Asked to be safe, to be calm,
with the suction-pores of each palm.
Lips in twist with skin so sour,
drawing blood to drown a flower.
Pulling back, to study faces,
shaking out of sure embraces,
her heels kicked out
and her face soon followed,
and what she left,
I chewed and swallowed.

What is this fluttering in my chest whenever I see him?
What are these butterflies doing in my stomach?
Why are my knees weak whenever he smiles?
Why do I smile when I think of him?
Why does my heart pound when I talk to him?

What are these strange feelings I am experiencing?

Perhaps I am coming down with something.
Yes, that must be the case.
I must be sick with fever perhaps;
That explains my cheeks heating up.
Or a cold of some kind;
That explains my breath being caught in my throat.
Or maybe I was stung by a mosquito?
Ah yes, that's why my skin tingles.

My doctor says there's nothing wrong,
I can't seem to figure out what's going on.

You fell in love with my poetry
But does that mean you know how to love me?
Have you ever loved a poet before?
Do you understand it may take a little more?

We see things more vivid than most people do
We may seem distant sometimes
Because we are

Lost in our thoughts or daydreams
Beautiful things will sometimes make us cry
I am telling you this so you don't have to wonder why

If you love a poet
You must not be the jealous type
If you ever plan to make a poet your wife

Our poetry is for everyone, not just you
This is something you must understand
If you want a poet to be your man

Sometimes our words will come out better on paper
Than when we are speaking to you
Sometimes we still might feel alone
No matter what you say or do

Do you really understand what it takes to love a poet?
Do not let our words intimidate you or expect to heal our scars
Just accept us for the beautiful souls we are

We will love you like no other
And the way we will show it will leave you smitten
We will again and again proclaim it through the poems we've written

When you love a poet
Each kiss will be a masterpiece
Each embrace will be the first and last

When you love a poet
They will be a puzzle
And you will be a puzzle piece

Life is not hateful. Nature is.

A person can't make It happen so
he acts as a shark and moves without remorse, though
a mere ten second's contemplation
and emotional, intellectual understanding
of the things he, without sorrow, ignites in his wake,
would be enough to force his hand to
tie that well deserved noose and slip it around
his slimy neck and hang himself dead.
He, much like a snake, is deaf to the
screams of those he has bitten, and blind
to the ruin behind him. His one track mind -
his selfish mind - which blocks out all that his nature doesn't wish
for him
to acknowledge - does
for him
what is convenient
for him.
Eliminates the reality
for him.
That is his nature's wish.

I sit for hours contemplating what it is to feel loved
did I ever truly experience this?
I don't mean loved by family,
I'm italian of course I feel love from them

But what about that one boy I dated?
Did he ever even love me...
Or did he just pitty me..

It's something bitter you give me
It's like this toxic..
aching.
I've felt this before,
but I felt it when I first felt heartbreak.