Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
B Bonnete Feb 8
You can't describe what it feels like when you see "her"
It's like when someone steps on your throats and pours hot wax down your legs
At the same time
But in a good way
Falling in love sounds so nice
Until you forget the presence of the word fall
Falling exposes every inch of your humanity and vulnerability
And sells it to the next stranger passing by
She doesn't realize that my soul is in the palm of her hand
That I will willingly shapeshift myself into the perfect lover for her
She makes everyday a steaming cup of coffee
Her touch makes everyday a swirl of serendipity
Her simplicity makes everyday so incredibly easy and so incredibly **** hard
Yet I can't say I mind
She is so beautiful
You can't describe beauty to someone because you could make anything sound beautiful but reality would drift away with subjectivity
Her beauty is common truth
A commandment that stands as valid as any of the ten
It was evident
And I fell into her
When she laughs ants crawl down my throat and seek refuge
Knawing away at my pride and vanity
I knew that in that moment anything could happen and I would remain unchanged
There is nothing I wouldn't forgive
No broken bones or hearts that I would hesitate to fix
I would be honored to even linger on her tongue in the same sentence as "I love you"
Each time we've kissed my lips got lost in my mind
And my mind got lost in a void of bittersweet ****
And my tongue got lost in an  I love you that came too soon
I had to tell her that it was a lie
You can't fall in love that fast
You can't possibly
I took back my affection and it slit my heart
Blood gushing through the wound as it would a hospitalized patient
The only stitches that could be made were by her
only she had the compassion that would make this golden string fit into my raptured arteries
Her soft touch, the only variable that could bring me back to life in this fatal operation called love
I was a patient of her disposition
And for once
I didn't catch my fall
2017
B Bonnete Feb 8
Like the river trailing downton roads
Into your clutch, my sweet love flows
Soul grown weary at your expense
Your touch my dear, lets down defense
I used to bow my head at night
But as you are my moon, your smile glows bright
With the winds a’ blowing
With my pen a’ flowing
Each kept pace of nature’s quill
You ask me if I’ll keep you close, forever darling, I will
We lay in colored leaves from noon to creeping dawn
Hands held, passion unveiled, life’s cataclysms begone
In years foregone I wish you luck
But if you find better than I
Remember that Like the river, darling, my love shall never run dry
2018
B Bonnete Feb 8
In a world where me is you
I contemplate who I really am
Maybe the remains of old chalkboard dust
Maybe the sunrise that no one got to see
Maybe yours
Maybe in a past life, I was yours
And coffee was bitter but mornings were sweet
And the music I wore followed me into the street
I say this because the first day I layed eyes on your face
I remembered it from my dreams
The first time I heard you speak,
I remembered you singing me to sleep
The first time I saw your figure
I remembered holding it close to me on nights where no one else understood that the ground on which I stood was enflamed and you were the one to unroofed the whick without fear of burning
I remember a lot of things about you
Like the way your hands fit mine to allow no crevices untouched
Perfectly intertwined
But it wasn’t perfect
Of course it wasn’t
Because perfect would mean that we were void of flaws
But my darling your flaws are what made me fall for you in the first place
And I fell hard
But instead of bringing me back up, you layed down next to me and looked over
Under the endless infinity of galaxies, you hid behind beautiful pairs of hazel eyes
And said “I’m not going anywhere. If you’re down so am I”
And so we fell together
But the wounds were preemptive
These wounds we filled with poems
And letters
And roses
These wounds we filled with passion
And love
And cardboard boxes
These wounds we filled with each other
So when I see you
And I feel like my chest is holding a pride of starved lions
Just know
That nostalgia brings me back
To a better time
A time where I was
Maybe
Yours
2019
B Bonnete Feb 8
There's a boy in Venice
He sits quietly in a sullen ally
Velvet hands, scarlet feet
Strumming his guitar
He sings with a voice rooted in pain
Scratched by broken dreams
But when he played
His heart filled the empty arpeggio
With no other ambition but to please
He sat, and he played with ease
Staring down at his everything
Loving her

There's a girl in satin
Holding onto her chest
Shame succumbed by joy
Painting her bambola’s face
Her small feet dangling from the golden framed chair
Pink cheeks
Braided hair
Her doll looked the same
Putting down the paint brush she sat there
Loving her

The boy in Venice plays,
He strokes the strings
Hopping from one string to the other
Calloused extremities creating a symphony
And the girl in satin heard
And she danced
The boy who's face was viewed by none shifted up
And he danced
Two people
one world
one song
2020
B Bonnete Feb 8
As I stand on top of this skyscraper
Nothing could feel so real
Life flowing through the fabric
love flowing through my veins
Serendipity dripping from my fingertips and collecting on the pavement below me
As I stand on top of this skyscraper I think of the gifts life has given me
I recall the riveting clouds hanging from the evanescence ceiling
I bring up the blue that I stand within
I feel my way through my ripped up chuck Taylors and I feel so alive
Every ligament in my body outstretched until my muscles drew into the atmosphere and I became part of this melodious symphony that never ends
As I stand on top of this skyscraper I look down at the people below
Those conversing as though every small stress defines them
Those loving the taste of bittersweet life lingering on their pallets
Those with the heart aches hanging over them mirroring how their day should play out
We get so caught up in life
We forget what it really means
Life is waking up during a hurricane next to someone who is your sunshine
Life is breathing in every ounce of air whilst standing in the middle of a subway
Life is hearing an I love you even when you deserve it the least
Life is standing on top of a skyscraper and stepping down
2020
B Bonnete Feb 8
Will you do something great today

Will you do something grand

Will you stand up and prance and sing with life holding your hand

Will you tell all who seem to doubt

Your grace and extraordinaire

That nothing, simply nothing will

Knock your lungs of this fresh air

For everyday is a journey I belt

From rooftops to misty screens

All who despise me I hold so dear,

I’ve made friends of cowardly fiends

The world is mine to conquer, and every battle with lessons taught

So if you try to dull this greatness my dear

You shall be left distraught
2019
B Bonnete Feb 8
The beat had been so bastardized that a tree had grown to protect it;
To harbor silence in the cacophony of pain ridden daggers.
Isolation was the only remedy to a disease persistent to turn past into present,
So she grew on her own terms, and her heart beat for no one but herself,
Because to let someone in, meant to risk axing away at the barricade she had worked so arduously to withstand.
When she fell into him the first time, the wounds were preemptive.
Her brittle bones cast away at the hopes that he would see her heart before her mind;
From which idiosyncratic branches wrapped around her fingertips,
And the oak shards springing from within, just barely inching away from his own heart.
Strangely enough, he didn’t seem to mind.
When he stripped to bare back the scars were evident,
They cascaded from collarbone to the dip of his hip.
That’s when he brought her closer and whispered marvelously:
“I would bleed again for you.”
At the beginning, the boy hurt,
Yet he still saw her heart and the purity it held between the prongs of a wooden cage.
So he continued to hurt, for her.
His mission rooted in the purpose of painting her the canvas of what life ought to be.
Penciling in the possibility of a reality where her aching shoulders could be lifted,
And a new smile plastered onto her lifeless frame.
He painted her in the image of who she used to be-
As if he knew her soul before it had grown weary at life’s expense.
In the canvas, the wooden cage had disappeared, and an ethereal luminosity shown through her chest.
He had unveiled her heart, and no longer was it encompassed by a shell, but freely beating;
Beating for him.
Every morning, day in and day out, meters of her branches gradually retracted,
And the boy’s scars gradually sealed over to a blank canvas.
Oddly enough, it seemed as if they had healed each other.
That the quiet embraces they held each night didn’t pierce him,
but rather comforted his mind that this time, it would be different.
Somehow, she would come to love him, and him, her.
She saw in him a soldier; whose battle wounds were ghastly.
He had lived through hell and came back to dispel the stories,
But instead of stories of agony and woe, and anger and spite,
He spoke of the morning dew on dandelions reflecting the sun’s rays and how they most beautifully sprung from nothing.
He spoke of the quiet whispers of the wind bringing music to deaf ears.
He spoke of how if you listen closely, you can almost hear each cricket sing its song
in a field of thousands.
In his mind beauty overcame ugly, and happiness was the remedy to any solemnity.
Each time he kissed her,
he did as if it were the last.
Each time he held her,
he did as if she were asleep.
Each time he healed her wounds,
he did as if they were preemptive.
2020
B Bonnete Feb 8
Have I yet to find the rose
That lay me here to weep
Have I yet to shake the blows
That life hath let me reap

For where art the bolt that struck my soul
And buried thy hopes and dreams
Furthermore how canst I forget
The agony that hath reached umpteen’s

Therefore my rose, I bid you farewell
I beg thee, find another
if asked, my dear, I shall not tell
That all this time, Ive mourned you every hour

Infinities past, death waltz’s by
Close to you, my still beating heart lie
2019

— The End —