that adorn your cheeks.
You know, I never even knew that I liked freckles until I met you.
I remember the first time I talked to you.
You're voice was the right kind of deep.
It wasn't too high or too deep. It was just perfect.
I remember the first time I hugged you.
Your long arms wrapped around my small figure,
and for those few seconds, everything felt complete.
I remember the first time you called me pretty.
For just a second, in that moment in time, I actually believed it.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
To the boy that sits next to me in English class.
I adore everything about you.
I adore the way you wish you were taller, even though I personally think you are the perfect height.
I adore your hands, how they are so large compared to mine.
You, my friend, are a true piece of art.
A beautiful creation of light skin, light brown hair, long eyelashes that adorn your beautiful blue eyes, and dark pink lips.
I would not mind sitting down and studying you for hours with my eyes and hands.
I would not mind experiencing the foreign feel of your skin underneath my fingertips.
I would not mind exploring every inch of your body.
I don't believe there is such a thing as perfection, but if somehow perfection did exist, you would be pretty **** close.
I want to discover what makes you smile.
I want to memorize your laugh and store it in my mind, so I can bring it out and listen to it on a bad day.
I want your hand prints to be imprinted on my body, the smell of your cologne on the shirt you like best on me.
I want to study you until I memorize the way that every hair falls, until I memorize your heart beat.
Give me the feeling of your arms wrapped around me.
This is my only desire.
You know, I hate you for making me think these thoughts and experience these emotions.
I hate you and I freaking adore you, but you will never adore me because of her.
And when I sit in my bed alone at night, wishing that I could experience the treasure that is you, you're sharing your laugh with her.
You're sharing your smile with her.
I bet she doesn't even admire the way that your laugh is so loud and melodic like I would.
I bet she doesn't appreciate the fact that you have grazed your fingertips upon her ever so gently.
I bet she doesn't admire your lips.
How they are this beautiful shade of dark pink.
She probably doesn't cherish the moments that her head lays upon your chest as you embrace each other like I would.
She doesn't admire you like the beautiful work of art that you are.
(b.c.)
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC