Love her like
She's the raging sea,
Unrestrained and dark and deep.
And you crave her touch
Through aching pores
As you slowly drown in sleep.

Love her like
She's the tender storm,
A lovely shade of grey.
Like with every whiff
Of breath she takes,
She's taking yours away.

Love her like
She's the silent clouds
With calmness floating by.
Like you'd want to make
Sweet love to her
Under the moon's apocalyptic eye.

Love her like
She's the blazing fire,
And you lust the candied pain.
Like she's the disease
That swallowed you whole
And you'd like to die again.

When her gentle touch
Makes your chest explode,
And your addiction is your girl.
Promise you'll love her
Through hell and back,
Or don't you dare love her at all.

You vanished.
Your replacement,
It doesn't fool me.

Hate that poetry is you.
Hate that poetry makes you.
Hate that you become your poetry.

How do you survive
knowing that you're feelings are your
own

It makes it easier to write if they're not

Poetry
and
your Identity
like saying my ID is older than yours
therefore I am ancient

I thought poetry was a series of
notes and rhythms;
had to sing myself to sleep
with a voice too raspy from the tears.

I didn't know poetry was the coma
you wake up from
when you find the right words
to express your thoughts.

I didn't know it was
the lonely you feel
on the nights surrounded by humans
but no people.

So I waited and prayed for the words,
didn't let poetry bring me to my knees.
Praise God,
praise God we can express ourselves.

And I would've never believed
that poetry would make you
feel alive in the pain,
proud in the shame,
forever changed.

Back when I thought poetry rhymed.

Living in a world
Suffering from Empathy Dystrophy
More concerned with their reality shows
And clean windows
While others live in trash
With people throwing away things
Others would **** to have