I get lost in your kiss
                   Yet feel at home on your **lips

So I had something written down but then I completely erased it. It felt as if I wasn't saying much.

So I'll try this. In a relationship people always have this objective of trying to save someone. I don't know if that makes sense. But someone is always trying to be your hero. Like they feel that they have the power to make you feel safe yet be able to take that away from you. Because without a hero like maybe Superman or Spiderman where would the city be right?

But I think differently. Getting to know you made me realise something. I wanted to be my own hero so that I can be the best girlfriend ever. I wanted to be my batman so that I can protect you, my Gotham city.
But as time moved on. You opened wounded layers of me and you still are opening them. And you're by my side helping me close them. And then I thought to myself. Wow this girl is amazing.
She's not the typical I want to be your hero person any random person meets.

You showed me something about a relationship. It's not about being your own hero but that does play an important role. It's about finding someone who connects with you. It's about finding someone who's willing to help you with your journey. About finding someone who's helping save you. Someone who's by your side.
Like a sidekick. Most people think less of them. But look at Batman. He has Robin. And without him Gotham isn't safe.

Look at the Avengers as weird as it seems they have more than one person helping each other out.

Or even Spider-Man. He has his own guys with the help of Shield.

I'm getting to my point don't worry.

See the problem of having to be your own hero is that we have cracks that we can not get closure or get them filled alone. And for that we ignore them. And these cracks just keep on getting worse until we are at a point whereby we don't know. Literally we don't.

For example one of my cracks I have is my lack of confidence.
On my own. I would have probably ignored it or come up with a situation whereby I just need to lose more weight. I'd probably be anorexic by now.

But because I have someone like you. I'm finding ways of trying to appreciate myself. Because I'm a beautiful person. I'm a good kid. My baby says so and it's true.
You help me help myself be better. You're by my side as I try to save and find myself.

Which is something I want to do for you
It's something I'm going to do for you. I want to be your sidekick. Your Robin.
Opening up is hard. I know and I understand. I care so very deeply for you baby. Shucks I'm madly in love with you
I want what's best for you. I want you to have the most amazing life ever. I want your heart and mind free from everything that torments you.

But what I do not want to do is force you ever.
I will never get impatient with you. And even if you push me away. I'll stay right here and keep it solid.
Each time you're sad. I'll type the longest message ever. Especially if I can't get to you immediately

I love you. I really do
And I'm here. To talk or not, I know that sometimes we just need to be there for one another and not talk. Just for us to embrace each others presence and I'll be there for that

I'm your Reastar
Your girlfriend
Your best friend
I'm yours

They told me to take things back to the 90's
Take things back to the heart
Told me I should have done this from the start.
But the views from my six are contoured.
Covered in foundations of fuckboys, fuckgirls and blessers.
So tell me how do I express my heart when this generation believes the only functioning ***** should be brain,
Because heart will **** you
And the others are going to die from harmful ingestions.

They told me to take it back to the 90's.
Take things back to the heart.
So here I go.

The basis of my poetry has always been pain.
My heart and soul always confining in a dark pit of abyss.
My body constricted in a corner
Huddled up, popping everything it could.

Now the basis of this story isn't about you saving me,
But how you gave me your hand, shoulder, smile and wisdom to the path of saving.
Of how you opened your chest, tore out your ribcage and gave me your broken heart as you took mine.
Of how you taught me pain is inevitable but suffering is optional
Of how you showed me true love.
And how grateful I am.

In twenty four hours the heart beats 115200 times.
At least fifty percent of the time my heart skips a beat.
This means from 57600 beats and above are skipped.

A week consists of seven days
In hours that's approximately 168.
As like the first at least fifty percent is lost in thought of you
Which means 84hrs and above I think about you.

An average of all 12 months is approximately 140 days.
Okay skip the math, let's get straight to the conclusion.
Math is a fine art of illusion.
Filled with various abstract to distract you.
But the rule is you will always find your x.
The x that completes your equation.

So what I am saying is that you complete my equation of life
You're my X.

Literature teaches us to express our feelings in terms of literal devices.
From anecdotes, personification to lititoes.
It tells us to sing with our hearts,
Speak with our souls and allow our voices to do it all.

Like Christina Rossetti,
"My heart is like a singing bird"
"For my love has come to me"

Look truth is you give me butterflies.
You make my heart swell up in happiness.
You make me feel alive.
You make me stutter out of nervousness.
You make me want to impress you.
To always put a smile on that beautiful face.
You make me want to hear your laugh every single second.
You make me happy
Which makes me want to make you happy.
Because pain is a feeling we all get to experience
But happiness is rare and I want you to feel it.

What I am trying to say is
I'm taking it back to the 90's
To the early 2000's
To tell you, you're one in a million
That I'm stuck on you
And that I am madly in love with you.

The death of a poet is the death of words left unsaid.
Words that could be beautifully carved into an orchestra of pain, sadness,happieness and a whirlpool of emotions.
The death of a poet is tragic.

As words that people hope to find end up not reaching them because  words could not unfold themselves, they could not evolve from just mere emotions and ideas.
Instead they stay boxed up in the mind of the dead.

The death of a poet is tragic.