I want to get a point across.
To write something that lingers.
I want to make a masterpiece,
Let beauty flow from my fingers.
I want to write a piece of work
That's truly worth your while.
I want to ask for just an inch,
And really take a mile.
I want to live a life that's free
Where people see the good.
I want to sing out in the open,
Not just say I should.

I get lost in your eyes
In the purest of ways,
Like being lost on the beach
On the sunniest days.

And I'm caught by your touch,
So smooth and so sure,
I'm caught altogether
In all that we were.

dating a poet is fun,
and you'll learn things about yourself,
that you never knew.
but when you leave her,
you'll be the one who's broken.

you see,
she'll break you down
into bits and pieces-

she'll carve rhymes
into your rib cage
and
she'll make your kisses
into pentameters.

your voice becomes her rhythm,
and each color in your eye
forms a stanza.

you become pieced together
and poorly stitched,
because she's taken out
the very best parts of you
and the very worst.

she's taken you,
and cut out her favorite parts,
and she'll promise to put you back together,
but the funny thing is,
she never learned to sew.

Show                                                      That
them                                                       they
   the                                                         love
smile                                                      to see


                                  :)

Even                 ­                                          happy
     if                                                         Be
         it                                                  to
          ­    means                       pretending
                          faking it and

He was the brightest star the world had ever seen,
but no star can burn bright forever, although that was unforeseen.
He was a man who brought joy to all those around him,
so that he never had to show them how his life was grim.
He made them laugh until their stomachs hurt,
even though inside he was full of despair, sadness and disconcert.
Like a clown, his smile was painted on,
only when he removed it did you see the wretchedness in his deep blue eyes; that’s when it dawned
that he was a slow dying flower,
fading petal by petal and losing power
until the day he’d been poisoned enough by this ghastly world,
and he died once and for all by his own hand – that’s when the truth of his life really unfurled.

A young man
Impatient and ruthless
A real to the point kind of guy
Just like his father.
As he was building a house
On the edge of the forrest
He did as father taught him
The wood was soft and flexible
So rather than taking his time
Hammer each nail in to the wood
He beat each of them
In to the wood
One nail, one hit
Efficient
The blow created tension within the wood
That nail will never come out again
Had he taken his time
He could've removed
The rusty nails with less effort
To change what needed changing
20 years from now

It's just like that
When we speak to people.
Be forcefull
And create an unyielding mindset
Be gentle
And create a flexible surface
For evolution.

If it wasn't for my fair looks
Would I ever have known
The pleasures of
Being harassed on street
And not just by strangers

If it wasn't for my ***
Would I ever have known
The infinite degradation
Of the female body
And all that comes with it

If I wasn't able to push
An infant through the birthcanal
How would I ever have known
How weak the fairer *** is
Was it not Freud himself
Who said that women were
Built to sit

Yes Freud that's what wide hips are for.

If it wasn't for all the silenced voices
Of the women before me
How would I have known
To simply accept being
Labeled "weird"
For having an opinion
And something to say

If it wasn't for the constant threat
Of being rendered speechless
Powerless
How would I have known
Not to make eye contact
While speaking to people

If it wasn't for my gender...
I mean your gender
And all it's glorious wars
Massacres and genocides
How would I have known my place

I gave you all the power to destroy and **** me,
and piece by piece you mutilated me to debris.
You left more than a bad taste on my tongue;
and you forced stories within me to go unsung.

While I held onto your toxicity I failed to grow,
but once I'd fled your ghastly hold, I began to glow.
I stopped being a **** and grew my petals,
I blossomed into a beautiful flower while you remained a stinging nettle.

Now the tastes of alcohol and cigarettes no longer
remind me of you in the way they once did. No, I'm stronger.
The things you did to me are memories that have stained,
but I will not let you define who I am; by you I will no longer be drained.