In my favorite movie they say that "love and hate are two horns on the same goat" and I never got that until I loved you.
Because I don't just love you, sometimes I hate you a little bit too.
Sometimes you make me so **** mad I could scream and throw things at your head.
But most of the time I just wanna cuddle close and kiss you instead.
Sometimes you're so judgmental with such a closed mind.
Even though you're usually pretty accepting and oh so kind.
Sometimes you have this awful superiority complex.
But usually I'm the one who is telling you you're the best.
Sometimes you're closed off, selfish and mean.
But most of the time your honest love and laughter is my favorite thing.
It would be an understatement to say we don't always see eye-to-eye.
But at the end of the day I think you're lovely and I'm glad you're all mine.
You see, hating you and the thought of us ruining what we have fills me with fear.
But my God it is so worth loving you,
my dear.

Lately, I've seen poems trending about how no one should fall in love with a poet, nor should they make a poet helplessly fall in love with them. However, something no one has mentioned yet is what occurs too often: stealing from a poet.

When a poet writes a poem, that poem is the perfect combination of metaphors and imagery created by them for you -- a compilation so beautifully intricate that you can get lost by reading merely a few words, overtaken by an empathetic tide that you did not think would come to the corners of your eyes when you sat down and opened your book or tab or paper.

This is the beauty of poems; they express words that many cannot say in any other variation of any way. Ask a poet to describe their emotions and they will beg you for paper and pen, a computer and a keyboard. And these poems eventually combine to become a part of the poet.

The poems a poet writes become a part of themselves.

That being said, it is not okay to take away from a poet what is rightfully theirs. You do not steal from a poet because you are searching for an idea, or because you would like to go trending. Stealing is not poetry. Stealing is not beautiful.

We are a community of people with a love more affable for poetry than for ourselves, and we should all respect all the pieces, because if we do then we are accepting and respecting each other.

So I ask you from the bottom of my heart, do not steal from a poet any longer if you have, or at all if you have not. Your pieces are your own raw emotions, not mine. My pieces are my own raw emotions, not yours.

What to do when you don't know what to do anymore: a beginners guide to how to repair emotional impairment**

1. stop trying to force yourself to write romantic poetry and listen to romantic music like you used to and think about him when you write it [[i'm thinking of him now]]. the spark that you saw in his eye and the flame that burned through your chest and touched your heart is gone, don't try to start it again [[even though i want to]].

2. accept the fact that maybe that flame was never there to begin with [[but i thought it was]]

3. take every single **** moment you two have ever had, everything he has ever told you, all the memories [[and the hugs and smiles, the jokes and the laughter, the way you remember his eyes lighting up like lightning when you would make him laugh]] you keep replaying whenever you see his eyes even if it's just for a moment, all the stupid texts that he's sent you at one, two, three am about life, and try to get over them [[ignore that you've been trying so **** long already]]. don't shove them to the back of your mind because you're too scared to let go [[im scared]] and don't push them to the front of your mind so that you can just sulk over the fact that they are gone and ended and you two don't act like you used to around each other anymore [[but i wish we did]]

4. delete those songs that remind you of him [[but its all of them]] and get new one for new memories that are promised in the summer kissed air outside of your constrained bedroom that has heard all of your nightmares and seen all of your tears [[and all of the hatred]]  

5. try to move on [[but i cant]] and dont be afraid to let down the walls of your heart again. don't put your walls up to begin with anymore [[i thought he was different but he wasnt]] because you know that you have to be the strong, independent, beautiful girl everyone sees [[but i can't be her]] so that you can win over his heart with a single swift smile and eyes that gleam like the last summer sunset he saw

6. try to repiece your broken self and try to have fun [[im too damaged]] and smile in the mirror at yourself because in the end he does not matter to you anymore [[yes he does]] and so what if he is starting to forget you? you can forget him too [[but i cant]]. dont be lonely [[im so ******* lonely]] because you choose to just focus on him; allow yourself to be loved by every inch of someone else, from their golden soul to their golden heart [[who can love someone this broken?]]

7. stop with the "i'm fine's" and be honest [[lying with my smile is the best tool]] because he will listen [[when he wants to]]

and finally,

8. acknowledge that you are a [**]t, [pe]rfect, al[l]uring, [e]nthu[s]ia[s]tic girl

I never liked the rain. It was always too cold or too wet for me. But the way the word curled off of your tongue made me want more. Any word that fell from your lips really.
I watched the rain for the first time in a while. I wanted to smell it. I wanted to  touch it. I wanted to taste it. I stopped myself from doing so though.
I watched and I listened. The first and last sense you lose when your time comes.
Maybe when my time comes you'll say more words and I'll hear them fall out. Maybe there will be rain.

Remember when you promised me
All your soul and body
And that I'd never slip
Below the crashing waves.

Just when it was calmest
You left me for the future
A future with no love or lust
At least not involving me.

To be happy, they say,
Live in the now.
I suppose I live in your past
So I hope your now is the happiest now
(You're the reason our now could never last.).

Getting all dolled up- for a night, of disappointments. Painting a smile on your lips, wearing your best dress- trying oh so hard so no one you're depressed. The girl with the pretty smile, and the bloodshot eyes- so red cuz she's been crying all night. But you'd never know it. Cuz she'd never show it.

She fixes her hair with the hand of an artist, she's the brushed-off girl, the boys have never kissed.

She's got scars on her wrist, can't see her own loveliness. Only sees it in others, she hopes she'll never become her mother. She's so kind but I swear she's half blind, with the way she sees herself. I see how broken she is and I try all I can to help. Cuz I know her hell. I've been there and it's a scary place. It leaves you with that awful taste.

Darling, I just wanted to tell you you're beautiful. Despite the funhouse mirrors and the hurtful people. You've got your battle scars and they look great on you. I know the feeling, I'm right there with you.