A H J Jan 15

The sparkles of hope
Left me with bitter aftertaste
Left me thinking I shouldn't have tried
Left me with endless cages
Maybe I shouldn't have hoped.

A H J Jan 12

Every breath you took
Were the stars
Drawing the constellation
Written every bits of
happiness you gave me,
Whilst you are the gravity
That kept me alive
Were the stardust that
Liven up my universe
Widen my entire galaxy
So when you fall,
I’ll take you to space,
The place of our promise.

A H J Jan 9

Pure, white roses,
Surrounding you as I feel your hot air,
Soft, gentle, sweet as you are,
And the hot red on your cheeks as you tired smile,

In the cold degree celcius in this closed space,
You were precious as I hold you tightly in my embrace

We, harvest,
Warped in the colour of your soft hair,
We were in the creamy night full of stars,
My love, let’s enjoy this moment for a longer while.

subtle poem about uhm... I didn't mark it as explicit because it is subtle and probably need to read twice to understand it blink blink
A H J Jan 4

An angel with a wing to cut the strings I long to escape from,
With heavenly smile and your voice singing to melt out my hardened heart,
Warm and soft as you continue to guide me out from this mess,
Your eyes shining as I confessed my love comparable to the size of paradise.

Even so,
You were only a guardian angel.
Calling me out from the depth of nearing hell.
You weren’t my lover,
You were never even supposed to be mine

A H J Jan 3

Your back is blurred,
And your existence is yelling
you are about to dissipate.
I can no longer see that vision of us together
Soon, you were to disappear
Away to the haze not even flocking birds could trace
Your atmosphere however, left an inkling in these fog in my memory.

You were in my dream, fading.
Disappear, diminishing,
without explaining why you left me half-alive.

A H J Jan 3

The hearts that were connected were not signed by a contract,
But rather tied up by an imagine red string. //
Promises that came out from our mouths were definitely uncertain,
But to swear to god I will sacrifice every cells in me to make you happy.//
We definitely will have our rough times where you have no choice to let tears run down to your cheeks,
But I’ll make sure to keep the room warm and I’ll run to the next town to brew the tea that you like.//

You probably will doubt my choice of staying with you despite how our bridge seemed unstable at times over and over,
But this time I guarantee, I will kneel down the floor and ask you to marry me again, because I can’t ever have enough of having the happiest day with you.

 May 2016 A
Autumn Stott 

So you want to be a poet?
You want to make beauty out of ugly words,
want to make people feel something,
you want the grandeur and glamour,
the clapping audience after your appearance on stage?
Well, kid, here's the thing,
A poet is not something you can just "be".
It is an illness passed down at birth,
it is the doctor handing you to your mother
and saying
"I'm so sorry, she was born with poetry in her veins".
It is your father begging for forgiveness
the first time he finds you
scribbling metaphors on your bedroom wall- just like him.
It is your first bicycle accident,
and the apologetic look
on your neighbors face when she
sees the ink pouring out of your wounds.
It is drinking too much,
not sleeping enough,
loving too deeply,
yet never loving at all,
It is walking up to every stranger you meet and saying
"here is my heart, would you like to break it?"
So you want to be a poet?
Good luck.

I've been really angry about this writer's curse lately.
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