I want something that I cannot have. I cannot have it because I don't truly know what it is. I've seen it polished and propped as if it were on display and I've heard the stories of how much time and effort it took to make it look as such. But I want it. I want love. I want the idea of it at least.
I want the fights brought about by events simpler and less important than the time we wasted to have them. I want to be pained by the sight of her pain and know that the feeling of knives piercing my chest when I see her cry is there because I would literally drive them there myself if only to prevent her tears.
I want our laughs to intertwine over the smallest things and our conversations to stretch our minds over the biggest. I want to see you sleep at night and I'll smile because I know that you're finally at peace. And I want you to smile when you wake up because you know that I'm fighting to make your reality better than your dreams.
I want love. I want romantic love, I want crazy love. I want passion. I want to pick you up in my arms and in that brief present get lost in your presence. I want to be in you when I am in you and have you wish that I would stay forever. I want to be in your heart and mind, and I want our love to be torturous and blind.
I just want love. I want the idea of it at least.

You made a poet fall in love with you
And expected her not to write sonnets about your eyes
Expected the fire in her heart not to inspire couplets
You made a poet fall in love with you, and when you left
Expected her not to write pages about the ache in her chest
Write a soliloquy dedicated to her tears
Expected her not to feel every gut wrenching moment of the pen hitting paper like your words hit her in the most vulnerable places of her mind.
You made a poet fall in love with you, and you expected her to be silent.
That is no fault of hers.

I'm tired no, not that kind of tired
Where it can simply cured by sleep
I'm tired of all the things
That put me through and through
I'm tired of all the times
Where I've almost shed a tear
I'm tired of all the friends
That used me like my feelings never existed
I'm tired of all the life
That makes me suffer days and nights

Every shout  a drop of blood squirting from the twisted veins
the destiny’s road opens to another quite unknown corner
Every shout stifled by heartbeat  of silence holds a desire to cut
the uneaten loaf of heart their ears are deaf,  a head of stone
a body of wood, fingers of clay that have forgotten how to clasp a flower
or rise a hand in protest, music that has become air settles down at the navel of midnight
it’s an angel singing to closed windows and doors only the leaves and grasses of
the earth responds with daybreak the lips the nose, the hands the limbs the eyes
awakened  the air lost its music the angel is only a love disowned
by both the lover and the beloved

She wanders guided by her lost soul.
She spills arts coming from her pure heart;
She writes words no one can understand,
yet she speaks it like it was kept in her mind
for so long, just waiting for someone to find it.
She is a masterpiece of her own,
but she has a heart of stone.

I appreciate simplicity, the mediocrity
of being absorbed in my thoughts.
It's who I am, it's all I know.
Do not deem me ill because  you have never sat down and
explored the dynamics and complexities
of your being because we are clearly not on the same mental or spiritual calibre.

I want my words to be beautiful. Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things, Find the magic in them,
and put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.
I want to have a way with words.  I want every poem of mine
to become a masterpiece. Just like yours.
I am not broken. But you are. You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colours brighter. It makes the value of feelings climb higher.
Sometimes I wonder if I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate like yours.
Sometimes I wonder, if it will be truly worth it in the end.
I wonder what it will be like, to cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.
Just like you I imagine that you raise the blade slice your feelings open
and write your masterpiece in red.