I love poetry
But I started writing it
More after
I met your soul saying,
"I wanted to meet yours too."

I've written hundreds,
Pieces I'd never imagined
That others appreciated too.
So, when I realized
That our love is just an idea
I merely invented,
It truly hurts
Knowing that my words
That I turned to colors
Became rainbows
That everyone admires
BUT YOU.

You gave me a pen.
You gave me a heart.
Without you knowing
How great gift this is
To a soul that assumed
Your heart could belong
To her.

You've done me no wrong.

I loved you, maybe.
But I love poetry.

Sometimes, Freedom is
Our words, this piece. Unknown to
Your dear beloved.

To kindle thy hearts
Of carbon souls, who loves but
Chose to be hidden.

Cause slicing thy hearts
We know, the angst of losing
What little we have.

Hoping, that feelings
Befall, we remain numb as
We pen our hearts out.

I'm sick of all the love songs
Which makes me feel
That I'm not capable of loving.

Just realized that
I'm truly not capable
Of falling in love

Because if I am
You should clearly know by now
After I said so

But look, I left you
Coz one day I just woke up
Saying, "whatever".

My heart has gone down the drain
Once resurrected, but then again
DEAD
But I'm glad
That I turned the water on.
My heart now white,
Keeps bleeding blood,
But yet, overflowing.

Feelings are so fleeting,
It beats me.

"The one that is beautiful
Is not this world
But your accepting eyes."