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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.
You say you hate him,
You said he treated you badly,
You said you wanted nothing to do with him.
I guess you were lying.

You said you felt nothing for him,
You said he made you sad,
You said you ended it with him.
I guess you were lying.

I offered you my heart,
I wanted to be with you,
I wanted you to be happy,
After the way he treated you

Yet here I am,
and here you are,
Saying he's your best friend.
You're full of lies.
Have you noticed how fake life is?
Just like this poem, its not really a poem,
Its just my thoughts and feelings,
Grouped in to 4 lines.

But might as well carry on,
Mention how fake you are,
Your make up,
Your thoughts and feelings.

How am I supposed to know,
How you feel,
What do you want,
Do you even want me?

Worst of all, it hurts me,
It makes me feel like I'm not me,
I want to be with you,
That makes me feel like something isn't right,
I feel fake.
My name is haz but you can call me Harry,
I also like the name Barry,
I'm always happy as Larry.. Wait I'm not,  
I also have snot running from my nose right down to my toes.

I'm a bit of a miserable *** but that all changes when I have a ****.
Not for Derek this time
Me and my drum have all sorts of fun,
We eat chocolate bars -  yum yum,
These chocolate bars go into my tum and then they come out of my ***

Me and my drum have all sorts of fun,
We have so much fun it makes me ***,
Then I eat a plum and drink some ***,
After that I chew some gum


Me and my drum have all sorts of fun,
We have so much fun it makes numb,

What would I do without my drum?
For Derrick (again)
I'm a poor little chest,
I try to try my best,
I wake up wearing a vest,
The birds wake me up in their nest,
Then I guessed that my one drum is a pest,
In maths I had a test,
I decided to have a rest,
What they don't know is that I'm chest a poor little chest trying to try my best.
For my best buddy Derrick
She smells like marmalade
and Christmas trees.
She cuts her heart
where she places her knees.
She smokes in the park,
under the skating skies.
She makes me upset
and sometimes I make her cry.

Over in the dark,
she plays in the snow.
And if she feels cold,
I touch her chest
but I don't know.

Bask in the bark:
our names on a tree.
Carved with the knife
that she swung at me.

She says she's drowning in my ocean,
but I feel no emotion.

Her words suggest our bond
is as strong as a noose.
But she only loved me
when I was something to lose.
Her voice is strained.
Her skin is fair.
Her ******* lay on the countertop.
I **** her until my thoughts stop.

She rejects the notion of love for all,
as she leans against my kitchen wall,
with a cigarette and an unbuttoned blouse-
she wants to be homeless in my house.

She keeps me in her necklace's locket,
and I keep her in the wallet in my pocket.
Her toes kiss the linoleum,
she walks like she's made of helium.

She mumbles that I taste like mint chocolate chip,
as she rubs against my hip.
Her breath smells like Malboro Lights,
and I hope she decides to stay the night.

Milky Ways and Vanilla Cakes,
she likes the way my body shakes,
as we lay and eat our troubles away.
Hurried words slow the day.

She asks me about my stretch marks and scars,
and if I've ever been hit by a car.
And I say no, but I've been hit by love before,
and it feels like getting your hand caught in a door.

Hurried smiles and bathroom stalls,
she likes the way my family never calls.
The words escape between her plump lips,
as my hand travels between her hips.

We move until we forget
that the world is moving faster.
She'll always be your second choice
So what does it matter if I'm first
You'll always go back to her
Even after you've said she's a *****
The day I got sent away
You ran to her
regardless if I was okay
You said it yourself
The two of you always talked
It didn't matter if you were mine or not
I hurt you I understand
But do you always have to run to her
Like all along it was planned
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