*Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise
They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole
But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell
Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared
Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again*
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 9:26 PM UTC
Finally they say “it’s not working out”
But actually they don’t want it to!
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
I’m a heart breaker.
It should be my Instagram and Twitter bio
Or my facebook description.
This should be my catch phrase.
While I’m savoring the taste of pain
And the salty taste of tears in my mouth
I wail my pain away
But it only keeps on coming back
It so overwhelming
It so numbing at the same time
I feel nothing...
And everything.
I love you, I know that much
I love you with my shattered heart
I love you with my swollen red eyes
I love you with my runny nose
I love you enough to love myself
Eventually, the tears will stop, not today or tomorrow but someday
Eventually, you’ll find someone else to love and so will I.
Eventually your heart will heal and so will mine.
It’s okay to cry myself to life.
Eventually, you’ll understand that I broke our heart to save us.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
be found.
It's a book shelved high that wants to
be read.
It's the freest of all birds caged but
unbound...
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
colours.
It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
translate its thoughts.
But it can see through the eyes of
painters...
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
of musical harmony.
It doesn't follow the conventions of
genres.
But it sings its voice loud without
restrictions of melody...
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
It's an exploding universe, that merges
back into galaxies.
It's a sought after painting, that boasts
of unfathomable beauty.
It's an everlasting song, that echoes
within the poet that embodies...
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 6:20 AM UTC
how could a heart like yours
love a heart like mine
your heart is full of love.
you dream of life.
you have no regrets.
you live without fear of the future.
my heart is full of-
well it's not full at all:
it's broken; shattered,
into a thousand tiny little pieces.
and somehow, someway,
you were kind enough;
to hunt for every little piece,
and put me back together.
and this is why i,
will never understand,
this silly little thing,
we call love.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
*how does one love a poet?
between the lines of their spoken words
and their haiku's.
a jumbled nonsense to an untrained ear
but a masterpiece
to the ones who take your poems
the ones they've studied
and they dissected
because they find them* almost
*as beautiful
as the way your soul shines
when you coin a poem
about the one who
coins their poems
about you.*
the delicate intertwining process of loving a poet.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:02 PM UTC
***i fell in love with a writer. i will forever be in her world, even way past her death. i don't exactly know why i fell in love, or how i managed to do so, but i do know that i am perfectly okay with doing so. sometimes, when she looks at me, i am able to picture myself in her bed on my worst nights, and she by my side, holding me the entire time as i shake with fear and anxiety. and somehow, in those milliseconds when i look into those unkept swimming pools of eyes, i get lost and i forget who i am. she knows me like the map of veins on the inside of her wrists; she fathoms me in an unexplainable kind of way, more than anyone else, honestly. my sentences are not making any sense but i really dont care. i know she will read this. i know because i am purposely going to send her this link and she is going to let her eyes travel over each word that is typed.
okay let me start over.
how do you tell someone that they are all you want? that the dreams give you a craving that must be eventually put into words so they could possibly be put into action? i probably do not know what i am talking about. i went insane looking for her. i guess a part of me will always be insane, regardless of whether or not she plays a part in it. but, i do know this: i want her to be. i want her to drive me insane and i want her to push me to my limits. i dont want to just feel love for her. i want it all. i want the hate, the tears, the heartbreak, the pain, the joy, the angst, the lust, the melancholy, the happiness, everything. i want every emotion that comes with being in love with her. i want the hell, the heaven, and the purgatory. i want the planets in her veins and i want the constellations that linger on the edge of her lips so that every time i kiss her, i taste galaxies and nebulas. i want every ******* metaphor. i want every ******* reality. i dont know, i want so much; i am putting myself out here for her and i still dont even fully fathom whether or not she wants the same. i mean, i think she does? maybe, maybe not. it is yet another mystery i must learn to solve over time. i cannot go two feet without bumping into some piece of her. when i go out to get coffee, i imagine her sitting in that café right next to me, reading a book she bought for fifty cents at a yard sale. i can imagine her in the most obscure places; walking next to me in the grocery store, staring at the puppies through the window of the pet shop on main street, in the mall with me dying to try the new hot chocolate at starbucks, buying cheap shampoo at the dollar store because we are going on some sort of three day adventure to anywhere. i see her everywhere. i feel her everywhere. i crave her everywhere. and this letter may make me seem out of my mind, but oh ******* well.
some things we dont talk about. we simply dont have to. i think that there is a mutual understanding between us for some things. to be honest, i didn't only fall in love with a writer. i fell in love with someone who holds many titles: lover. poet. dreamer. thinker. listener. talker. adventurer. brand new day. she is so much. she is an arbutrary holiday that is dying to be celebrated. her bones are filled with wanderlust, and she makes a mean hot cocoa. there is always a lovely way to look at her. even the distance between us is equally as beautiful as the distance between stars.
she is the perfect combination of subtle and mysterious, all while making it seem as though she is an open book waiting to be read by the loveliest pair of brown eyes. she is a universely misunderstood paradox, and she has the capability of making you think twice about what you are going to say, even without opening her mouth. she is a foreign film so full of incomprehensible words, yet you can fathom everything about her if you actually take the time to get to know her. she can make you fall for her just by closing her eyes and making a wish at 11:11pm. she makes you contemplate the meaning of life, and she can paralyze you all while batting one eyelash. she is the feeling of a warm blanket on a cold december night, and she is the cool breeze that caresses you on a humid july afternoon. she is that new song you hear in the coffee shop but will never know the name of, even though you will spend innumerous nights searching for it on the internet and in record stores. and oh god, if only she had the oppertunity to see herself from my perspective- she would fall in love with herself just as easily as i did for her. for she has never encountered a love like this likewise of squeezing into last year's prom dress. every single day, she will make my heart beat indefensibly faster and faster. and she will continually wonder why i fell for her, and eventually she will understand why it was simply her who occupied my vacant heart even though my bed was preoccupied by broken promises and empty words. she gazes at me skeptically, yet understandingly. and i will never stop trying to let her know that i ******* love her until it is nothing short of crystal clear. i will never get used to her; she changes over time and so do her thoughts and emotions and perspectives and opinions. i will never fully fathom her, but god knows i will ******* try. and every single day, i will love her more than the last. and she will continually wonder why i dedicate so much to her, for her, and about her. the entire ******* world knows about her. she is all i ever write about lately, and it soothes yet annoys me at the same time because she is always on my mind. i have waited a lifetime for her to love me, and i would patiently wait another if it meant that she will one day be the first eyes that i see when i wake up on sunday mornings.
god only knows what is hiding in her weak and fragile heart, in those glassy and lost eyes. and although she has the tendency to change her religions, it does not lessen the fact that she the universe in her soul.
so this is my letter about the girl i fell in love with. she is the only girl i have ever fallen for, and she has made me see the world from a different perspective. and i cannot even thank her for giving me the oppertunity to become like this. i dont know, maybe i am insane, but all the great artists were; hemingway, einstein, twain, poe, cobain, the list goes on and on.
maybe this time things will be better than they were.
maybe this time you can be the girl i write about who sneaks into my bedroom late at night to spend even five minutes together.
maybe you can be that girl who admires me from afar.
maybe you can be that girl who writes love letters to me and drops it off anonymously at my house at ten in the morning, and once i read it i already know who it is from by your handwriting.
maybe this time you will fall harder and deeper for me than you did before.
maybe this time we will find peace,
and maybe this time every single memory of ours that we make will last for decades.
i love you.***
{m.j.}
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
Creation is beautiful;
To see something being created is beautiful.
Seeing an idea take flight.
When a poet grabs a pen, and speaks in words of ink
and lets her mind open and flow in a rhythm of expression
She detaches a section of her soul
and lays it on a piece of parchment
with the hopes that somebody else can pick it up
and attach it with their souls, instead.
When a songwriter forms lyrics to let an audience ingest the world through his eyes
and he pairs up with a musician, tapping away keys at the piano
that would send chills down the spine of the most heartless human,,
and the two form stories of sound and lyrics
that ripple through crowds like the detonation
over the sky of Hiroshima.
When the lonely author writes his sad stories,
Filled with the triumphs he wishes he owned,
he feels the need to fill the paper with more,
because he is in love with creating.
He wants to do more. He wants to be more.
He always feels his actions will never fill the space it should,
and a vacuum will encompass all of his papers,
and even his heart,
so he can never fill either of them as desperately as he wants
but he creates with the hope that somebody can relate.
Even when a boy and a girl hold hands,
or when they hold each other, together, in attraction
with the pains of the world numbed by the drug of the heart,
crossing their fingers that they will always get a refill of their prescriptions,
And their silence says more than any words could.
One smiles, and the second can't resist,
and the creation here is love,
the best,
and frailest,
creation of all.
As for me: I see creation as a challenge as well.
To push yourself to be something else and make something else.
To inspire, to encourage,
to be beautiful, even if nobody is facing you.
To know that when you die, death won't take you entirely,
with the words on paper,
paintings on the wall,
or kisses that you gave,
you will continue to exist. You can never fully die.
Creation is the key to immortality,
but creation isn't about living forever,
it's about allowing others to see who you really are,
and who they can be.
Creation is telling stories and lessons to others,
Creation is sharing,
Creation is helping.
Creation is beautiful.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC
Do not fall in love with the girl who writes
Unless you want to know hell first hand
She'll make you burn and bring you to ashes
And the worst part is
You won't mind burning at all
She's allergic to routine
Impossible to decipher
Something she takes as a compliment
She's June mornings and December nights
A rare mixture of sins and innocence
And impossible in every possible way
She's the type of girl you'll never forget
And you wont even want to
It'll be a roller coaster
You'll have sunny days laying on the beach
And others were the sea will drown you
You'll feel invincible
As if you have it all
Because you have her
Until she leaves
Without saying why
Or even goodbye
Her departure is something you'll never get over
Her smile will haunt you every day
You'll wake up from nightmares from the day she left
Screaming her name at 4 am
With the echo of her loss
Still resonating through your bedroom walls
But you'll still believe they are dreams
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
Week One.
Possible reasons why she left you:
1. She was abducted by aliens
2. She turned into a mermaid
3. She joined a group of pirates
Week Two.
Possible reasons why she left you:
4. She won the lottery
5. She was a secret princess
6. She works for MI6
Week Three.
Possible reasons why she left you:
7. She met someone else
8. She doesn’t love me
9. She never did
Week Four.
Possible reasons why she left you:
10. She didn't feel loved.
11. She had enough.
12. She's emotionally drained.
Week Five.
Possible reasons why she left you:
13. She forgot who she was in the relationship.
14. She realised you were a boy and not a man.
15. You didn't support her growth as a human being.
Week Six.
Possible reasons why she left you:
16. She never got attention she truly deserves. She's fed up of "what's up" and emoticons.
17. Everything is all about you. Nothing is ever about her.
18. She loves herself too.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC