Play my body like you play guitar
Strum me softly with your calloused fingers
Watch my body move with your rhythm
Make me hum with your love
Turn me into your beautiful masterpiece

Never love a poet so much,
for she will build her world around you.
She’ll contrast you to the sun and stars;
she will love you so.

She will give you lovely notes
to brighten up your day.
You’ll find it a little weird
but you look forward to it, anyway.

Never love a poet so much,
for she will invest a lot in you.
She will become the person you’ll only ever need
without taking a lot from you.

She will take you to places,
and make you experience things
within a room's four corners
and her words as your wings.

Never love a poet so much,
for even after all those things
she will take away her love,
and leave you without a trace
with her heartache as her fuel
for another masterpiece.

This nickname that so many use. Nothing special, four letters, one syllable. How can one word mean so much to so many people? How can one word bring on a horde of butterflies from you and nausea from someone else? What made you so special in my mind that you were the only one who was allowed to say it? A simple word, yet filled with so much meaning. Two syllables that are filled with so many memories between each letter. Such love and despair and heartbreak all in one word. No, it is not I Love You that makes my world fall apart when you say it. It is the simple word Babe.

15 years old, laying in a bed about to give a first to a boy she will never love
15 years old, large rough hands tangled in her dark hair as harsh lips meet hers
15 years old, thinking about a boy with chocolate eyes while curled against another
15 years old, he calls her "babe" and she cringes for that nickname should only roll off another's tongue
15 years old, he asks for more than she wants to give him
How can a 15 year old love a boy who doesn't hold her heart?
How can a 15 year old love a boy who took her heart and destroyed it?
How can a 15 year old know what love even is?

The cold it numbs, but the memories last
The shackles that hold me grow tighter with each breath
But freedom it seems I just cannot grasp
Seconds seem like hours
Hours seem like years
and time itself I seem to have lost
For fear keeps me chained,
and darkness steals what little light is left in the world

~~<@>~~

The tears of a rose
Will soak and stain
They're from her heart
They're stored up rain

They come from heaven
To flow down thorns
They sing in screams
From her lips torn

They can be acid
To burn the bloom
They can be crystal
Reflecting moons

The rose will open
In dead of night
The tears from petals
Refract the light

They cascade down
Drop from the leaves
For her soul
She sits and grieves

For her soul
The drops fall down
They feed her roots
Under the ground

They bring her back
The legend goes
There's healing in

Tears of a rose


SøułSurvivør
(C) 10/3/2017