tears
are the ink
for the pen
a poet uses
to write
- L.M.
You are
delicious
and I am
greedy.

You are
generous
and I am
needy.

You are
experienced
and I am
learning.

You are
flammable
and I am
burning.

We loved with a love that was more than love and you were a risk, a mystery, and the most certain thing I'd ever known.

Because I could watch you for a single minute and find a thousand things that I love about you.

Will you travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Love is not a reflection of your soul, but the way your soul fits with another.
                                                                               Jon York   2019
  Oct 2018 Insignificant Wolf
Lil Lalo
It took me seventeen years
to understand
what they meant
when they said
That the monsters don't live
under beds.
*** will not fail
Though life seems to be
a trail of tears
With sorrow as your only
friend

He made a bridge of my
broken works
And a rainbow of my tears

Inside the crooked path
I follow
He made it straighter
Though it zig-zags in many places
Hitting my foot upon
the stone
Cause I lost sight of the path
Taking his hand to follow
I again try to stand

Never a time on the dreariest day
some promise of love
endears
*** will never leave me
Though shadows surround
my mind
And I can't see
Gloom seems to ponder
in every corner
Although it seems at times
I walk alone in the dark
He's close beside in silence
Waiting for my heart
to stop crying

That I might peek out of dark
clouds
To see his face smiling
When life knocks upon
my heart
Leaving cracks
I try to hold his hand
Leaning upon the man of sorrows
Though I still linger
in sorrow
I know he understands
my unbelievable
madness.

By Weeping willow
2018;-\
Just my words that seem to soar through my mind
on most any given day ;-\
Let me save you.

Let me love you.

Let me hold you until you love me.
When i ****** my pen
to write this,
I wonder if you imagined
that i'm a poet
As i wake from another
disbanded sunrise,
I wonder if you screamed
me out of this pessimistic vision
Everytime i would pedal
my bike during the hot summer,
I still think if i ever breathed
the air that evaded your lips
and while i do that,
Each time you make coffee
for the weekends,
I wonder if you guessed that someday you will have to share it
with a familiar person
of the future
Whenever the eyes cry salty tears,
have you sailed your deepest
thoughts on a paperboat?
Like finding me in the ends
of the world after the
midst of calamities
I guessed both of us may wonder,
in a sea of strangers
at a broken
streetlight,
Will we recognize
each other?
  Aug 2018 Insignificant Wolf
Cicero
I knew a girl who used poetry as a weapon.
Who broke hearts for fun, only to dip her pen in their blood and write lines in the sand.

I knew a girl who used poetry as a shield.
Who thought her words were justified if she dipped them in honey before she spoke.

I knew a girl who used poetry as a blindfold.
Who hid her betrayal behind selfless lines and artful lies.

And she called me her muse and I thought it a compliment when really it was a curse.
Because I knew a girl who only wrote poetry about broken hearts so she let me fall so she could watch me drop and describe the sound of my impact with honey-coated drizzle.

Because it’s my heart that was pen-dipped.
My ears that were darkened by honey-covered lies.
My eyes that were obscured by a blindfold of silk.

And when my blood dried and the sand was used up, she went for another boy.
A broken boy.

One she didn’t have to break to write her twisted lines.
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