She was with him and he with her,
Like parallel lines, they really were.
One loved the other but couldn't tell,
Likes they were, but they could not repel.

Curious they were about each other,
Like when a child sees another.
Strongly anxious yet hesitant,
Innocent it was, something prevalent.

It was special, that exact moment.
Better than love or any sort of romance.
Friends they were and they loved each other,
He looked at her, like he looked into the mirror.

I have met many people
But no one like you
Each and every day
You make me feel brand new

Your eyes are like fireflies in the dark
They shine so bright emitting the light of love
Sometimes i feel like...
...you are an angel sent from above

Your lips are as red as rose
Your hair blacker than the darkest night
When the moonlight shines upon you
Oh!....you're quite the sight

You arouse my soul
Complete me on the whole
Your love is so strong...
...that with it by my side
I can never do any wrong

does the city sleep
or does the city
stay alive for her
precious woman
haunts my dreams every single night
the storm approaches
she’s fit and strong
i am not
i am nothing but the ocean
passing by in waves
waiting for you
to find me

unable to tell you my deepest thoughts
for months wondering "is this the worst?"
        do you see how far we fell
is the question that I often say
like a shy weak girl starting to create a song
while we become more apart.

running to you at my best speed
hearing your yell that you're doing the same
hoping that the little fire we managed to create
will not die in the void we started to feel
meanwhile replaying part two of the song
       *until we meet again, my love.

It was once said that we "accept the love we think we deserve",
and I think of you and all the ways you'd shatter my nerves;
when you'd raise your voice or even a hand
every time I did something wrong - a mark on my skin you'd brand.

I was your canvas and your punches were the paintbrushes colouring me in,
painting me in explosions of blue, purple, red; completely covering my skin.
I took the poison you leaked and absorbed it entirely,
calling it love and I thought of you very highly.

I'd just wipe away my tears and apologise for making you mad,
convincing myself that I was the one who was bad -
but really you were the gunman shooting me down,
and the one pushing my head under the water hoping I'd drown.

It was once said that we "accept the love we think we deserve"
and as I sit here reflecting our "love" with reserve,
I realise I thought I was worthy of nothing but your violence,
but now I know better and the compassion I truly deserve is priceless.

i. Cut your heart open
Take a knife, twist your heart open. Watch as everything you have bottled up
spill on the floor. Break it into pieces and trample on the glasses. Listen to
what it’s trying to tell you. Uncover every hidden desire and side-swept secrets.
For once in a long time, be honest with yourself. You’ve spent so much time
locking everyone out. You’ve even kept your own identity from yourself. This is
how you start writing a poem: Cut your heart open, be honest with yourself.

ii. Give yourself the freedom to feel
Face yourself. Touch your reflection if that’s what makes you real. Remind
yourself of your inner core and get rid of your inability to feel. For so long
you’ve masked the pain, ignored the numbness and forgot about the rain.
Feel the anger running in your veins because of all the time you’ve wasted
on someone who never deserved your love. Let a river’s load of tears gush
out your eyes, feel the despair of how you have loved but lost. Feel the loathe
you have for yourself because you’re so pathetic; because no matter what
you’d do anything to have him back. Clutch your chest as you feel the
physical ache in your heart because it’s broke and distorted in a way
it’s never been before. This is how you make a poem great: Give
yourself the freedom to feel, share with the world your raw emotions.

iii. Take the bitterness and turn them into pretty words
Take a paper and pen. Translate the way you feel onto a clean sheet of paper.
This is the only time you’ll ever have a clean start again. Take all the words
you have at the back of your mind and write them down. Let the pain and the ache,
the anger and the hurt, make their way on the paper. Don’t think too much
about it, the words you have they’re all who you are. Tell the story you’ve
kept in for so long and let them glide from the pen through the paper. Write
all you think that is necessary. Don’t think about what people will say. Because
a poem is a poem, it’ll be bitter and pretty. That’s the glory in the poem, it’s
ambiguity. This is how you write a poem: You stay bitter yet it will come out
pretty. No matter the bitterness, you always have the ability to make it pretty.

Get tired of me like it always goes.
Tired of me and my ways
Of pretending you truly care for
Me, me, the one who's too dull, too plain for anyone
Like a faded dream, a dead star.
It always happens, these words and stories don't matter to anyone.
Always just wishing for more, and all I'll never have
Goes past me as a reminder that I am not enough.