I believe some poetry is best unseen, unheard, and unloved.
Not to say it isn't beautiful, but that it is so beautiful it must remain secret
For fear of tarnishing it.

I have so many poems about a girl with brown eyes,
Who told me she did not know how to love anymore.
But after getting in a relationship with a guy just a day after our break-up
Seems to be loving fine.

Perhaps its better I did not share those poems.

I have come to the conclusion that I am just hard to love.
Mostly because I need to write all my feelings,
Turn sadness into metaphor and anger to simile,
Just to be sure these emotions won't tear me apart.

When she told me she didn't know what love meant,
I wrote her a poem about the ways I wanted to get to know her.
She didn't understand it.
That my poetry was my love,
That if she couldn't see that I wouldn't know what love was either.

Its been over a month since she left me for someone with stronger hands,
But I still have managed to reign in my poetry.  
I do not write about the ways I wanted to know her,
Nor do I let mention of her smile slide into my metaphor.

If I do, it is never seen or heard.
I lock it in the remains of this black heart,
Burn it in the flames of my pride.
I will not let heart break run me.
My love is a beautiful secret.
I will not be tarnished by a broken girl who does not know how to love.