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How do I say the words
I feel in my heart?
How do I tell you that I love
The way that you make me smile?
If I knew how,
Then I would tell you
How much you mean to me.
I'd show you the light
You bring into my life.
I'd say you are perfect—
Not the flawless sort of perfect,
But the sort that makes me want to be,
A better me than I am right now.
And even though I can't feel you close to me,
I can still feel you in my heart.
Yes, you have a place there.
And you fit perfectly,
As if you've always been there.
These feelings are new to me,
Like a pathway unexplored.
But I think I want to walk it—
To take the road less traveled.
If i offered you my hand,
Asking you to walk with me,
Would you choose to take it?
poetry is motion graceful
as a fawn
gentle as a teardrop
strong like the eye
finding peace in a crowded room
we poets tend to think
our words are golden
though emotion speaks too
loudly to be defined
by silence
sometimes after midnight or just before
the dawn
we sit typewriter in hand
pulling loneliness around us
forgetting our lovers or children
who are sleeping
ignoring the weary wariness
of our own logic
to compose a poem
no one understands it
it never says "love me" for poets are
beyond love
it never says "accept me" for poems seek not
acceptance but controversy
it only says "i am" and therefore
i concede that you are too

a poem is pure energy
horizontally contained
between the mind
of the poet and the ear of the reader
if it does not sing discard the ear
for poetry is song
if it does not delight discard
the heart for poetry is joy
if it does not inform then close
off the brain for it is dead
if it cannot heed the insistent message
that life is precious


which is all we poets
wrapped in our loneliness
are trying to say
My head is sore
From dreaming with my eyes open
And floating without leaving the ground

My nose is numb
Often it snows, blue and white
Trying to erase mistakes burned inside my mind,
but it melts too quickly

My throat is singed
From stress-causing stress relievers
And paranoia-producing mental sedatives 

My stomach aches
From trying to find myself
But becoming more lost than I have ever been in the process

Reality escapes have become reality
And life has become the terrifying emptiness
occurring when I am too broke to fake-forget my feelings
 Sep 2015 Poeticatheist
Renee
----
 Sep 2015 Poeticatheist
Renee
There this boy,
His name is Tim
He promises he loves me,
and do I believe him?
Yes,
yes I do believe him,
and I love him too.
He's my world,
my baby,
my everything and more

I've never been happier
and I've never been so loved
I never thought I'd have
the tall boy with black hair
Sometimes, it doesn't even seem fair
someone so amazing
choosing someone like me
Just a little nobody
trying to become somebody

When he kisses my forehead, my nose, my cheek
you can almost hear my heart beat
There's such love in his stares,
only for I.
In his hugs
I find paradise

It's hard to believe
it's been so long
a year since I've known you,
four months since we've been together,
months since I fell in love
I fall in love with you more and more each day
Maybe we said there was no way
but here we are,
yet another day.

It's 9:31 at night
I'm missing you, missing you by my side.
I can't wait to see you,
and see those sweet eyes
I can't wait to kiss you,
and hold you at night

You're the first thought in the morning,
the last in the dusk
And all through the day,
you're wandering my thoughts
You're a dream come true,
an angel sent from heaven
 Sep 2015 Poeticatheist
Z
8:40 PM.
 Sep 2015 Poeticatheist
Z
You are the canvas.

*Paint me as your villain.
2 years ago I wished for death
I breathed in pills like they were oxygen
Between the scars and my wrist and the tension in my bones
Nights were infinitely longer than days

6 months ago I fantasized her sweet kiss
Every thought dedicated to the romance
Every decision dedicated to numbness
3 am daydreams of helium tanks and ******

A month ago I drank myself out of consciousness
Until I was no longer forced awake
By the pulling between my temples
As if a void was in the center of my mind

This week my pillow beckoned to me as a long lost lover
Tonight we caressed each other
Tll I drifted into a blissful slumber
But plagued by mares of the the nights to come
Three hours sleep last night
I still can't sleep
though it's long past midnight
two, three a.m has slipped
by & I cannot deny
it's time to feel tired
It's not thinking of you
that's keeping me awake for once
not all my worries
or a film or even this poem
a mystery, my lack of sleep
perhaps it's the lack of rain
or the fact that there's no moonlight
to soothe & lull my eyes
I should never hold
political discussions with anyone
at night,
I know.
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