Leaves change colors
Drop to earth
Snow on a mountain
Soon rebirth
And Life goes on

You hide in a thin sheet of warmth,
Coloured with yellows and orange,
Of kindness, care and love.

Painting me with what I thought was festive.
Showering me with "I love you"s and concern.
(Have you eaten? How was your day?)
Did you ever truly care?

My heart constricts at the thought
Of your sweet honey coated tongue
Whispering lies into my ears for "a fun time".

Compliments, flattery and beautiful poetry,
They spilt from your mouth so easily.
Said to many people as a way to grasp
Their heart and their soul.

I'd soon have to repay tenfold
With outrageous dares.

Faking my own happiness,
To repay all your kind words such as
"You are my world."

I loved it when you said those words to me.
Every bit of flattery you've written in me,
Every bit of concern you've shown me,
Be they fake or real,
I loved it all.

But, honey, all your "I love you"s mean nothing
When you only say it after you've used me
For fun, for entertainment, for pleasure,
For yourself..

I had to say goodbye,
I was unhappy,
You loved the idea of me
That showers you with attention.

Of course, I'll miss you.
I'll miss that sweet mouth of yours,
I'll miss the romance that you showed me,
I'll miss the warmth of your (fake) concern,
I'll miss your beautiful ways to say "I love you."

But I what I won't miss is,
The way you were my puppeteer
And I was a mere doll looking for love.
The way you stroked my hair,
Only to strike with bitter requests.
The way you left me when you were done
And came back the next day for more.

I hated the warmth of your breath,
Contrast to the bleakness of your treatment.
I hated the warmth of your love,
Contrasted to the coldness of how fake it was.

I hated that.
I hated you.

But even so, oh honey..
The melancholy I feel when I cast you away,
Is beyond comprehension.

For you've played me like a game and won,
You've captured my heart and painted it black.
But you've yet to capture my wits.

I was being used.
I'm not a blind fool to what you are,
But, oh, I fell for you so hard
And now it's a farewell.

Goodbye, my love.
Goodbye, my parasite.

When graphite meets the silky threads of paper
Or when ink drips upon the golden sheet
A beautiful artist is born.

There are many kinds of artists in this world
Although today I shall speak of only one..
A neglected kind that does not wish to
Gain fame or to capture the spotlight
But rather to share to listening ears.

There be people
Who see the world through the eyes of a painter
But are capable of stealing the elegance
Of a dancer, a fighter, royal blood, and much more
And condensing what they feel and see
Into a narcotic thread of words.

There be people
With broken and shining hearts alike
That run on wheels of ideas and epiphanies
And feed on overstuffed buffets of salty tears and sugary kindness.

Idealists and realists,
The poor and the rich,
The hungry and the fed,
The broken and the salvaged,
The logical and the emotional,
This beautiful art is not limited to anyone.
It is the echoing voice of the heart
It is the pleading cries of the soul
And the smile of our childhood innocence.

This art we call "poetry"
It is the life itself whispering ideas into ears.
And if that isn't beautiful.. I don't know what is.