I look at someone else's poem
And I see flawlessness.
I look at my own
And I see nothing but flaws.
I write poetry to get away from the bad feelings.
Not to make more.
And it's hard.
Everything is hard.
I've become hard.
Hardened to the beauty of the world.
Hardened to the beauty of poetry.
All I can focus on is my own writing
As I try to be as good
As you.

People exchanging words
Poetic chats
Connecting them
To presents and pasts
Friendships grown
Over a screen
Words read
Known
Understood
And believed

i said i loved you.
you said "so what?"
i said i was scared.
you said "so what?"
i said i needed help.
you said "so what?"
i said goodbye.
you said "wait-"
but it was too late for me.
too little, too late.
i was gone.

So what?

If you still wish to seek me for
another poem,
another momentary desire,
another ***** tear to lick,
another night to melt,
or for a little death

I will be waiting,
burning,
yearning,
for your small hands

To taste your tears of joy
To drink lavender tea poured from your mouth
To savor your lips after you have licked them
To wrap your curls around my neck till I suffocate
To melt into the scarlet of your cheeks

This is not a love letter,
I simply long for the forbidden parts
of you