I wanted to write a poem about flowers, so that's what I did.
It was short, expressed how I feel, and cut like glass.
I showed my father "Flowers" and he thought it was mediocre.
And I said, "No, "Mediocre" is the poem where I talk about dying,
and I'm trying to stay alive, so I wrote about flowers."

Flowers strangling soil plots with their roots, with their existence.
And to hurt something you love with your existence is a terrible feeling.

You fell in love with me.

I just hope you jumped.
Not slipped.

I take a walk into the parkour graveyard,
looking for Polish dealers and cellphone halos.
I heard Thoth resides in sobriety,
but words fail me
whenever you are near.

I let my tongue run in endless stutters,
disguising 'I love you' as some off-hand request.
I could take you to dinner,
I could show you a longing
without the need for ***.

This late-night food has lost its flavour.
This ******* never picked up.
All that is left is to dial these numbers,
and wait by the window
for any car but yours.

Let's take a walk to the railway bridge.
We'll smoke a joint by the open forest.
You'll push your breath into mine,
make me high,
and forget why I ever
felt so low.

Dearest beloved,

I wish I could tell you
exact what you mean to me.
I wish that I could show you
how you make me feel.
I wish I had more time to spend
with you and see that amazing smile.

I know you have a boyfriend and
he must be doing a great job because
you're always happy, smiling brightly
and laughing...

You enchant men without even trying
and every one of us fall for you.

What I wish most of all
is to sweep you off your feet,
take you away and travel the
world with you at my side.

I think I can make you far
happier than you already are,
but I know, without a doubt,
that you can make me the
happiest man in the world.

As long as there is a
single star above you,
you will remain on my
mind and in my heart.

I know I can't have you,
but that's why it's called
wishful thinking!


Written By:
Andrew D. Robertson

They say that 1+1=2, and that is in fact true
but when it comes to me and you
1+1=1 not 2
for together we are one,
not 2

Poetry has become my self harm,
I only write at my lows...
Instead of blood I see words,
Instead of a blade I have a keyboard...

I want to write about...
The wind dancing with the sea...
Or...
The way you smile and it lights up your innocent face...

I don't want poetry to be my self harm,
Because poetry is beautiful...
An art...
Not.
Just.
Blood.
And.
Scars.