There's a storm inside me it starts every time I hear your laughter in the night, when I think about the way we changed from human beings to some people who can only share some words written on a cold page;
it's hard to explain how is it that I miss you when I've never really had you in the first place and you wouldn't understand you see your heart has long forgotten about feelings like these.
I hear your voice calling my name I see you before my eyes even in my dreams I write you in bleeding lines and in my waking hours your smile brings raindrops in my coffee and tears on the shirt I wear because once you said that you liked it;
spring brings tulips at my doorstep but it's hard to feel their perfume to let their scent in my broken lungs;
her eyes are pretty her smile is wide -- & white, just like yours she's tall, she's slim, and she takes good photos of you on her instagram her small brunette bun is annoying....................ly cute her little legs & little arms too i'm sure it looks like something out of a magazine when they are wrapped around you...
another hip kid from some northeast city little Connecticutie~ did she know about me? does she know that you live right down the street?
she hid behind your shoulder that's how i knew that she is in love with you, too & it feels like someone shoved a grenade down my esophagus and i'm just w a i t i n g for it to ******* in a billion bits so i can just get over this
and then all the dads will bring their little girlies and all the ladies will raise their strawberry daiquiris eyeing the loose shards of my dignity hoping that they could somehow help with their jaded seniority going, "lesson number one: love is neveralways fun."
please understand that this is not a sarcastic poem. while i do think she is stunning... this is not about her. i wish it were that simple. with that said, i hope you're happy, healthy, and feeling fulfilled.
I think you should love a girl that writes Live her many different imagined lives In her vast collections of created worlds Find her somewhere buried beneath them all And when you find her pressed between Scribbled pages and coffee cups filled with pens Kiss her ink black fingers Let them stain your lips so when she looks at you She won’t forget You’re the hero her books are about.
talking like we're still best friends even though we both know how it ends you say you love me I say I love you saying it just how people do but deep down we know its true the connection we had so strong so blue you're the only one to make me feel this way theres no other theres no copy lets just meet up soon okay how about some coffee?
Listen, it's a beautiful thing when distilled to its essence; reduced to its purest form. A paradox and a paradigm; a paragon of perfection. Epic in its arythmetic progression; poetic. Like Chinese arithmetic, so hard it hurts. Yet soft and exquisite, like a bubble of love caught in a beating heart. That place where poetry starts.