You take that **** thrusted upon you
You pick out the nutrients from that compost
And make it work in your favour
Grow from it
Because
Because god ******* ****** you're worth more than this
And you know it

Root yourself
Anchor using your values
Build that steady foundation

Then take it from the bottom up
Defy gravity
Chasing the sun

And after your beautiful bloom
You will die
But not in vain

Others will stem from your knowledge left behind in the soil

I think “I love you” and “I’m in love with you” are completely different things. “I love you” is a thing people use to sell greeting cards, or cliché movies, it propels you into this world of relationships.


but “I’m in love with you” is sitting on the couch with my legs in your lap, my cold fingers intertwined with your warm ones. you and I watching my favorite tv show even though you loath it. “I’m in love with you” is staying up until 4am talking about nothing special, its waking up in the afternoon and making breakfast together, sitting on our balcony and drinking coffee, and rereading our favorite books. “I’m in love with you” is me rubbing your shoulders when you come home because you had a ******* day. you wiping my tears and whispering encouraging words in my ear after we fight. “I’m in love with you” is you going along with my stupid Christmas traditions even when you think they are silly. me laughing at your stupid corny jokes, because you know how much I love them. “I’m in love with you” is us attending your families weekly dinners, even though you loath to go because you think your family is weird but you love them anyway. its you thinking its cute when I blush, even though I loath that you have that affect on me. “I’m in love with you.”

"you always hurt the ones you love."
as if saying that sentence makes it better.
it makes it ok to hurt the ones you love, because you know they love you also and they would forgive you.

it makes it ok to yell in the face of the one you love, to make them cower in fear. it makes it ok to push the one you love into the coffee table, it makes it ok to give the one you love a red hand print on there cheek.

it makes it ok to come back hours later and hug them and ask them if they are ok, and to never speak of what happened again and not even say sorry just like it never happened, because you "love" them.

This is the highway of fallen kings.
The place where pharaohs go to rest.
The dungeon where crowns are thrown,
Because they no longer have value.
They mean nothing.
Everything you touch becomes nothing and,
Even the strongest fall under your scrutiny.

This is the wasteland of dreams.
The place where hopes go to rest.
For nothing conquers your unconquered heart.
Nothing will florish under your glory.
Every territory is under your dominance.
playing with my heart
toying with my mind and
Evidently pulling hard,
Ripping at my heart strings
I guess the mighty *****,
Isn't so mighty.

This is the epiphany of heartbreak.
The sudden realization that...
Pharaohs will fall.
Crowns will also fall.
Dreams are sometimes nightmares.
One can only hope.
Superiors remain supreme.

And of course...

The weak is forever at your disposal..

My soul is in surgery.
Tattered pieces are currently being sewn together.
Needles, of diamonds.
Stitched, with Ivory.
Repainted. With shades of ichor.
None but the gods have the power to save what little of it remains.
Their hands, claw deep into my being and it pains,
Once they are through,
It will be as good as new.

My soul needs beautifying.
Lavished with Koi ponds,
To replace the craters.
Polished with Orchids,
To replace the dead roses.
I somehow trust that someday
It will regain its glory.
And that the world will see it smile again.
It no longer wants to be in ruins.

Nuclear bombs still explode in my chest.
Miniature mushroom clouds rise from my insides,
Because heart palpitations,
Isn't enough to explain the way I feel about you.

Eagles still flutter in my stomach.
Their wings still cut me from the insides,
Because tiny little butterflies,
Doesn't even begin to explain how nervous you make me.

Roses crawl up from my mouth.
Thorns, wrap around my tongue,
Because being at a lost of words...
Is only half of the story..

My legs are amputated with diamond blades.
I have had enough phantom limbs to last a lifetime.
Because getting, weak in the knees for you
Is a terrible understatement.

This is emotional genocide
And you are on the winning side.

A thousand love poems yoking to pages you will never read.
Though some have slipped from my reach,
Seeking refuge from the muse, responsible for their existence.
L is for lion.
And is what you are.

First it was a tornado,
Then it became a lion,
And one day it'll become a memory,
Floating...
Somewhere...
Burning paper tips at the end of clouds like ember,
And sunsets dipping below horizons,
To conclude that life...
Moves on...
Isn't it beautiful though?
Ripples like an angel's vibrato across waves.
Singing in harmony with perfection.
Silhouettes and dancing shadows,
Stretching beyond vision,
Disappearing under currents,
And making itself known in another hemisphere.
Peaking and rising and sharing its beauty with someone else.
While its absence is mourned.
Until it returns in the morning again.
Bring new hope.