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{~~~}
You say you like me.
You say you want me.
But-
You don't want to make a commitment.
Then that girl
The one I called my best friend.
She likes you
But it's okay
She can flirt with you
"I guess."
She can go ahead and claim you.
"You can't really do anything because you two aren't dating.
I can flirt with him as much as I want."
She can just spit that in my face.
And it's okay.
Oh this salt has never burned such open wounds.
Why don't you just drag a knife down my back.
So I'm just sitting here tearing myself apart.
The tears are running down my face
I have no one to turn to but you
But how can I talk to you of how I feel?
You do feel the same way about me like I do to you.
I'm not that mad.
I'm just utterly depressed.
Not because of what you think.
It's not because she's flirting with you,
No.
It's because what she said is true
We're not together.
You're not mine
{~~~}
No matter how much I wish you were.

© Copywrited
 May 2015 princessninann
XIII
You endure the pain of laboring words from your insides
Like giving birth to a new life
Bare your whole soul and let them bleed into a piece of paper
And this process repeats over and over and over

But then your precious child was stolen
You're slowly eaten by anger, your teeth gritted
You're reminded of the emotions you put into creating that child, including the pain
You want to vent the anger, your hands shaking

But you cannot do anything but to punch in the wind
Though your patience is weighing thin
You felt molested, violated
You're just hoping they wouldn't forget about the rule that is golden
“Don't do unto others what you don't want others to do unto you.”

― Confucius

So this is how it feels to be plagiarized. I know my poem was just appreciated, that was why it was copy-pasted and posted, but you can re-post a poem or like it if you really appreciate it. Not in that "copy-paste" way. I hope no one will ever do that again to a co-poet. And I hope we, here in Hello Poetry, as well as the administrators of the site, can do something about plagiarism.
 May 2015 princessninann
Rhythm
Someday,
when you'll ask me
"how much do you love me?",
In answer, I will not spread my arms wide.

I will rather wrap them around you
tight,
and will never let you go.
 May 2015 princessninann
XIII
I cannot even draw a straight line
My masterpiece is a doodle stick man
My drawing of a heart doesn't look like one
But I'd want to show you the visions that I have

I'd like to sketch a portrait of you
Like Jack on Titanic would do
Or paint a thousand sunsets
Like what Michael learnt to do

I'd like to draw those sceneries we see
Or that image of your back as you sleep
The image of our hands intertwined
Paint the colors you gave my life when it was black and white

But I cannot draw..

I've been jealous of those who can
Express their love through drawing or painting
But I cannot draw
What my eyes saw

I cannot draw
Those comic strips
With our love story in it
I just have no talent in this field

I cannot draw
So the least I can do is write
Draw words from my soul and rhyme
Paint words to rhyme
Sketch stories into words and color them to rhyme

I cannot draw
But I can write
 May 2015 princessninann
XIII
You'll know the story of a poet, by his poems.
 May 2015 princessninann
XIII
I may be a poet but I'm not good with words
I'm not good with words that should be spoken, or words alongside chords
I'm not good with words that are supposed to be echoed
Or words that require a brave voice

I may be a poet but I'm not good with words
I don't memorize all the words in Mr. Webster's books
Neither the classic words Mr. Shakespeare wrote
No, I am not someone who can really boast

I may be a poet but I'm not good with words
I cannot express well and have words in its proper use
I don't know how to start, I do not know the exact dose
I'm afraid they may be wrong, the words that I might choose

I may be a poet but I'm not good with words
The words and what I mean, might not get even close
The battle between my heart and mind might not even have a truce
Because I tend to have many, and contradicting views

I may be a poet who is not good with words
But I'm good at words written with a pen and a note
To know what I mean, you'll just need to put an effort
Read and digest, all I have to say is written on what we all call, a poem
 May 2015 princessninann
XIII
There I go again
I was dragged in
Inside that chamber
On the 6th floor

Heart thumping
Wild, about to burst out
This worst feeling
Seeping into my guts

I'm about to throw up
What butterflies?
These are dragons inside my stomach
Devouring me from inside out

Then it started
As I expected
I was handcuffed
chained all over, down and up

It echoes, the incoming footsteps
I shivered as I froze
'Cause I know what will happen
Then, the doors were locked and closed

There it is, The Ghost
"Why me?"
"Because it is you I chose,
and I know you chose me."

It pierces my chest with its hands
It dug my heart out
Torture, this is torture
Nothing can compare to the hurt

I am screaming in pain, crying
But I cannot let out a sound
Under its rules, I am bounded
To express, I am not allowed

If I let out even a soft sob
I will receive a million jab
Because to express is a taboo
And probably to be human too

But who is it to blame?
On the 6th floor, it is me who came
I came knocking, searching
The Ghost only accepted my pleadings

Because this is what I wanted
I'll have to heart-fully accept
That I'll repeatedly succumb to the torment
On the 6th floor chamber

Because The Ghost is right
From the start, the decision was mine
I know I cannot go back
*Because I chose to love
Pain is part of love.
I'm not a poet
I shouldn't claim the like
Because a poet would know more
About struggle and strife
While I myself lay my head on a bed
Some poets stay up all night
Driving home their nails
Into the coffin of conviction
How dare I say I'm impaled.
While others wrote beautifully on social issues or on love
I sit and stare at the wall
I churn out writings on things such as white struggles and heartache
I'll write about the same boy over and over again with a different ad lib.
I'll write about voices in minds I can't reach or begin to comprehend
So tell me how I'm a poet, again?
Because I can write a line and hit an enter key
I somehow think I'm a cool *** thing.
Nah man, I'm not a poet
I'm a wannabe
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