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Sierra Oct 2016
I know that you can no longer feel my fingertips tracing over your skin
but I also know that my hands will never forget just how you felt when I touched you.
Thinking too much about ghosts.
  Oct 2016 Sierra
Rapunzoll
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

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my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
Sierra Oct 2016
I have to keep my mind occupied,

I have to keep running from the thoughts
That attempt to drown me out when I am alone
And the rain pelts on my apartment window and
I feel like I am the droplets falling from the sky,
I am the clouds that are graying and
I am the thunder that emanates from above
And I am sometimes the lightning that strikes out
And hits the unsuspecting and -----

When it rains I feel normal…

And when it rains I feel like I am understood by something,

Understood by nature at its finest,
Nature with its self-destructive tendencies
Always lashing out at itself and damaging ---

I’m not alone because I’m surrounded
By the droplets who share my name and
The puddles that form underneath my feet
While I stand in the center of my living room
Watching the light from outside of my windows
Get darker until nothing can be seen

And the fragments of my mind and the
Fragments of my thoughts get sounded out
By the bellowing winds striking my apartment walls
And crashing inside of my eyes and ----

*It’s deafening but I have never felt more alive
Sierra Oct 2016
I brushed my shoulder off
And the boulder that was you
Fell to the ground

My neck feels better now.
Sierra Oct 2016
My mind is a ship cast to sea with no anchor,
Its movement determined by unpredictable waves
That wish to overtake it.
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