Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Feb 2016 Commuter Poet
Natalie
do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.
Trying to explain how I feel
Is like trying to hold water
In my bare and calloused hands
I want to find a forest, lay under sun
And let the moss grow over me

Wake me when the world is softer
And the air is not pungent
With decay and despair
Until then I will lay in the forest
By the brook, and my emotions
Can feed the trees.
It should not hurt.
My throat should not burn so ardently
Eyes furiously watery
When I see you with her.

I know not of your intricacies
Of your family
Of your history
And yet my heart has claimed you
A person to whom I would stay true
If given the chance.

This pain is not logical.
I side with my brain over heart
Yet it overrides that part
When I think of your hair
The color of sand
The shape of your hand
Which would fit so perfectly over mine.

It should not hurt so
But I am not whole
My mind is confused
And my heart is in control.
Next page