She is a library,
I say this because it is hard
to compare her to anything else,
Inside her walls lies story after story,
Knowledge that is wise far beyond her years,
She is a beauty,
one that will belong to no one but her own,
Sometimes she will lend me parts of herself,
Books I will treat as such,
which if anything is not my own,
I will hold her spine dear,
Careful not to damage the pages
Drink her words, let them sit in the pit of stomach,
She will call back for the borrowed parts
These temporary treasures,
I will carry close to my chest
And cherish every word

Beware of them
As a lover or a friend
As a family or a foe
As a passerby or a neighbor

Because they hide as they stand on the stage
They put you on a mind-boggling maze
They set you on an endless chase
With no one else but with your own tail

Because they shout in silence
They scream using pen
Using only pseudonyms
They want you to both understand and not understand what they mean

Because they conceal as they express
Behind figure of speeches
They'll have you take a guess
When you do, you're already checkmate in chess

Beware of them
Because they are contrasting beings
Living in a world of what-ifs
Living between reality and dreams

Dreams for family, rage for a foe
Feelings for lovers, concern for a friend
Observation in a passerby, rumors from a neighbor
They turn it into words, rhyming at the end

Because they are but they are not
Because they do but they don't
Because they are cowards but they have guts
Because they will but they won't

Because they are two-faced people
Because they are at different places at the same time
Because they push and they pull
Because they have truths and they have lies

Oh beware of them
Because they're simply complicated
Because they're famous yet anonymous
Because they'll always have you choose

Hope rarely flies straight;
it flutters and weaves
like a butterfly
in a stiff breeze,
sometimes making headway,
sometimes blown off course,
sometimes interrupted,
but never completely
disappearing;
always present,
always whispering:
maybe.
- mce

Its 6 am,
and the clock
on the wall,
keeps me awake,
makes me aware
of time ticking by.

My heart broke,
a long time ago
and i don't think
i can ever
be whole.

I think it's time to say goodbye
To Hello Poetry completely
It's made me laugh and made my cry
But it hurts me more, secretly

It's my 200th poem and it is the time
To stop writing to a void
To stop rereading poems of love
When I have another choice

My heart keeps hurting with every poem
That reminds me of you and I
So instead of reopening unhealing wounds
I decided to say goodbye

*Goodbye

the warmth of
your arms around her
and your hands in her hair

while she listens
to the sound of your
steadily beating heart
and even breaths

only to look up
into your eyes
and suddenly hear
the pounding of your heart
as you look back at hers

A Reader lives
A thousand lives
Before he dies.
The man who
Never reads
Lives only one.