I am just a mere poet
A ****** poet indeed
I only write a bittersweet topic
And I just turn out to be nostalgic

I am a ****** poet
It is evident in my works
I can't even write a poem
That can be compared to the claret

I'm just a simple man
Who expresses his thoughts
Though my writings are ******
And aren't bound to push through

I am one ****** poet
I am one such disappointment
For my poems are not to be met
And are destined to be deprived of acknowledgement

I'm willing to risk it
I'm willing to risk everything because
I can't hold it in
Because I love you
I've already lost you
What more can I lose?
I've lost the only person I think I will be able to love
And the only thing I'm trying to do is get through to you
That no matter how far you push me, I will be waiting...
Maybe, waiting wont get me anywhere
And maybe I will miss out on a huge part in my life
But I don't feel like I used to...
Happiness isn't the same anymore...
People might say I am crazy and I will agree with them, I am crazy!
I would never wish anyone would feel this way but I'm so glad that I fell in love with someone and I am glad that it was with you
We didn't have the perfect relationship or even close to a stable relationship but it was real
It was amazing to feel something new with you day after day
It was amazing to fall more in love with you from day one and even till now
It's the greatest gift
This may be cliche, hell I know it's cliche but that's the world we live in, a world full of cliches
People play out the words like "love" "admire", and all the things you hear and see in the media about this presupposed  love, but I do love you and admire everything about you
I miss everything about you.
I miss the taste of your lips, the touch of your hands, the sound of your laughter, the way you look while you sleep, the wrinkles on your nose when you get mad and much more. I miss spending time with you, being around you, just watching movies and tv through the night, going places with you, and I especially miss having the privilege to spend time with you.
I want to tell you this, and yes I am scared.
I know you don't want to talk to me nor even acknowledge my existence anymore.
You told me to move on and I told you I would try and yes, there were also times when I told you I did, but I didn't.
How could I?
I love you and it will always be you. I don't know what it is and how you got me under this deep spell but in all honesty I don't want to ever break out of it.
I do hope you are happy, but I also hope you feel as miserable as I do every time you think of love, I hope you get sick to your stomach when you see people in love because I do.
I do feel miserable and I do get sick to my stomach because I miss that feeling that I use to have with you and I get jealous.
I admire you, yes.. in all honesty, I do!
I love you and I love the fact that I love you.
Every time I try to hate you I hate myself and I start feeling guilty because I am reminded of the fact that I promised you forever and I promised that I will wait for you.
My love, I wish you would see this and read it.
I wish you would inhale these words and hear my soul.
I want you to feel what I am spilling out in every inch of your veins. I want you to imagine me in front of you, saying this to you, but I want you to give me a chance to speak. I want you to let me hold your hands for the last time if it ever might be. I want you to have the heart to give me just ten minutes to honestly pour out my heart to you. But I also want an honest answer and a reply from you. Just know that I do love you and I will always love you.

We'll never know how flowers die.
Withering within,
they never cry aloud their sighs,
or beg forgiveness for their sins.
We'll never know how flowers suffer,
torn from ground in summer storms,
freezing from the chills in autumn,
buried beneath the winter snow.
We'll never know how flowers feel
abandoned all alone
on the foreign hostile fields
among the evil thorns.
We'll never know how flowers long
for drop of water, bright and sunny sky...
We'll never find what hides behind their silence.
We'll never know how flowers die.

P.S. Women are flowers. ♥

As I lay my head I try to sniff a shirt that I let you wear because your scent gives me such a comfort it makes me feel like you are near but from me you have disappeared for the time being
Sometimes it gets weird having too much room on my bed you know without having you pressing me into the 24-inch chunk of the bed that you leave me after you get nice and cozy
I just want to find my zen in the form of massaging my fingers through your hair to help me calm myself before a nights rest
I need your brown sugar kissed skin to serve as a heater to keep me warm whilst I dream until sunrise
But you are not here
Longing to hear the music you display while telling me about your day. Deeply saddened when you are too tired to speak our native tongue.
Peace is found when you are in my arms and all of the day’s harms matter no longer
Your smile helps my eyes adjust after turning down the lights
Your kisses serve as sleeping pills I must take them carefully or I can get myself hurt
The gentleness of your touch puts me under a spell that acts as a catalyst to the sleeping pill. “You are getting sleepy…”
I wish you were here
Now it’s 3:27 a.m and I have yet to seize my thoughts of you
I find you in my heart right where I left you anxiously waiting to sing me to sleep
So you are here …

I know it sounds silly,
But I can't waste this book.
It doesn't feel like other books.
I know that is because you love it.
It doesn't feel like it's made of paper,
It feels like it's made of thin, thin glass.
I hold it like it's precious.
Something feels different about its pages.
They are creamy white and smooth,
And I think that to dog-ear these pages would be a crime.
I know it's silly.
I know it's crazy, actually.
But I can't just devour this book in a night the way I do all others.
Once I reach the end...
I will have reached the end-
I'll have no more pages of your favorite book to read for the first time.
I opened the cover as if light would pour out-
Slow, and careful-
And it might have, I'm not entirely sure.
I'm oddly nervous to travel the lines of this book,
To lose myself in it.
I know I'll be talking to you in the margins.
I know I'll feel insane for it,
And I know I'll do it anyway, in neat pencil,
Because I won't be able to help wondering
What did she think when she read this sentence?
What did she get from this passage?
I wonder if, like me, when you open a well loved book
You feel the impression of wherever you were
The first time you read it.
I wonder where you were
The first time you opened this book.
And I am apprehensive to open it myself-
What if I open it in the wrong place,
At the wrong time?
I'll never get the chance to read it first
Ever again.
Its pages are velvety, and their color is like soft whipped cream.
It's only a book.
But it's not.
It's one of the only things I know about you
And it's in my hands
And
What if I break it?
What if I **** it up?
What if I squander it and then
I'll never have it back?
And maybe it's
Just a book,
Yeah.
But when I touch it I feel closer to you
And a mere book
Has never had that kind of power over me before,
And I'm a little afraid
Of this book.
And I am afraid
That once I've read every word,
And my thirst for knowledge has sped the pages by
Like sand slipping through an hourglass,
I'm afraid that I'll love you even more
Than I already do.
And
Who knows what will happen then?