How do I start this?
How do I express this to you?
Well, here's the thing.
I like you. It's simple at that.
Sometimes I'll joke around,
tie your shoelaces together, say mean things,
but deep down I really do love you.
And I want you to go and give your heart to her,
not to me.
Why?
Because she will be so much better for you.
She's sophisticated,
I am quite casual.
She's smart and cute,
I'm average and insane.
She's pretty and skinny,
I am fat and ugly.
She's the one that you stare at,
I'm just that thing, that accessory, an amusement for you to use.
Though some part of me wants her to break your heart and hand it back to you,
I don't think she will, not with the way she looks at you,
and the glimmer in you eyes as you look at her,
like shimmering like sun reflections on water.
Some other part urges me to lie to myself,
they won't be together long, they'll break up,
you can finally be noticed for once,
you'll be the heroine, be the shoulder he needs.
But that's the selfish part of me.
I realize, at least he'll be happy right?
It doesn't matter if I'm content
with sitting here in the corner,
alone and observant of the love that surrounds me,
while I stay here in my sullen pitiful sphere.
It doesn't matter.
It's the way your heart beats and the way your smile
inches across your face
instantly making it all the more beautiful,
that's what matters. You'll be happy,
with someone you deserve,
someone you need in your life,
a piece of perfection,
not a berserk,
ugly,
fangirly,
lovey-dovey
nerd/geek like me.
You two turtle doves are perfect for each other,
perfect looks,
perfect grades,
perfect everything.
A barbie doll to your ken.

So please,
walk to her now,
hand her your heart,
that full and crimson thing
that beats so fast next to her, and so slow next to me,
give that to her
while I'm not looking.
Give me some mercy.

Last of all,
good luck.
I hope she will care for your heart,
the way you might care for hers,
with adoration,
kisses,
caresses,
words whispered in whimsicality,
little pearls of treasures only found with two turtle doves.
Not that I would know. And I do hope I will know someday
what it feels like to be one of those turtle doves.

In another life, I was born a painter.
Gliding colors over canvas to imitate emotion.
Stepping back and marveling at the impressionism or the modernism or the realism of what I just created.
And people could look and gawk
and give gracious complements.

In another life, I was born a dancer.
Helplessly allowing melodies to transfuse my blood and move my limbs the way ocean waves move water.
Elegance in my bones, loveliness in my tendons, beauty in my ligaments.
Boys would leap toward me
and I would jeté toward them or grand jeté away from them.

In another life, I was born a singer.
A voice of gold and diamonds
that people love to eat
and bathe in.
Like summer sunlight in the springtime,
snow on December 25th.
Things people love to experience.

But, in this life, I was born a writer
so I live with what I must.
And I'll paint with my words-
give them color and life and realism, with just a hint of impressionism.
And I'll make my words dance-
across white pages, dressed in black, the smell of sweat and blood soaked within their skin.
And I'll make my words sing-
sing the ballad of my heart and the ballad of my mind and, maybe, even the ballad of the world.

Words are not inadequacy,
even in a world of painters, dancers, and singers.

You words tell of hurt and loss
But the way you write is so much more.

You fill hello poetry with your thoughts and concerns
You open up and leave yourself raw

Your writing is quite beautiful,
Never the same, never cliche, you write what's real to you

So I want to take this time to appreciate your words.
with a few words of mine as I try to sum up how awesome you and your poetry is.

In your poem Backwards I thought it was really clever how the story is told from the bottom. I hope you realise that you don't need to be fixed you are you, you are real and that should be good enough for everybody else.

In your poem Beyond Repair I love the short simple lines that make it all the more meaningful and I like how I think I can relate to how you were feeling when writing this.

To sum it all up you really bring colour to hello poetry with your poems and I hope you keep writing and that I will see you get better and better.

It's not the talking that hurts me
It's not her giggles
It's not the walking with that hurts me
It's not how she looks at you,
I don't mind with who you talk,
Or along whose side you walk,
I just want you to be happy.
It hurts to know
That she is much prettier,
Much more interesting,
Not as needy,
Not crazy
It hurts to think you could fall for her instead.
So i'll just trip you tomorrow and hope for the best!

A little girl at the age of 6 looked up at you.
She asked..
"Grandma, can I have a cookie?"
You smiled and said
"I guess."
That girl turned 13, and she looked up at you.
She asked..
"Grandma, can you take me to the movies?"
You smiled and said
"I guess."
When she turned 16, she looked down at you from beside the hospital bed.
She asked..
"Grandma, can you please stay?"
You faintly smiled and whispered
"I guess."
Today, that little girl looks down at you once more.
A tear rolls down my cheek as I look at your grave.
They ask me..
"Sweety, will you be alright?"
My voice cracks as I whisper
"I guess."