some say that pain is inevitable when it comes to love
that you're bound to get hurt one way or the other
that you're no match for the force of human nature,
that is to hurt the ones you love
i say—let it.
let it scar.
let it hurt.
—and let it hurt badly.
leave me broken
and leave me crying
leave me lonely
and leave me dying
because if love means waiting years and years
just to spend one fraction of a moment
where we belong to each other
then all of the wait
and all the weight on our shoulders
would be worth everything
we've been trying so hard to resist.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
please tell him, that i always see his face
in every stranger that passes.
please tell him that when the sun goes down, my heart cant remember anything but his name
please tell him that when im lying in bed at 3am looking for traces of him on my inbox, i always end up hopeless
please tell him that when im pouring my heart out to pen and paper, its always for him, always
please tell him that when i close my eyes, im surrounded by memories of us
please tel him that im waiting, im always waiting
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
What if
I
Fall
In
Love
With
A
Poet?
What if he mesmerises me
With his lines?
What if
His words touch me
And kiss
Through my skin?
What if i search for
Him
Everyday
And
Travel through
His words
And meet him
Somewhere
And
We
Become bare
And he caresses
Me
With every
Stanza
And
Here
I am
Again
Searching
For him,
Wanting
Him
With
All
Desire
Waiting
For
His
Next
Poem
To
Take
Me
To
His
World
Where
We
Will
Lay
Bare
What if
I
Fall in love
With
A
Poet?
© Evna-Luna
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 9:51 AM UTC
im sorry i saw venus in your galaxy eyes
when it was nothing but
dim
im sorry it felt electric whenever our skins grazed against each other
when you were just
cold
im sorry it felt nervous
looking into your devil smile
when you were just
ecstatic
im sorry it felt like home evrytime you said my name
when you were just
lonely
im sorry it took so long to forget your face
when you never even bothered to remember my name
but most of all,
im sorry i put all these metaphors
to your ordinary features
when all you gave me was 3 years of agony and a lifetime's worth of absence
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:57 AM UTC
im not much of a poet,
but his eyes look like comets
rushing to fall onto me,
being engulfed by earth's pull
im not much of a poet,
but i swear his skin
feels like the first drop of water
on a hot summer shower
im not much of a poet,
but his smile spreads across
my skyline like sunshine
on an early morning jog
im not much of a poet,
and he's not much of my poetry.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
He's not really good with words,
but every sentence spills out of his lips
like a ballad waiting to be sung.
He's not really good with words,
but for every 10 apologies,
he gives out a million i love you's to make up for it.
He's not really good with words
but every letter that slops out of his ink
sounds like the playing sonnets of Beethoven.
He's not really good with words
but his touch feels like warm coffee
on a drizzling sunday afternoon.
He's not really good with words,
but if actions could speak,
every space in his entire being would scream out her name.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 2:31 AM UTC
1. We are critical.
We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.
2. We are never satisfied.
We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.
3. We never forget.
We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.
4. We are fickle.
Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.
5. We are exposed.
We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.
6. We are vulnerable.
We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.
7. We will never stop.
We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.
We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
I think what Icarus forgot
Was that the sun was never his to touch,
Blinding and beautiful as it was.
Yet he reached anyway--
Doesn’t that remind you of something?
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
You made a poet fall in love with you
And expected her not to write sonnets about your eyes
Haikus about the way you kissed her in the moonlight
Expected the fire in her heart not to inspire couplets
You made a poet fall in love with you, and when you left
Expected her not to write pages about the ache in her chest
Write a soliloquy dedicated to her tears
Expected her not to feel every gut wrenching moment of the pen hitting paper like your words hit her in the most vulnerable places of her mind.
You made a poet fall in love with you, and you expected her to be silent.
That is no fault of hers.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC