In the night somewhere
A baby cries
And somewhere else
Lovers sigh
And as time passes
An old man dies

Somewhere out in space
A planet turns
And light years away
A star sun burns
Making us merely dust
And no-one learns

                                 By Phil Roberts

sometimes —
home isn't four walls;
it has eyes and heartbeats,
and pairs of arms to
welcome you gently.

sometimes —
home isn't just roof
over our heads;
it's the place where
we feel loved and
where we belong.

sometimes —
home isn't a place,
it's a feeling;
and we are
finally
home.

– billiondays

don't fall in love with me
unless you are ready to face
my unpredictable murmurs
of nonsense things about
politics, religion, death,
***, or even about life.

don't fall in love with me
unless you don't mind
coping with my mental
instability and deadly
mood swings.

don't fall in love with me;
i will take you to museums,
and beautiful places, so
you could taste me every time
you visit those places again.

don't fall in love with me;
i break hearts of people
i love and let down
tons of people who have
their hopes on me.

don't fall in love with me
unless you don't mind
listening non-stop to my
voice when singing to
every song on the radio
on every car rides.

don't fall in love with me
if you want sweet talks
and cheesy chats during
relationships, because i
would most likely cringe.

don't fall in love with me
unless you don't mind me
laughing even from the
slightest jokes or crying
even from the silliest things.

don't fall in love with me;
i like to write, and sing,
sometimes draw, and i
would most probably make
masterpieces out of you;
the worst or the best.

don't fall in love with me;
i'm a mountain, a hurricane,
a living disaster, i'm full of chaos,
i'm made up of gigantic question marks.
so, don't fall in love with me.

– billiondays

You know what's harder than falling for the bad guy?
Falling for the others
The seemingly nice ones
The good guys

The signs are all there afterall,
Everyone can't stop raving about how wonderful he is
The ideal nice guy

And for a moment
Just one moment of blindsidedness
You believe it
You let it consume you
Revelling in the positives
Lacing together each moment spent together
Into a beautiful story

The perfect beginning, middle and end
Designed intricately by yours truly
A potential work of art
Destined for greatness perhaps
Isn't it?

The pride of your masterpiece
destroys you
Engulfing your sense of reality
Blinding you from the truth
The falsehood of it
A piece that depicts nothing
Nothing but an illusion
Another dimensional reality
One you don't  live in
And probably never will

And sometimes
In those rare moments of silence
It comes back
The crushing harsh reality
Your foolhardy choices laid bare
And you admit
Quietly to yourself
For who else can your true self be revealed to?

Maybe
Just maybe you were wrong
Those masterful strokes of perfection
The gleaming knighthood of it all
Just a lie?

A veil drawn over your sense of truth
So strong it blinded you
Completely
Drowning you in its falsehoods
The shores of reality no more than a distant memory

You know what's worse than falling for the bad guy?
Falling for the right one.

it's so hard to hold onto my sanity when i watch them lose control.
it's so easy to fall, even though i know it'll be hell.
i could be weak and do it again;
feel the bitterness and gagging,
the dizziness and hear my giggling.
or i could control myself and be bland. tasteless.
i don't want to be a bore,
i want to be a firefly that makes your eyes widen at the golden star i carry on my back.
but i don't want to get squashed by your fingers,
so what am i supposed to do?

What is Poetry?
Is it emotions flowing onto paper?
Or is it the tranquil sea that holds the world's tears?
What is Poetry?
Is it the outpouring of emotions onto
A canvas of beauty?
Despair?
What is Poetry?
Look around you.
The lives of those surrounding yours are Poetry.
Those feelings that extend and pour out to one another is Poetry.
What affects you, runs through your being and
Makes you who you are.
Who you are is Poetry.
Poetry, the undying form, style, wanders through the generations.
An emotion?
Love is Poetry.
An indescribable emotion flowing from the depths of the soul.
Such is Poetry.
Reader, listener, friend.
No poet can say what Poetry is.
Similes, metaphors, analogies,
All just chalk on the board of life.
A poet can't describe Poetry.
Even now I am left in the fog of understanding, contemplation, and wonder.
So, friend, again I ask,
What is Poetry?