I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because the last time I opened up to someone artistically they told me it was pretty dark and I should keep it to myself.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because I was raised in a culture that was anti love and pro meaningless ***. I saw endless commercials about movies that glamorize a lifestyle in which your body is fulfilled but your heart is ignored and at that impressionable age I learned my heart came second but my allure came first and the less I cared that happier I would be and I carried that belief around with me the way I used to carry around a Bible as a child.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because of the time that I opened my father’s phone to reveal a family secret I would hold to this day against my own moral instincts unraveling miles of insecurities wondering if I’m not a good enough daughter or if he stopped loving my mother or if true love was never real and although I had been taught marriage was my purpose, it was what I believed would make me happy, maybe rings aren’t enough to stay in love and maybe people’s feelings change and maybe no one actually has a “one true love” and that this purpose I had been taught was really an endless wild goose chase that only lead to broken families and lost souls.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because sometimes I still wonder why I fell into an abyss of toxicity at such a young age. And when I say wonder I don’t mean a trivial ponder, I mean I contemplate every possible reason why the person who I once believed held the universe in her eyes would lie to my face, why she never kissed me in public and our love was always a secret, why she valued girls with blue hair but my blonde hair was not good enough, why I had to hide bruises from my family when I was still in high school or more importantly, why at the time, I thought I deserved them. These thoughts, this lingering paranoia that I am undeserving of healthy love, they muddy my interpretations of real life and distort reality and effect my relationships. My doctor would call these intrusive thoughts, my best friend would tell me they’re symptoms of PTSD, but I have come to realize that I’ve been burned and I am damaged and I hope to god I can recover.

But you,
Oh god, you
You can write this poem. You can be my safety net while I’m free falling in love. You can be the one to listen to my mental tilt-a-whirls, you can be the one that introduces my body and my heart, you can be the one that calms the storms in my mind when I’m questioning the love I’m deserving of. You are the one who makes sure I fall asleep in my bed after drunk nights, you are the one that still sees my value after acknowledging my flaws.
You can write this poem.

.
                          c
                   o    ov     o
                 v      f e       v
                f        f e         f
               e         c            e
               f        o  v         f
               e       f     e        e
               c       f     e        c
                 o      c  o        o
                  v       v        v
                       f    f      f
                            e

And I found peace
in your prayers
And I find solace
when bowing and crying in front of you,

Every tear that I shed
all my regrets
all my sorrows
they all decayed the moment I called on to you,

The poignancy in my heart
the impossibilities
and the hurdles I faced
all I ever did was cry in front of you,

I felt like I sinned a lot
I was grieving
the pain I carried was so immense
And all I said was 'Ya Rahman, Ya Raheem' all that I had on my mind was no more.

There was a poet on HP
Who had alot of ♡
He tried to stay
     out of the fights
He kept himself apart
He had a love of poetry
He lived for his art.

Talented, he made "the grade"
As "minded" poets do
But he didn't try
     to "people please"
And so mean writes
     eschewed.
When he encountered
     "lesser lights" he didn't
     make them blue
But put ♡s on them as well
For their hearts were true.

Time went by... how it did fly!
As if given wings!
He found he had "The Daily"
(When there was
     such a thing)
He tried to READ all poets
     but could not, everything...
So he decided just to read
The small group
     within his ring.

He would NOT be purchased.
He would NOT be sold.
He was TRUE to his beliefs
Of his Faith quite bold.

Not only did he ♡
He gave "thumbs up" as well!
He reposted and was good
In fact, the man was swell!

He had a grateful following
But, as fate is wont
He couldn't keep up
     with the load...
Found his health was shot
But he tried to be a light
He tried to give folks thought.

His readership got smaller
It seemed like every day.
He still tried to be genuine
And true in every way
But nobody wanted
     him no more
He began to fade away...
Where the
     rubber hits the road
He began to PRAY.

If you don't know
     who this is,
Replace the "he" with "she"
She believes
And truly grieves

That poet would be ME.


♡ Catherine

your hands hold mine gentle but firm
kisses softly placed on my neck
hushed whispers and silent smiles
i want to tell the world about you
but in this moment
i am content
with quiet love

the girl's body feels like that of a goddess when he touches her thighs. he says that when he kisses her she tastes like love and something he can't quite put his finger on. it isn't until she pulls him closer that he can. he realizes it's longing that he tastes.

who knew aphrodite longed for anything? for anyone?

the girl is soft her cheeks coloured like redwood, her hair dark and wild, her eyes brown. she's warmer than usual, but her hands are still cold. when he asks to kiss her, she doesn't want to close her eyes, she's afraid that she's too high up. mount olympus doesn't care for mortals, but she doesn't want to forget this one.

yes. aphrodite longs all of the time and as his laughter waterfalls down her spine, she doesn't remember anything but his brightness, that he is what makes her beauty.

goddess of love met her match. a mortal boy that feels like the god of autumn causes the leaves inside of her chest to fall and change colour.

she paints her love in shades of red. her hands on his body are pink-rose at the palms. this goddess of beauty has never seen any of her potential. perhaps it was wasted until he looked at her with disbelief, because she's never felt worth that gaze, but gods does she want it.

he looks at her and he just wants to occupy the same space forever.

*she looks at him and holds all the love in the universe in her hands.