Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

Love,
Lust,
Lies.

Still yet to decide
Which one defines
Everything we left behind.

Then again,
Perhaps it goes a little something like this;

Love?
Lust lies.

being a poet is not
sentimental. it’s not
pretty. there’s nothing romantic about diving off a
bridge just to hear the water reverberate the sound of your ex lover’s
name. rain sounds like nothing but
falling blood and you’re always angry that it ruins your
shoes but is never enough to really
**** you. being a poet is a degenerative
brain disease, i heard
once. there’s some things doctors can’t
fix. there’s other things doctors can’t
name. all medicine starts to sound like it’s named after
a god. words never say what you actually
mean. you’re bleeding stanzas at the
mouth and everyone files past
you like you’re a waste of
time. when people tell you you say pretty
words you erupt like the earthquake in los
angeles this morning because the words might sound
pretty but what you’re saying
isn’t. everything weighs so *******
heavy on your shoulders and you hold the names of your ex
lovers names on your
tongue until they melt into
blood. i don’t know where your
hands are, nobody
does. the wolves are the only things that even have a
hint of what your thriving heart is shouting. you’re bound to feel too
much and at the funeral service of a man you’ve never
met you’re going to be crying in the
corner while everyone wonders who you
are and why you even
care. your words save so many lives but they’re bound to miss a
few, especially
yours.

Everyone whom surrounds me,
seems to be a ******* simpleton.

I'm looked down on and people actually believe that I'M the stupid one,
Stupid because of my views on dogmatic religion like Christianity.
Stupid because I won't watch my mouth around those I don't respect.
Stupid because I've done a lot of drugs that have left holes in my brain.

The funny thing is, I may have holes in my brain, I may be completely ******* fried, I may have different views, and a ***** mouth.
Yet I'm still a lot smarter than the dumb ***** around me who are still living underneath their blankets, hiding from all the monsters roam and disguise themselves as everything they love.

but i watched the way you tilted your head last night
studied how you looked at the screen

wrote into my permanent memories how
the light cast shadows in your hair

from where I was sitting, I was looking at you from the knees up
and couldn't help but think

how much I wanted to paint pictures on your neck
with my lipstick

Did not know who you were
Your name or your birthday
Voice of yours was all i heard
We dint even spend a day
Three hours of chatting
Two hours of play
One hour of clarity
And another hour of day,
Lips smelling like cigarettes 
Body so husky and light
In an aura of musk
Bodies touching like night 
Stars kissing the sky
I heard your voice
You felt mine
I touched your heart
You blew my mind
We saw light coming in
Through the curtains
It was night yesterday
Today everything's uncertain
Maybe it was new
So it attracted me
Maybe it was me
That attracted you
Like a cannibal
We ate up our sorrows
Into a shadow of lustre
And no tomorrow
What happened this time
I cheated perhaps
It was one time thing
Its time to relax
Maybe I forgot how much someone loves me
Maybe it was infatuation that caught me
Love or lust
It no longer matters
As my thoughts include 
You as all that matters
Lust for you
Maybe love for me
But these 6 hours were
Enough for me
One night of regret
One day of lust
One time of sorrow
One game of mistrust
Maybe I am sorry
Maybe it was meant
A six day love story 
That never came to an end..

At 6 she wanted to be a ballerina
At 8 she wanted to be a veterinarian
At 10 she wanted to be a teacher
At 13 she wanted to be pretty
At 16 she wanted to be dead

But..

At 18 she graduates high school
At 20 she studies for her final
At 22 she gets her diploma
At 24 she finds her career
At 26 she whispers "I do"
At 28 she holds her new born child
At 30 she wipes her tears and says

"I made it"