And my love, like a flame, when you tend me, I only grow bigger.
And my love, like a flame, dies when you are cold to me.
And my love, like a flame, burns until there is none of me left.
And my love, like a flame, was smothered.
And my love, like a flame, burned you.
And my love, like a flame, went out
And, my love, like a flame...
You left scars on me.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
Talking myself out of suicide
I don't want to ride so do I get to die?
And I don't even want to try.
I feel like I'm burning alive by being alive.
I wanted to buy mom a house and a ride
5 kids a picket fence and a be a trophy wife.
I wanted to honeymoon in Dubai
I wanted to make my family millionaires
I wanted to be so beautiful I get blank stares
I wanted to give everyone everything.
But how can I give if I'm worth nothing.
I'm sorry I just can't live like this.
I've been suffering since 96'
Everyone thinks I'm a *****
So if I leave it will make no difference.
I'm getting scars from hot showers.
I can't be sober for more than an hour.
I'm named after a flower
But don't bring me Jasmines.
Just burn and scatter me at the Eiffel Tower.
I don't know, if I do this will I burn in hell?
Either way I will get dressed and beat my face.
If I'm the Hollywood of Holy Hell.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 7:50 AM UTC
Just when I think I'm tired of loving you.
And I get bored with thinking about you all **** day.
I get frustrated.
Because my thoughts are on replay.
So I get up and turn on my red light at three am.
And say.
"This is the last love poem I'm writing for your black ***
Yet here I am.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
I go to sleep thinking about you.
I wake up thinking about you.
When I'm doing my makeup, I'm thinking about you.
When I'm eating, I think about you.
When I'm driving, reading, cutting hair, and even sleeping...I'm still thinking about you.
...But when I'm around you I can't think at all.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
I go to sleep thinking about you.
I wake up thinking about you.
When I'm doing my makeup, I'm thinking about you.
When I'm eating, I think about you.
When I'm driving, reading, cutting hair, and even sleeping...I'm still thinking about you.
...But when I'm around you I can't think at all.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 2:09 AM UTC
I want a honey moon phase type love.
Where I'm so nervous to see you and I'm so nervous when I'm around you but its still the best **** part of my day.
I want to catch you staring at me, but you quickly look away, and I'm thinking..."Wait, was just this ***** just looking at me...or am I tripping?"
I want to, get dressed up really cute for when I see you today, and have exactly what I'm going to say planned, out but stutter anyways.
I want a type of love when I admit to all of my friends how much I like you and I feel a weight lift off of me from carrying around the burden that is loving you in private.
And I want to love on you in private. I want to, sneak away and make out with you under the stairs, and get really quiet and and stand really still when we hear someone coming through the back door, but you keep trying to kiss on me anyways.
And I want to, ask you what time your lunch break is even though I already know, so I can ask you to grab some Starbucks with me. But really, because you used to work there and you know the menu a lot better than me, and like, I really want what I'm drinking to taste good because, like, five bucks is SOOO much for one stupid coffee. And what's up with Starbucks anyways. They're like a billion dollar business and I can't even get an extra pump of Carmel for free, like why would I-
sorry...
...Anyways!
I want a love where we can just ride and listen to 90's R&B; and it be the most relaxing part of our days, even though we don't really know where we're going.
I want to steal all of your hoodies to sleep in just because they smell like you, even though my covers are drenched in your scent and I'm lying under you already.
And I want that type of love where you send me flowers, and surprise me with my favorite foods for lunch. And all the girls at my job say we're so cute, but some of them have stank faces on...cause you know.
******* be hating.
And I want all your boys to love me, but really can't stand my *** because I be tripping when you go out because I just wanna have you all to myself.
And I want you to get all tight when you see someone looking at me in public, and you want to knock him out but you don't because you were raised better than that.
And I want that type of love to where I can show you this poem and you laugh and then **** me because it was cute and funny but it still kind of turned you on.
**I want that kind of love that is all you.
And nothing else.**
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
She says
*This is not a love poem.
This is a
why the **** aren't you in love poem.
A
where the **** are my white doves
And
Cinderella gloves poem.
Waiting on a fairy tale,
And
Waiting for you to tell
And
yell, to the top of your lungs
And profess your love, poem
This is a waiting for you to show em'
...Poem.
This is not a love poem.
This is a,
why are you so dumb
And
Why don't I make your heart beat like a drum
And a,
**** YOU ANYWAYS BECAUSE YOU CAN'T MAKE ME ***
Poem.*
And he says.
**This is not a love song.
This is a
We haven't even been together that long
And
I wish I could hit you instead of this ****
And
Stop telling me, to stop telling you, to stop telling me, that I do you so wrong...
Song.
This is not a love song,
This is a,
Can you shut the **** up and quit all the crying,
And be appreciative that a nigga's even trying,
Every time I **** up" you wanna pack your **** and run away,
Just to complain to your homegirls all day,
Acting like I'm treating you so wrong, because you go through my phone,
and see a picture of an *** in a thong,
So you should thank god, instead of hitting you I hit this ****
And I'll thank God, that this is not a love song.**
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
She says
*This is not a love poem.
This is a
why the **** aren't you in love poem.
A
where the **** are my white doves
And
Cinderella gloves poem.
Waiting on a fairy tale,
And
Waiting for you to tell
And
yell, to the top of your lungs
And profess your love, poem
This is a waiting for you to show em'
...Poem.
This is not a love poem.
This is a,
why are you so dumb
And
Why don't I make your heart beat like a drum
And a,
**** YOU ANYWAYS BECAUSE YOU CAN'T MAKE ME ***
Poem.*
And he says.
**This is not a love song.
This is a
We haven't even been together that long
And
I wish I could hit you instead of this ****
And
Stop telling me, to stop telling you, to stop telling me, that I do you so wrong...
Song.
This is not a love song,
This is a,
Can you shut the **** up and quit all the crying,
And be appreciative that a nigga's even trying,
Every time I **** up" you wanna pack your **** and run away,
Just to complain to your homegirls all day,
Acting like I'm treating you so wrong, because you go through my phone,
and see a picture of an *** in a thong,
So you should thank god, instead of hitting you I hit this ****
And I'll thank God, that this is not a love song.**
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
*Glances are all I get.
Glances are how I speak to you.
Do you get it?
A glance. one.
One look to ask a million questions.
"Do you know I like you?"
"Do you care?"
"How do you like my hair, curly or straight?"
"Do you think I'm ugly?"
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
"How long are you going to make me wait?"
All in a glance, just one.
I pass you in the halls and when I open my mouth to speak my brain stalls, so I just look. So I turn back around and pretend like I need my theory book, so I can ask you something, but I catch your eyes and again, I'm shook.
And I'm stuck with a glance. Just one.
"Do you have a girl?"
"What kinds of things do you like?"
"Did I rub you the wrong way?"
"Are you not interested?"
"If so, then what's you're type, who is she?"
"...Why are you doing this to me?"
I just need you to read my mind so, I can have peace of mind, and not have to wonder what if. The worst you could say is no. But its still not what I'm trying to hear. Because I don't want to see you in a year and wonder....What if.
So I'll wait for Monday, and then from Monday to Thursday, and from Thursday to Friday, and from Friday to Monday, and from 9:00 to 4:00.
So this time I'll speak up
But I hope you don't creep up
And catch me off guard
And leave me with more questions
And another glance.
Just one.
"How was your day?"
"Can I meet you at ten?"
"Where do you want to eat?"
" Can we go back to your place?"
"What's your Netflix password?"
"What do you want to watch?"
"Eew, you like this show?"
"You know I'm not paying attention, right?"
"You know I'm attracted to you, right."
"Kiss me again."
**** me."
Just read my mind and make this easier.*
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
*4:53
Seven minutes left.
I always look to left, and wait seconds to look into your eyes. And I'm not into most guys.
Will you ever know it.
I'm here till Five.
And I really wanna catch your eye.
Three seconds only.
When I'm passing you by.
And I stand here solely,
So our eyes can hit.
But will you ever know it.
Zero hints taken,
And I'm thinking,
"Do you think I'm pretty,
Do you know I'm creeping,
Do I weird you out,
....Are you thinking what I'm thinking."
Will I ever know it.
Six days in half a month.
With Seven minutes to plant my seed.
And out of all of these gorgeous faces.
Will mines ever be the one you need to see.
Before I clock out.
Please don't let us miss out.
This could be a good thing.
Will we ever know it.
On Monday I'm excited to spy.
On Wednesday I'm hoping it's the time.
And by Friday I'm angry because you let my chance slide by.
But I'm too shy to let you know it.
And now its 5:01.
I waited an extra minute this time, for you, I waited Eight. I'm hoping you're hoping it's not too late. Because one day it will be and that would be a shame.
Because you still don't know my name...
...Will you ever know.*
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC