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 Oct 2016 Sarah
Rapunzoll
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.

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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. :)
 Oct 2016 Sarah
Torin
Lonely raging storm
Born inside war
Eating suns
The poets cry
Meaningless
The crow dies

The greatest men will become trees
With roots eternal
Heaven provide shelter for me
The silver smiling woman

Sad knows soon
High skies breathe
Endless flame
This crooked origami
Shorelines perfection
This red flower

The greatest men not comfort stained
Of pure intention
Lead my noble crusade
With your beautiful silence
 Oct 2016 Sarah
Torin
forever
 Oct 2016 Sarah
Torin
This little bit of time that is my life
Through hope and desperation
We only have so much
So long
And the colors can't shine bright
Forever
The sun won't always rise
My colors only fade
And maybe dreams are really all that is
I dream I live
And that I get it right

Change the red with blue
There is no truth
Besides the love me make
The love

We give

This little bit of time that is my life
 Oct 2016 Sarah
Torin
arrows
 Oct 2016 Sarah
Torin
These arrows don't sting as they tear apart my flesh
Not too bad

I remembered to forget
To remember
I find myself on edges
And there would be a world below me
Could be
          Crush
Crush me under
Crush my life into the soil
My bones are made to be broken
I sure could use your smile
I could

These arrows don't sting as they rip at my flesh
They feel warm
The consolation
It is
  What I always knew it would be
And I suffer pain
Sitting in pale light
The moon as my son and the sun only sets
And I
      Was always right                      I always knew

These arrows pierce my heart
And point in the right direction
 Oct 2016 Sarah
Torin
Im surrounded by empty cigarette packs
       and you think that you're a poet
I drink because its the only way I know how
To deal with this reality
       and you think that you're a poet


I'll be dead-broke and dying
No hope left
Still ******* words that mean nothing
And have hope
Without the slightest clue as to why
God
Or just man would understand
that there is a happy end
When there isn't

I'll have hope
Even after I lose and the implode
and you think that you're a poet

How am I alive?
 Oct 2016 Sarah
Torin
Or Worse
 Oct 2016 Sarah
Torin
We know the way a mind works
This is the ultimate weapon
We keep piling the hours on
Your head doesn't move

I would that my heart were pure
But my darkness is growing
And hunger must be sated
Anyways, in all the ways

I know that my aims are true
For better
           Or worse

We know the way of the gloom
This is our ultimate weapon
And whatever we feed you eat
Stone, stick and poison in the blood

Bones, rotten by our own attrition

I wish that my heart was pure
But, alas, it is not
So all I can really do
Is work for the betterment of my own lot

Be sure that my aims are true
Selfish desires
                Or worse

Bones rotten by our own attrition
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