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The Broken Poet Jun 2015
Never rely so heavily on a person
Whenever you fall asleep in your bed they may not be there
They're not by your side holding your hand
There not behind the closed doors holding you while you cry
Your trembling body violently shaking like a tornado
Your tears flowing from your eyes like a waterfall
A hurricane is forming within
The wind gets heavier and picks up what remains
All that is left is a desert
Nobody is there
It's just you
Never rely on one so heavily
That you have planned a schedule
One day they'll leave you
One day they'll die
One day y'all will get into a fight
So please, my Darlin'
Stay independent
For how can one heart fill two?
How can one casket fill two?
  Jun 2015 The Broken Poet
Nicole Dawn
The elements and I
Have a special connection

Earth:
I feel as though,
I am six feet under
Every day and night

Wind:
The gale's greedy fingers
Push me slowly
Toward the edge of the cliff

Water:
The strong ocean
Pushes me under
Continually

Fire:
The beautiful flames
Lick my skin
Slowly burning me to ash

I have a special connection
With the elements
  Jun 2015 The Broken Poet
Nicole Dawn
Poetry is just taking

Fear
Pain
And anger
And forcing it into words

Poetry is simply taking

Sadness
Depression
And anxiety
And giving it rhythm

Poetry is merely taking

Worry
Love
And broken hearts
And making it a pattern

Poetry is taking these things
And writing it in blood
Pouring your heart out
And giving them life
The Broken Poet Jun 2015
My swimming pool was full of dirt
Why do you let every little feeling hurt
My pool decides what stays in and what goes out
Why must you fill yourself with doubt
My pool always stays pure
Why must you let the pain endure
My pool moves itself
Why must you hurt yourself
My pool leaves quite the impression
Why must you label yourself with depression
My pool filter cleanses the filthy water and makes it happy
Why must you make yourself feel ******?
The Broken Poet Jun 2015
He's at the bar drinking with his buddies
They can barely understand him
His words are slurry
His vision is blurry
He asks for one more beer
They say 'okay last one'
15 beers later it's closing time.
My heart is the true poet
Whatever it wants my body works for it
My cramping hand slowly glides the paper
Quickly being filled with letters
Stringing the paper and filling its empty void
I think to myself, 'just one more'
I am no better than the alcoholic
They have an aching head the next morning
I have an aching hand
I don't know when to stop
I love writing about nothing and everything
Each poem I write sparks a new one
'Just one more,'  every poet says.
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