What makes you?
Write a poem on what makes up yourself or a person you are interested in. The "recipe" of this person can be structured however you want, be creative! Title the poem "Recipe" and use #recipechallenge when you are done! If you want your poem to be read message konr or The Creep that Loves You and we will be sure to read! Have fun and enjoy! :)

She rises at night,
As new or full,
And she pulls him to his feet.

He rises at the sight of her,
A reflection of her old self,
Yet still illuminated
In her inconsistent darkness.

When she is unbalanced
He aches to compensate,
Attempts to return her kindness,
But he is left merely trying,
With her unsure of dying.

For the moon can raise the tide,
But the tide can't light the moon.

You asked me to prove to you that I love you, so I did
I moved heaven and earth just to be with you
stood by your side through better and worse
Made up silly stories why I just happened to be around
When the truth was I just wanted to see your beautiful smile
I was your shoulder to cry on when you needed one
There to pick you up when everyone else turned their backs
Didn't care how much scrutinizing I would receive
I did all that just to get you back
Now I finally have you and I should be happy
BUT I'M NOT!
My heart doesn't beat the way it did before
it doesn't spell out your name in every thump like it use to
Now it just sits there starring at you wondering are you here
Why are you here?!?!
YOU SCREAMED HER NAME IN YOUR SLUMBER
NOW YOU ASK WHY IS SHE HERE
What kind of game are you playing
Answer me!
Please,heart answer the question
I beg of you...answer me
**Do I love her or do I not?

There are times,
Where I want to sing,
Your name and mine,
Tangled in the same tune,
Dancing with the syllables,
All the notes and nothings,
Around and around,
Into the evening hours,
There are times,
Where I have cried,
Familiar faces on morning news,
Funerals for the friends lost,
Childhood ends far too early,
So many nights forgotten,
Sunday morning service,
Prayers for the wrongs I committed,
In the hours prior,
There are times*,
Where I reflected on the memories,
August took a piece of me,
Everything was full of life,
We never even wondered,
About what would become of us,
In the sunrise that followed.

The way you move to this autumn jazz,
All the seasons and the colors they bring,
How my brother is still a child,
I hope he never grows into the vices of age,
Christmas in Baltimore stops the killings,
December snow unstained by the bleedings
The summer nights with you in my arms,
All the poems that I found paradise in,
And every moment that gave me the courage to write it down,

Andrew, Andrew
Stop letting me draw parallels between you two

Your name
Your parking spot
Your hair
Your glasses, sort of

Andrew, Andrew
Stop letting me draw parallels between you two

Staring at you in AP Chemistry (even though I'm still not in it)
Silly little cartoons on notes that make me smile
You stopping after Spanish 3
Your taste in anime and games

Andrew, Andrew
Stop letting me draw parallels between you two

Driving me home
Driving me insane with your poetry
Awake at all hours
Toying with my wants, desires

Andrew, Andrew
Stop letting me draw parallels between you two --
Be the one to follow through

I used to believe
that I would
never
be able to
move on...

But whenever I woke up
this morning,

I didn't even
think about
**you.

Five years ago I died.
I don't know if I revived.

****, thirteen really was hard,
But it was the best played card.

Seems like every day in the past
Still continues, overlaps, and lasts.

I don't know if I'm living in the future,
Or staying behind like an immobile creature.

I don't know what happened.
I don't know what's happening.

People just come and people just go,
'Cause relative to arrival, departure is slow.

You want to see the reality of me?
Good luck finding it, if it may be.

I died five years ago.
Nobody noticed.

My mom said she loves me.
My father did, too.

I think I believed her more than him.
I think he only cares about himself.

That's were I got my **** from.
I can't say I'm better than that.

It's all I was taught.
And now it's hard to get rid of it.

I'm pretty gone, now.
Trying to get rid of some things erased me.

It was an overshot,
But it was a shot.

I say **** a lot of things.
A lot people say **** me.

But I'm not them.
They're not me.

What does it mean to be lost?
I might be, even though I thought I found my way.

I thought I stood up,
To get off the ground.

I think it was *****.
That must've been it.

But I think I just crawled into a chair.
I'm a pretty lazy guy.

From a couple feet higher,
I can see where to go.

But without my feet carrying me,
I can't go anywhere.

And though I know a lot of things,
Getting all the way isn't one of them.

I think I died one day.
It may have been five years ago.

I've met the same person eight million times.
She didn't exist.

I did a lot for her.
She was inside my head.

I did a lot for me.
'Cause I'm not quite selfless.

But I could be.
Could I be?

I don't know.
I don't know a lot of things.

It makes me unsure.
It makes me unsafe.

One day that will **** me.
If I'm still alive.

But I think I died one day.
It was maybe two years ago.

Five years ago, I wanted to die.
But only two years ago, my heart stopped beating.

It was all a process.
It was a matter of time.

'Cause no death is instantaneous,
But it happens in a single instant.

I think I still exist.
If not, there'd be no head for this to be in.

It's not all just inside my head.
That's one thing I'm sure of.

But not completely sure.
Only a little bit.

She left two years ago.
She's not here anymore.

I made a new her two years ago.
She's inside my head.

She left two years ago.
I met her seven million nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine times after.

But only for an instant each time.
Then she would always turn into another person.

I got used to the phrase.
"Sorry, I thought you were someone else."

I wished she'd come back.
But not anymore.

I died two years ago.
She'd be wasting her time here.

But maybe she wouldn't be.
She wouldn't come for me after all.

She would come for other people.
To see people that surely still exist.

Why waste time on the dead?
Better to waste time on the living.

I might not be either of them,
Since I might not exist anymore.

Or I might.
I might still be a few songs, some words on a page, and some marijuana smoke.

I don't know a lot of things.
So I can't be sure of anything.

I started dying five years ago and might have finished two.
I don't know if revived, if I ever made through.