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  Dec 2014 Liz Delgado
curlygirl
Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
Liz Delgado Nov 2014
i cannot explain this bitter feeling of feeling like you are being forgotten, like you don't exist for a moment to the person that you name stars after and all I know is that it eats you from the inside out starting with emptiness filling the stomach, a dull pain in the heart and making its way to the mind, filling it with cyanide.
it makes its way to the eyes and rivers spill (if they haven't poured out already) and it keeps you from feeling the least bit cheerful enough to do anything.
all you know it that you loathe yourself for not being intriguing enough for them to at least spend treasured seconds of such relatively short life to send a good night message when more than just dear seconds of your relatively short life turn into minutes; minutes turn into hours to ponder and puzzle, to overthink and look for keys that are not there.
i cant explain this poisonous feeling of not feeling enough for a person that sparks metaphors and poetry that will not be read by a single soul, not even reread yourself.
and this is where you crave another body, another soul, some peculiar and truly fascinating pair of eyes.
you sink yourself lower and lower than you accustom to until rivers turn into oceans and you hit the Mariana Trench.
your insides have tightened, your eyes have iced and you cannot feel a thing.
you just want to have the honor of reaching every corner and junction of that person's brain all twenty-four hours of the day like they linger in yours.
you want to have your eyes compared to at least shining stars like you compare theirs to galaxies, to dedicate at least precious seconds of their such a lightning life to you, just like you dedicate beloved hours to them.
Liz Delgado Aug 2014
Whenever I took a silly joke you made personal, when you knew me too much to let me hide that fact, you always told me I was too good and I would get hurt.
When I cried to you over the phone when I told you I felt my friends were replacing me, you told me I was too good and I would get hurt.
When I forgave you for making the same mistake for the hundredth time, you told me I was too good and I would get hurt.
When you walked away I understood fully.
You were not being negative minded as I always said you were, you were being painfully realistic and brought me down just like you wanted to- down to Earth, but also down to pieces.
I was too good, just as what we had was too good to be true.
Liz Delgado Jun 2014
I've spent restless nights writing poems to and about you with heavy eyelids; poems you'll never read, poems I'll never have the guts to let you read, poems you'll never even know about.
I've described every single part, perk, quality of you with the most beautiful words I can find in the dictionary because you don't deserve simple, ordinary words.
Even your flaws are beautiful.
And still, I cannot string any of the million words in any language together to describe you or my love for you perfectly.
And I write about you like you sank your paintbrush in a cup of universe and created hundreds of galaxies; like you placed the stars in the sky, neatly arranged them into beautiful constellations.
Here is yet another poem for and about you, written with eyelids as  heavy as the ocean at 3:36 in the morning, after deciding there was no way I could sleep as my mind was still awake and thinking about you- as always.
I hope you went to sleep thinking about me.
  Jun 2014 Liz Delgado
chillvibes
i wanna be that person
you call at 3am
because you can't sleep.
i wanna be that person
that's always happy
because of you
i wanna be that person
that you come to
no matter what
i wanna be the person
you last think about
when you go to sleep
i wanna be that person
i wanna be your everything
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