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Hannah Nov 2014
I needed him like a fire needed oxygen, my soul set on fire by his radiant heart. my breath caught in my throat as his lips lightly touched my cheek, the fire burning brighter than ever before…
Hannah Nov 2014
I want him.
I want his beautiful blue eyes, blazing with desire and love
his soft, full lips, tracing my entire body and taking my own lips as prisoners of war
kissing me, kissing him with everything we've got,
everything we've kept in, pouring out in this kiss
I want to trace his face with my fingertips,
from his short blonde hair gripped in my tiny hands
to his smooth cheeks and his strong jawline and cup his face in my hands
planting lovemarks on his muscular neck in a shape of a circle; our never ending sign of love
I want to whisper sweet nothings and love poems into the curves of his shoulder;
the place where his shoulder and neck meets and that little soft spot,
near his collarbone
I want to outline his chest with words of forever with my hands
sketching an imaginary pattern of hope, want and passion
taking his callused hands in my soft, velvety one
embedding little butterfly kisses in his palms,
just little shadows of them, quick and gentle,
lightly brushing my lips against his lovely hands
I want his entire self,
giving up all of me to him and him, all to me
hushed words of sweet pleasure escaping from our mouths
like little wisps of smoke, trailing over our bodies that move in perfect harmony
I want his everything,
I want nights spent under the Michigan stars, cuddling against each other
talking about all the randomness in the universe
I want to fall asleep to his steady heartbeat with blankets as our only armour
after giving myself to him, a gift of true love to which I will never regret
I want forever and eternity with him, growing up and getting married
having little blonde kids, watching them run around the house and us laughing at all their silliness
and growing old with him, looking at him each and everyday
with the ever present butterflies in my stomach
doing somersaults and flips off the high dive every time I see him,
even after 50 years together
I want to hold him on his death bed, or he holding me when my time comes
I want us to have our small eternity just like Hazel and Augustus
and our almost happy ever after because even though nothing is perfect,
our ending will be the closest to perfection as possible
I want him forever and always,
just him,
only him,
from now to eternity.
I love you...
Hannah Nov 2014
don’t touch my soul with ***** hands
your miserable lies lay where you stand
a shadow of filth cling to your back
turn around to a nightmare of black
regrets haunting your every thought
maybe you shouldn't have wrestled and fought
for my own fragile, loyal heart
when love meant nothing as you teared me apart
inspiration off of tumblr, whaaat
  Nov 2014 Hannah
she was a poet,
and he was her pen.
in him,
she always found words to write,
songs to sing,
thoughts to think.

he'd smile,
and kiss her softly,
and say,
"write me a poem."

and she would.
she'd put poe,
and whitman,
and shakespeare to shame,
and she'd write a poem that made his eyes water.

she'd compare him
to a rose with no thorns,
a book with no end,
a world with no poverty --
the things we all wish for,
but can never attain.


he asked her one day,
"what am i?"
and so she picked up her pen,
and began the usual:
you are the shining sun after a hurricane,
with rays that open the eyes of the blind.

but he stopped her after those two lines,
and said that this time,
he didn't want any metaphors,
or similes,
or analogies.
he wanted the truth.

and so on that night,
as he slept,
the poet picked up her pen,
and she wrote.

she wrote,
then thought better of it,
then started over again,
and this cycle continued well into the early hours of the morning,
until suddenly,
she wrote, frantic,
if i can't love you for what you really are,
have i ever really loved you at all?

this, too,
she thought better of,
condemning it to the trash.

the next morning the poet was gone,
her final work a mere two words:

i'm sorry.

this is more of a story than a poem but i like how it came out so leave thoughts & comments please
  Nov 2014 Hannah
Christian Bixler
What happens when two lovers meet, twine hand in hand, gaze spellbound into the endless depth of the others eyes, and wishes the moment to last forever? What happens when they kiss, star crossed lovers, bound by love and tragic fate, to part in grief and bitter tears, Their screams echoing up to starry heavens, to fall at last, unheard, unsung, a tragic echo of bitter grief and the scream of tortured hearts, ripped apart, to die in pain and bitter age. White hair streaming, tears falling, he falls at last, succumbs to Time and tragic fate, dies at last, beneath the stars and pale moon, a tragedy for ages gone, A single drop in that endless sea of grief and bitter pain, watered by a constant rain, of broken lives and shattered dreams. For this is life, a bitter gulf, penance for some ancient crime, and though beauty lies in fleeting spaces, rainbows shining, leaves set sighing, by the fragrant breath of an autumn breeze, They are but glimpses, shadows of what we had, for all shall fail and pass away, and the days shall be filled with pain and bitter tears, from now until the end of time. For after all, Autumn is a time of dying.
I hurt. I bleed. The light of ages gone, darkened by a speeding car. I wish.....I wish I had died then, as she did, that I could journey with her out into the vastness of unknown space, two souls set  adrift, to join the throng of wanderers and set ourselves on this last and greatest of journeys together, and to walk for eternity, in our eternal light.
Hannah Nov 2014
When she met him
for the very first time
a crown of daisies
laid perfectly on her head
and a smile was splayed across her lips
the radiant sun taken from the sky
and placed all around her
illuminating her silhouette
against the setting horizon
He looked at her with those piercing eyes
immediately creating flowers in her lungs
and growing
She tried to breathe
but was unable,
for his flawless self
took her breath away
replacing them with wild flowers
of beauty
and awestruck
The Christmas roses in the pit of her stomach
held graceful butterflies on their stems
fluttering about
and spreading their beautiful,
wonderfully delicate wings,
flying up into her entire being.
He made her this way,
a beautiful mess
because who wouldn’t
if they met you?
A perfect work of nature
created from the prettiest of flowers
a Primrose to behold,
and a Camelia to hold.
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