The happiest I've ever been was when my hair was blowing in the warm summer breeze, listening to your calming words while looking up at the night sky, counting the stars. Almost as many as the number of chances I've given you to prove yourself to me, prove that you truly do love me the way you wrote in your little black book of secrets.
Now all I have left is the burning cigarette in my hand, tears in my eyes, and the condescending misunderstanding uncomprehending people around me that mistake my poetry for an escape rather than the way my life is right now.

People ask why I write no happy poetry

It's for the simple reason that my happiest poetry is when I'm with you. your words tattooed in my brain and your touch engraved in my skin.

Darling you're my happiness.

A woman with curves is still a woman with words
You can ignore the fact that there are fragile cobwebs of veins and capillaries keeping her heart pumping
Pumping so fast just for you
She is not just a pretty face with a tiny waist
Smooth thighs and plump lips
She holds a good head on her pale shoulders
Although her gorgeous brown hues are distracting
You cannot forget that she is beautiful
Not externally, but her knowledge, traits, hobbies
Things that she is passionate about creates a glimmer in her eyes
That you would never see while staring down her shirt
She knows you are bad for her, but reminding you of her favorite books, philosophers, and art keeps her there
The traits you know about her don't seem to matter
When her delicate fingers trace down your spine
She is trying to recreate the feeling she gets when you look at her
The way her lips curl in a smile at the sight of you
Is ignored by your eyes wandering to the roundly shape of her body
You will never love her like she deserves

Some may say that feeling nothing is better than hurting but they're wrong because the tug and tearing of my heart means so much more than a monotonous beat
A beating heart that indicates being physically alive while the tearing of it indicated that my soul is finally feeling something different.

I want you to kiss your love into me.

The feeling of being replaced is unlike any other.
It comes in stages like a cancer cell running through your blood stream
Denial
Fear
Depression
Breakdowns
and finally, the thing that destroys the most,
feeling replaceable like the dozen flowers he used to buy you every week.
But don't fret because you'll lie to yourself and make yourself believe that you deserve better, that you can feel loved again.
And now you're lying to yourself the way he lied to you.

When trying to remove certain individuals from your life, close the door completely behind them when they leave
Do not allow little cracks or openings
There will always a breeze that will gush through, and it will remind you of the most intricate yet beautiful memories

The way their hands ran against the indents and bumps of your freckled skin
The way their lips pressed against your delicate soft spots, and made butterflies flutter through your veins
The way their familiar voice rumbled through your body and shook you to the bone with every syllable of their words
The way they smell when their lips are centimeters away from yours, radiating heat and longing before a kiss
The way they taste of alcohol and desire, the aroma lingering on your own taste buds as his tongue dances with yours
The way he pulls you closer, longing and want flickering through his brilliant hues as he gazes into yours

You start to remember the dimples or unique marks that covered his golen skin
The way his cuticles and fingernails were well taken care of
How he liked to spay cologne on the side of his neck and spread it with a rough hand
The way he walked towards you after being apart, as if you were the most priceless and beautiful jewel
The glistens of sparks and warmth that formed in your core and spread through your blood at the mere thought of his genuine smile

It's the little reminders that gush through the opened cracks of the door you did not lock behind them when they left

The cold wind will always blow through and lick at your skin, forming a lacy sheet of ice on your very surface

Once you have chilled to the bone, the memories and details are the only thing you have that warm your broken heart strings and ease you of your pain

Eventually you will want to be warm again, so you open the door and allow them to pummel through the layers of ice and heartache with a sinister smile engraved on their lips

They know you will never break through the shackles that are holding you from freedom.

But you think it is okay to allow him to come back, because him warmth allowed you to feel your own hands now...