some days i write poetry just to make another version of you;

a page compiled of nonsensical words
to stab someones heart,
leaving a scar with your name in bold.

a paragraph that can form your body,
the bends, the flaws,
the helpless hatred that i created,
the shameful love that id given to you.

a sentence, a word,
could create another you,
or at least a part of you,
an imitation through letters,
with illusions behind the meanings of contexts.

if you were a poem,
you could blind a person.

if you were a page compiled of words,
you could burn the hearts of those who came across you.

if you were a paragraph,
a simple sentence of words could easily puncture unguarded minds.

if you were a poem,
you could make a love built in the foundation of bones.

some days i write poetry just to make another version of you;

to burn the hearts of those who read it,
just like you did to mine.