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Leah Apr 2016
My art teacher used to say.
“Don’t add the black paint until you’re ready for a finished product”
and I never listened.
So I painted with my black paint
a little too soon,
a little too much,
a little too dark,
a little too passionate,
a little too addicted,
to the night,
I always enjoyed the starry sky.
My art teacher used to say
“Keit, I know that you love her, I see it, you two are my favorite couple”
and I never listened.
So I broke her heart at night
as she gripped her chest
while I did,
as she hid her heart
while I bit,
as she held her tongue
while I kissed,
as she ran from me,
while I chased.
I always enjoyed the lustful parts,
but I miss the gentle parts more.
My art teacher used to say.
“black is dominance,
black is overwhelming,
and black is torture,
but black must be controlled”
but I never listened.
Because it never made much sense, I didn’t make much sense of anything except for her. I tried to make sense out of a human being, my human being. A lover, my lover, and you know what the trust it all about?
People don’t make sense.
Love has no sense of direction.
People are chaotic.
Love is chaos.
People are nature’s kiss,
Love, the lips.
People are timeless.
Love is timed.
She was natural.
I was the ******* disaster.
There is a quote out there that goes,
and you’ll know why people are named after storms, why hurricanes are named after girls and you know what?
She wasn’t any of those things,
I was.
I was the earthquake that
shook her buildings down
and they crashed into her heart;
that explains the cracks.
I was the wildfire that
burnt through her magical forest
and the rabbit lost more time;
that explains Alice in wonderland.
I was the calm eye of the storm that
had one sweet angle and 20 more reasons to **** her over;
my insides said I love you,
but my outsides and I hate you
that explains the obsession,
this hopeless romantic poetry *******.
I was a flood,
and her eyes the land,
her eyes the gates,
her eyes the drowned city.
I was the big bang,
and her soul the many universes
within universes, the many stars
followed by comet showers,
the wishing stars that never came true,
the first time the moon met the sun,
love at first sight, forever separated,
the moon crashing into the sun,
night and dat never being one
until dawn came and twilight clouds
rained her name and my name
was shot across the enos of lightyears
and no one hears my scream in space
except for her an she does care,
but these type of blackholes
**** up everything!
They destroy everything,
a still painting dripping with black paint and I wanted to lover her
and all of this time I thought
that she was the black paint,
but it was me, who was the paint.
And I took all of her light,
a black hope in space
kissing the suns of my theory
one last time,
into the darkness they went
and back to the darkness
that they came from.
And my art teacher used to say
“Don’t add the black paint until you’re ready for the finished product.”
I finally listened.
So I let go of her a few days ago.
I told myself that I needed to stop.
Stop talking to her like she was
the sunset we all adored
and how her eyes meant the world,
and it it meant that she’d wink
butterflies into the pit of my stomach,
I’d die as a self-imploding star.
So I stopped myself from being
more black paint, I crossed out
her face with my own fingers
and kissed her one last time.
My art teacher used to say
“because this black is undoing, you cannot paint over it with white the black is so dense, it’s raw, it’s real it stops all hints of color under it over and over it. Because this is art and art is life, art is poetry and art is love, because art it everything and anything”
So I became the nights she had to sleep alone, so I became the nights I cried to sleep, so I became free from her love and I finally understood my art teacher, I finally understood my ex.
“Black paint is the purest color and lightest of color if used correctly with the right amount of care and tender”
Add a little black with white
and you’ll have grey.
Add a little black with red
and you you’ll have my bleeding heart.
and a little black and blue
and you’ll have her bruised lips.
And a little black with yellow
and you’ll have her eye color.
add a little black to my soul,
and you’ll have lust.
Add a little black to my heart,
and you’ll have her.
And I could swear I head my art teacher say.
“You’ll let go of her one day when you’re ready, you’ll add red aver all of your paintings because they’ll remind you of her lips, it’ll be you favorite color, you’ll ad blue over your roses because red has too much passion, it’s on fire and sometimes we have to appreciate the beauty of weirdness, poetry and art is weird, the best kind, you’ll add pale yellow for her skin tome and you’ll add dark, dark brown near lonely tree trunks because it’ll remind you of her eyes that cried every night because you didn’t know how to love, young kids finding slipped pants unhooked bras more satisfying than adding black paint to solidify a relationship that could’ve been, and you’ll add your last drop, the finishing touch, you’ll be the black paint, and she’ll be the finished product.”
And I finally listened.
I finally listened to art teacher.
So I let you of, baby.
The world is your canvas
and I was the black paint.
His lips your new black paint,
and you, his unfinished product.
Leah Apr 2016
It's time to let you go,
we are moving away,
instead of together anymore.
It's time to let you go,
the spark we once had,
is not more,
just the past that's keeping us together.
It's time to let you go,
Leaving the scars behind,
keeping the happy memories in my mind.
It's time to let you go,
for we both know,
that'd it wouldn't of worked,
from the start.
It's time to let you go,
moving on will be hard,
I'll miss you so much.
But it on our hearts we both know.
it's time to let you go....
Leah Mar 2016
He called me last night, out of the blue and when he said "Hello?" I felt something, it had been so long since I'd heard his voice, It took me a moment to gather my bearings but finally I said "Hello" too.
I shouldn't have answered the call, I know, but its him.. Him. Something about it felt so wrong yet so right, crazy right? there was a silence for a minute or two, just listening to him breath felt like home to me "I heard" he said. "Are you happy?"
I am and I'm not. You see, I still miss the boy I never once forget, I loved him an awful lot but now I have another, I get on well this his mother, he cares like no other, never causes me any grief, never makes me shout and please, I never need to beg him not to leave he's pretty **** loyal you see.
"Yes," I told him "I think so"
He let out a sigh, already I felt the urge to cry.
"That''s all I ever wanted for you, I just wanted you to be happy"
"I know," I said to him. "I miss you."
There was a brief moment of silence and then he said "I miss you too, I think I probably will forever."
It was true for me too, I had to let him know.
"I'm always going to miss you." I said "I never wanted to let you go"
"I know," he told me. "But I'm glad you that you did, I became someone unrecognizable and I loved you enough to know you deserved much better and I'm happy you've got that now."
"Thank you." I whispered.
"I love you," he said "I won't ever call again but I love you, you know that and I'm sorry, sorry for the way it was at the end, sorry for everything. Be happy, ok? Have a great life, I love you."
I never got the change to respond, by the time I opened my mouth and though of something to say in response he was already gone, had disconnected the call. "I love you too," I whispered down the phone to no one at all but I couldn't help but feel as if he had heard me anyway, even though there was no longer anymore on the other end of the phone.

— The End —