Some days I stand in for the clouds
and rain for hours

Kiss my thoughts, not my lips
Stimulate my brain, not my body

He told me not to burn the bridge between us
So I lit that **** on fire
Relished in the ash as it fell
And bathed in the smoke it created

After all

Our love was the only poisonous thing
That I should dare to escape

When you've been hurt over and over again it's easy to know what you don't want.
You don't want to be woken up at night with the sound of music blasting and a drunk man stumbling in, you don't want to have to deal with his anger.
The pain is something that you have decided to leave in your past. Emotionally you are scarred so as to never fall for a man like him
... just like your mother did ...

But when this new man came into your life, you let him in.
He didn't have the gut from drinking because he didn't drink.
He didn't break your heart when you were young.
He wasn't your dad.

But when pain came into your life again, it didn't look the same.

This one had locks and held your body like it was made of glass.
You thought it meant because he believed you were delicate but it was really because you could be recycled.
Never in your life had you equivocated yourself to trash but isn't that what he made you feel like.

And they wonder why you can be so hard and heartless; it's because of little boys like him "who's only tool that they use is the sword that they swing"
Darling your value was never meant to be determined by another man. You are priceless. You have galaxies in your eyes so who cares if he didn't give you the world you gave yourself the whole **** universe.

So pick up your pieces, put yourself back together and hold onto your happiness. These feelings are just visitors after they've stayed for a while, let them go.

Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again