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christiane Jul 2018
Oh, love,
You are my
Favorite thing.
The skin beneath
Your eyes
Is as soft as your
Lips that press
against mine.

Your fingers,
That wrap around mine,
That pull my hair,
That touch my cheeks,
Are as lovely as
The topography
Of your arms,
So precisely structured.

Your eyes,
Which look right into mine,
Down to my lips,
And over my figure,
Are as mesmerizing
As the way your mouth moves
When you laugh
And speak the unknown.

Oh, love,
Your spirit is
My favorite thing.
Your laughter is
A manifestation,
An oral representation,
Of how beautiful you are
Without even being here.
just a poem of the things i love and the things i miss
christiane Jul 2018
Red is the color
of the blush on my cheeks.

Orange is the hue
of the time of day that we part.

Yellow is the sun
that runs across your skin.

Green is the pigment
of your eyes in the light.

Blue is the vastness
of the sky that we watch.

Purple is the mark
you leave on my neck.
christiane May 2018
Do the trees love the wind,
Or do they hate it
Because it forces them to move?

Do they like the rain,
Or do they hate it
Because it forces them to eat?

Or, do they really love it?
Have they been waiting to dance?
Have they been wanting to drink?

Do they hate their lives
Because all they do is watch?
Or, do they not care
Because they've known nothing else?
christiane May 2018
I love you.
I do not love you back,
I just love you,
with or without
your permission.

Whether you love me too
is besides the point.

I wish my love
was reciprocated,
but whether it is or not
does not change
that I love you.
christiane May 2018
Replace me,
I beg of you;
Believe that someone better
Will come along.

You'll replace me,
I promise you;
My image wasn't meant
To stain your eyes.

I'll be replaced,
If not by you,
Then by force
By someone who loves you.
christiane May 2018
I want to scream,
"What have I done?"
But I know,
Deep down,
It needed to happen.

But ****,
I knew not to get involved,
But I wanted it,
You brought me sleep,
And I didn't want to leave.

And now that I've woken
Up from my dream,
I know
That I cannot disguise
that I am awake.
christiane May 2018
I run my hands
through the grass,
feeling it's genuity,

Knowing the dirt
is underneath my nails
and bugs crawl along.

I feel it
because I want to feel real,
and real things feel.

They feel pain,
they feel pleasure,
and they feel touch.

I just wanted
to remind myself
that I am real,

And I can feel,
I can touch,
and I can be.
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