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Ravanna Dee Sep 2016
Do we not read poetry about love
so that we can feel
a little as if it's actually real?
This might seem confusing... Allow me to explain. When I read peoples poetry about love it has this strong emotional hold on me. As if, somehow, I get to experience it through that persons view. And there is just something amazing about being reminded that love must be real when I can feel it just by reading someones work.
Ravanna Dee Sep 2016
My body's but a host for all my many thoughts.
They get stuck in my veins when trying to reach my heart.
My lungs squeeze them in and out as they slowly struggle across,
My windpipe made of words to slip past my lips of art.
They crash around my stomach when I'm nervous or excited.
Causing little fights with sentences that get scrambled in my throat.
And I'm certain behind my eyes you'll see them messing around- delighted,
As they switch and mix up words to create new poems and quotes.
Inside my body is but a container of all my favorite things;
Lungs made of fairy tales and muscles made of fire,
Vessels made of children's laughter and bones made of wings...
Beneath my skin lives a world of all my many thoughts.
And I’m sure they would frighten and confuse all those who saw.
So I do my best to keep them hidden with my human attire.
For if no one sees what I am then people can't so willingly withdraw.
It's difficult to show people who you are inside when you fear they won't like what they see...
Ravanna Dee Sep 2016
I count the blinks I take.
The nights I sleep.
The smiles I make.
The words I speak.
I count every single thing,
That you happen to be missing.
As a reminder to never take for granted,
All this precious time I've been handed.
This life I've been creating?
It started when I stopped waiting.
For you.
To choose me.
In other words,
I count to remind myself I'm free.
Ravanna Dee Sep 2016
When I meet my end.
I don't want
anything less than,
a life of laughs
and love.
I life were struggles
only made me strong.
And then hopefully...
When my wrinkles
are all but trophies,
of all the many year's
I've seen,
I'll be able to look back
and breath them in,
so very, very
slowly
Knowing that it was,
in fact.
the best it could've possibly
been.
Live the kind of life
you'll want to breath in
at the end.
When so many
these days
end it
for the exact opposite reason.
...
Ravanna Dee Sep 2016
In the lines around my mouth,
You could read two different stories.
        They could've come from a smile.
          Or quite possibly from a frown.
But honestly you'll never know,
Unless, you brave the risk,
       Of coming to me alone,
and asking me yourself.
Ravanna Dee Sep 2016
She was a deep woman.
And he wasn't prepared to hold his breath
long enough to reach her soul.
Ravanna Dee Sep 2016
You fell in love with the way
the leaves fell from the tree's.
The way they were all beautiful,
as soon as they were leaf free.
They were bare and left vulnerable,
their branches like stiff fingers.
Looking as if trying to grasp,
their old life before winter.
You always loved the broken.
Or the ones that needed to be cared for.
And what you never seemed to have realized
was that those tree's were neither.
They didn't need your help.
For they already had a life goal.
To come back after winter,
So much stronger than before.
When you saw this you were disappointed.
And that's when I finally got it.
All this time it wasn't about fixing others,
But about stitching your own split.
You spent so long looking in others,
for a brokenness like yours.
Thinking that if you helped them fix it,
then maybe you could wipe your own tears.
But, darling, I'm here to tell you,
that your approach is all wrong.
You are actually like those bare trees.
For you've been whole all along.
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