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A Poet's heart
Is secure
From thieves
Someday,
Someone will want to be in just this bed
Laying next to me

And maybe by then,
It'll be worth it for them to stay
Because I'll have myself
Finally figured out.
you looked.
i looked.
we looked.
we're hooked.
i can't do this
but i want to
because you
looked
and
it got me
hooked.

- g.w
25/10/16 @ 11.33am


Here in this place where I once played,
midst memories now cast aside
The clouds my worthless life has made,
rain down in teardrops I have cried
Thank you to all of my friends here who have supported and encouraged me. I appreciate each and every one of you.  I hope I have shown you the same kindness you have always shown me. This will be my last for while, I need some time to figure out who I am and how I became that person. Thanks again.
I wrote this poem so you could see.
I hope it finds you wherever you may be.

If my love was the wind, you'd hear it for days.
If my love was the sun, you'd feel it, always.

If my love was a storm, you'd be covered in rain.
If my love could mend, there'd be no more pain.

If my love could surround like stars in the sky,
you'd never be alone; in my arms you'd cry.

If my love was a diamond, I'd keep it true.
If my love could be held, I'd hand it to you.
This is a love poem that I've yet to dedicate to someone.
Follow your heart;
                  you will find
                  the right path
                  to true love
                  and real pain
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

------------------------------------------------
my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
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