You can't love a poet.
Even though, you feel flattered by my witty one liners,
And my charming stanzas, you can't love a poet.
I will write the good and the bad and you won't like it.
You won't like my version of the fight
And you'll like my metaphors even less.
It will drive you crazy and you will tell your friends,
"She's obsessed".
I can't help the memories that stick like glue, imprinted on my brain
And I can't stop feeling the words exchanged 3 Sunday's ago that you forgot as soon as they left your mouth.
I will relive and reread until the end of my days and inevitably you will leave,
because you can't love a poet.
You can't love someone who will publish your intimacy and print your passion.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask,
Is the thought of me and you tangled together
Limb by limb, so repulsive to you
That you'd rather be sitting
Out in the cold, snow covered streets
Haunted by the thought,
"What could have been"
"We're wasting time," I breathe
Into your collarbone that is usually heaving with a sigh.
You shake your head and respond,
No.
Is it me that you are afraid of?
Does my intensity for love and even for you, keep you awake?
Tell me, my darling, is it me?
I know I burn houses with these hands
And break windows with my screams.
I am intense, and passionate, and ******* crazy.
But I am not scared.
I am not scared to grip your cheeks
And plunge myself into your lips, into your body.
I am not afraid of the moment before we ****
That your body convulses with passion and your extremities stretch toward my very being.
You are a wildfire I never want to be put out.
You burn me, time and time again
But I am the oxygen that keeps your flames thriving
And you are the fire that keeps my heart warm.
"What are you afraid of?" I ask,
He looks at me with the stars in his eyes and looks down,
"Us".
His body creases with pain
And in that moment I know,
I know that even though we are the fire,
Maybe, just maybe, I am engulfing him in my flames.

The continuum of existence,
The constant push and pull.
No time left for actual learning,
Just dying undercover,
We're just trying to keep our cool.
So next time you actually think,
Existence is something more than a series of points
Plotted on a paper graph,
Remember this, my child,
Life is ****,
It's just waiting for us to quit.

"Welcome!" I shout,
To the footsteps pressing into my temples that ache with constant pain.
"Will you stay awhile?" I ask
The nomadic traveler of the night who can only be bothered with a kiss or a ****,
"Can I get you anything?" I courtesy,
Feeding him grapes of Gods and wine, thick like blood. Only the best for the one who comes calling.
"Make yourself comfortable" I gasp
As he arches himself inside of my body
With no intention of staying,
But yet,
No intention of leaving.

We lead such a fragile existence
Between the heartache
And the joy.
We spend so much time,
Trying to walk the fine line
Between bending and breaking
The fragility of existence,
And trying to lie our way through
Our life just to make it
A little easier.
But in reality,
When all is said and done
We hurt ourselves
With all the things unsaid
And all the feelings
That are hidden.
It is the contemplation
Of our existence
That makes us question,
Is this worth it?

Is it worth it to go through life lonely?
Or is it worse to go through it blind?

Don't call me beautiful,
Or say I shine like a star.
I am a constellation made up of some horrible parts.
I am a disaster supported by weakened knees,
I am the road rage you feel on a Friday night.
I am the raw pain of loneliness and heartache,
That will keep you up in a fright.
But don't let me scare you,
Don't hide in fear.
Keep me close,
I can show you the good,
less miserable parts.
I am also hot water,
That massages your lungs.
I am the serenity you feel whilst reading a book.
I am the blissful silence in the midst of chaos,
I am the delicate nature of humanity.
I am not bad, nor am I good,
I am a mess.
Please don't let it scare you.
Don't cower in fear.
Let me consume you,
Twist my heart around yours.