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Soul mates
Marriage
I'm still on the fence.

But I never lied once when it comes to love, in my defense.
I never said forever if forever wasn't meant.

And I suppose it's impossible to use something for all your life and not expect any dents.

I guess this is my best and worst subject, everything for which my life was meant.
She never skips a micro-meal
She's familiar with her own late night solo acts
Reaching down, drenched nine fathoms deep

He's on the outside looking in
Slipping on his finger-less gloves
Hiding behind a smile as his feet take him
Somewhere dead

Over-stuffed mellow-dramatics
Prima Donas and drama queens

Its four o'clock I need, a pick me up
It's too early for this, I need my stuff
Oh, it's nothing, don't ask me what

It's time, time for my medicine
It's time, that time yet again
It's time, my habitual regimen

Soul subtraction brings me satisfaction
Eternal extraction gives me satisfaction

Security
Comfort
Vindication

Means to an end
All's well that ends well
I mean well
Well, ****

       -Tommy Johnson
 Aug 2014 brokenperfection
Ally
You told me your favorite color was orange at least three times, you loved everything about it. I never really liked it much, the fruit or the shade it was, it used to give me headaches. You said you loved the way it was part of the sunset, right before the sun hits the horizon and the colors start to blur, you loved the way it was everything all at once, and in my mind I thought, "just like you." I'd get married in an orange dress if I could spend the rest of my life with you, and I know it gives me headaches when I stare at it too long but you're like the orange sunset and I'd stare at you forever if you'd let me.
Part of my color series.  Not my favorite.
One year since I met him.
Six months since I saw him.
Three since I've spoken to him.
And finally I'm done.
Like polar bears lumbering
Over sand dunes I'm dried up.
I can't believe that he was a man
For whom I thought I could have
Written epics for.

I need new inspiration.
When your muse is fickle
As leaves on deciduous trees
One must find a new source
For the Mississippi.

I will take up crime, start small.
Jaywalking!
And write a limerick about the
Thrill of it.

I'll dance with more than one
Man in a night let them touch
But not keep. They cannot
Breach this beach it's mine.
I don't invite strangers into my
Bed, I take none of them home,
but somehow they're all a poem.
I don't want to be a writer
With pages of ex-lovers in
Her notebooks scrawled
Out in ink, like blood,
Like tears from a flood.
Cause I will pour out all
My words, my language is
Love, on the pages balled
Up in waste baskets hidden.
My heart beats to a rhythm
Too irregular a meter
For most to keep up.
I get it.

A muse is old news.
I can write it better
Than some hipster sweater
Wearing, never texting first,
Fall in and out of love headfirst
Kinda man.

But oh man, I'd love a man
With whom I would write
Perpetual sonnets.
Fill volumes with devotion
Not about one night but all
The nights that we fall asleep
Together knowing that tomorrow
Is another day I get to write about him.
And though nothing will be new
There will be something beautiful
About when the whiskey on his breath
Meets the coffee on mine.
We all have our vices,
The idea of love is mine.
Each kiss would taste like rhyme
A thief he'd steal my heart
A victimless crime.

Till then I will take new roads
Through yellow wood and
Envy the song of the nightingale,
Because I too know why the
Caged bird sings.
It rests in my chest, flutters,
And gets excited by others
Touch and false promises.
I promise this: I will wait love
But idle shall my pen never be.
My eyes are drooping,
I should be sleeping,
All that's keeping
Me awake is reading
about how **ed up
The  World Is.
 Aug 2014 brokenperfection
Lily H
What is it about maps
And wide expanses
That touches my soul

Maybe it is that we are all maps
Some easily unfolded, some tightly rolled
Just wanting to be opened and explored

I’m begging to explore you
Trace each contour, feel the rising and falling
And etch your body in my mind

There’s this need to get as close as possible
To lounge within the confines of your arms
Learning what tectonic experiences created the landscape of your mind

But at the same time
Who am I,
To lay claim to any piece of you

You rival the greatest unknown places
Shrouded in mystery
Obscured by great distances and wide empty spaces

And even I
So small and naïve with my ball of string
Know the dangers of this endeavor
 Aug 2014 brokenperfection
Q
You'll never admit
Just how soft you are inside
How you'll always help those in need
You'll never, never confide

But I don't need your words
To see past your tough facade
As every action you make proves me right
And I'm filled with awe

You are kind beyond words
Sweet beyond needs
Humble beyond shyness
Fair in your deeds

And when you ask why I chuckle
I'll always say
No matter how you hide it
You're such a tsundere

*Tsundere:  character development process that describes a person who is initially cold and even hostile towards another person before gradually showing his or her warm side over time
It's like a holy war
When the masses march upon me.
The whole scene leaves me sore--
A hole seen by those who soar--
And, broken and bloodied,
I grin up at them and ask for more.

It's like a holy war,
And its when those holy *******--
A horde, a mass, of masochistic masters--
Hone on me like a holy task, there's
No greater sight for my eyes to see.
When they're still so certain;
Certain that the unholy one is me.

Twasn't me that drew this curtain,
And I ain't the one that's hurtin',
When they make their deals with devils.
See, it isn't standing up to rebels
When your convictions tremble;
It's your morals that need sortin'.

In this war of a devils against devil,
It won't be the youngbloods left to revel.

Come at me with your holy war--
I've fought before and demanded more--
But you'll come to find that what's in store
Will be far greater than what you're aiming for.

I don't see why you can't admit it:
That you've become demons, just like I did.
Yes, there's a darkness within me,
But, as the villain you want to see,
I'm afraid that I just can't take credit.
When the greatest sin that I've committed,
Was shedding light on all that you all did.
Been a while since I busted out anything new, so I figured I'd hit the scene with a bang (hello again, HelloPoetry <3 ). I've been writing a lot lately, so a lot of the rhythm here is inspired by some of my favorite J-rock & Visual Kei bands (the music that makes up my writing playlist) as well as the lyrical flow of rap/hip-hop (a genre I've found myself increasingly drawn to lately for whatever reason (I never fight these things  lol).

As is the case a lot of the time, this is hardly illustrating JUST a personal struggle, but offering some support to so many others who face a similar struggle of their own. To those in such a situation, this poem is for you, and let me remind you that you not only have strength in numbers, but your own untapped strength, as well.

I find myself--either for my religious or moral/ethical views or any other reason that people see fit--often targeted by a person or persons who see fit to villainize me, and I find myself growing suspicious that the only reason for this is so they can feel like the heroes when they take me down.
Sadly for them, I've yet to fall, and I wish the same strength and track record to those out there facing the same situation.
Beware: Do not fall in Love with an artist.

An artist is definitely the most dangerous to fall into a relationship with.
You won’t even know you’re the exact facsimile of their work.

They will tear your heart to bits,
more than likely to generate a new showpiece.

They will watch your irises go from fields in bloom to dull skies,
and your black pupils go from metallic to charcoal.

They will be able to stroke your hair softer than a paintbrush,
and watch your little detail emerge from something pallid.

They will be able to memorize the structure of your face,
then round your cheeks and chisel your dimples into rock.

They will sing lightly the melody you’ve made,
as they cling to your torso as if a life source.

Do you see the danger?
For the love of god, beware.
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