my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.

I have little burns on my body,
like from a cigarette,
but they hurt much more,
although they haven't bled.

But those little burns, really,
aren't from a cigarette,
they are from people's looks,
looks so firm that they make me sweat.

Those looks tend to differ, though,
some feel like a cigarette,
and some feel like bullets,
that might even shoot me dead.

What a strange world it is we're living in,
some types of love, thoughts and looks
are considered sin.

People here
they hurt each other,
until they all feel paper thin
and no matter how hard we try,
we let all the hatred get under our skin.

Oh what a strange world it is we're living in.

I wonder if the one
who created this world
and made the planet spin
is watching us now
with a cruel or sorrowful grin,
when the war we unleashed
may begin,
whether he smiles only at those
who win.

Do you mean the ones who live on the other side?
Clear across the ocean, two miles in from the tide?

The ones that live with little means or the ones that live like we were meant to?
That work, play, stress, fear, and cry, just like we do?

The men who were created from the earth and the women from Adam's rib?
The ones who fall asleep staring at the same galaxies wondering if we're all there is?

Do you mean the ones in straw houses near dirt roads?
That learn how to survive on the land and wear the clothes that they sew?

Others and me,
I'm sorry, pardon me... I'm just slightly confused
Because when I think of them, I think of me
I can't separate the two.

There's no way in hell
I'm coming back to you.

You think I broke your heart,
when in fact mine split in two.
Because no matter how hard I try
I just keep falling for you.

You think I broke your heart
but there never was one to break,
'cause you only build your walls sky high
when your own feelings are at stake.

So there's no way in hell
I'm coming back to you...

Please, please don't make me to,

unless your love is true.

The sky began to fall
with the weight of the storm,
it was cold and it was warm,
the clouds, the stars, the Sun
they all began to run.

And the harm and the pain was never their aim.

But no one could have heard
what the smallest star asked
"When they were gone,
who was gonna stay?
To laugh, to cry, to play?"

The Sun replied
with a gentle smile
"When they are gone,
the rest will die."

I over-heard people talking,
I didn't mean to, really,
I was just walking by
and those fragile faces
caught my eye.

But anyways,
I didn't catch it all,
so I can only guess,
why those two fragile faces
seemed so out of their place.

From what I did hear, though,
I can assure you, those faces needed help
but what to say, huh, I wouldn't know,
truth be told,
"Ehmm? Excuse me? Hi? Hello?"

I can't tell you what they talked about,
I hope you understand,
so please don't be mad at me,
it's not that I don't trust you,
I'm just being careful, see?

Lets cut to the point, though,
I have a favour to ask.

If you see these two,
and I promise you'll know when you do,
offer them help,
if you have the power to
for what they're going through,
everyone will go through, too.