You knew I was a poet, before you knew my kiss You knew the way to become the ink in my pages, was to break my heart You knew to become this poem, you needed a fire to start. And so you did, And so you did. You pulled, the ***** trick.
i could search for metaphors more words to describe this pain little haiku’s, saying i love you and yet i hate you in simple words, you cheated on me, and became the king of cowards when you cried to me, as if you had done nothing
We are no longer strangers, I say, as I hold my own hand in comfort. We are friends, I say, as I weep away the past. We are home, I say, as I finally smile, I am home.
We write about love, like it is here, like it is whispering to us. When most, who write about love, are writing love, instead of, loss, hurt, and anger.