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 Feb 2017 Dwarde Ozadal
Love
I guess I won that stupid fight of "I love you more."
 Oct 2016 Dwarde Ozadal
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. :)
 Sep 2016 Dwarde Ozadal
Em
Jealousy
 Sep 2016 Dwarde Ozadal
Em
I'm not insecure. I'm jealous and unrightfully so. You're not mine.  I'm jealous of anyone who catches your eye, I'm jealous of anyone who snags your attention. I'm jealous of the ones who take your time. I'm insanely jealous of anyone who makes you smile, feel, live more than I do. I have 41 days, 16 hours and approximately 32 minutes left here. I completely understand that you would not want to commit to that, to me when I will be 800 miles away. But I'm still here for now. I'm here now. Make these moments count. These should be what matter. Don't be scared, because you know I'm going to leave please. I just want to love you deeper than anyone else has, or will. Why can't you let me?
Written 9.17.16
I will tell
Anyone who asks
That I love you
But I will tell
Anyone who doesn't
That I don't
Because I offer lies
But reward questions
With the truth

***** This
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
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