Be careful
who you push away,
because you might push
too hard
and they will walk away.

And once they're gone,
you'll need them
and miss them
and you'll be hurt
because you hurt them.

and then
you'll be alone
and regret
will eat you alive
because you pushed away
your life
and your happiness.

Filled with guilt
because you hurt them
by hurting yourself.

I am your masterpiece,
I am what you made me; every stitch and every crease.
Like the finest tailor, you cut me open at the seams,
And sewed me back together as a quilt of your insecurities and dreams.
I was hand-stitched and handpicked to bare the weight of your pain.
And in my strength you found another string to pull time and time again.
Before I collapse and fall apart, you sew yourself into me,
So instead of all the holes and tears, it is only the beautiful patches that they see.
Your strength was drawn from my frayed and fragile heart,
I am your creation; I was built for you to use and tear apart.

To love a man that gives you the moon and all of the constellations,
                      this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could create skies of jade and violet among any area of his choosing with his own bare hands.

To love a man that gives you a bouquet of twelve burgundy roses,
                     this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could produce a field of golden pansies atop my right cheek with his own fingertips.

To love a man that gives you a kiss beneath a lantern string of lights,
                     this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could shoot the most colorful of fireworks and streamers from the booming sound of his own voice.

To love a man that gives you a floral path from the door to a candle-lit room,
            this gift, I did not receive.

Instead, I loved a man who could toss a book through the air and before it struck my skin, it would burst into pink rose petals with a clap from
the same bare hands that painted me jade and violet skies.

You're the book
I've read many times before.
The one with the protagonist
Who does all the wrong things
Who doesn't see the wrong things
Others are doing to them
Behind their backs.
All I can do is scream at them
Even though they will not hear me.
I become so frustrated,
Yet I continue to turn the page
To see what will happen next
Even though
I already know the ending to this book.

Red back eats her lover while she's mating.
Love is overrated.
She thinks it's great to mate.
She's hungry for fun.
The ladybug won.
The mantis is manning, she's scheming and planning.
She's killing for thrilling.
For less than a shilling.
She's hungry again
Look out all you men.
Remember remember its not the fifth lf November.
There is no treason or plot.
The poet you know it,
She only pens insignificant words.
She herself ,no murderous bird.
The idea itself made poetry.
Hungry for cute things like chocolates and flowers.
Writing words for hours and more.
Now you know the homestead score.
Soft as putty and a stream full of dreams.
(c) Livvi