You stroke my lower back
And I start to feel the familiar tingle
But there just seems to be this lack
I can’t reciprocate the touch
Frankly, cause in life
I have never experienced much
Even if this longing is tremendous
To do and to not do it
never stops to feel horrendous
I want it but I can never show it.
I’ll stick my head in the dryer
just to feel its warmth
and wear your old jacket
even if it’s torn
we'll have meaningless conversations
and I'll give you a grin
because bored desperation
is an acceptable sin
Oh no it's that **** thing called New Years eve tomorrow. Years, days strange human ways.
You’re not a poet because you know those ‘fancy’ words
You’re a poet because every word you write comes straight from your heart
You’re not a poet because you feel alone
You’re a poet because pen and paper are your biggest companions
You’re not a poet because you understand emotions better
You’re a poet because you let them flow freely
You’re not a poet because people admire your work
You’re a poet because you write for your own contentment and not for people's consent
You are not a poet because you’ve failed in love
You’re a poet because you’ve been in love deeper than anyone else
You’re not a poet because you are strong
You’re a poet because you don’t hide your weaknesses
You’re not a poet because you can heal hearts
You’re a poet because you know what it means to be broken
©words of a withering soul
Is it worth it to give in to your problems?
To all the struggles of your life?
Because there are people out there who need you
As a sibling, a friend, a husband, or a wife
Sometimes we’re caught in a storm
Waves crashing all around
And we forget that we can swim
We don’t have to drown
My footprints stretch
from here to the end of
the last beach.
But my tracks have smoothed away.
The sand is perpetually so.
But If the beaches have a memory
of all the passengers thereon
they could tell the history of the world.