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One thing I hate most is drowning:
The scent of sodium penetrating the sinuses
The nothingness of endless water
The desperation for a grasp of air

But then I finally understood
I'm drowning in an ocean of you
That of which I'm willing to venture forever
All the uncharted areas
The vistas to discover
The wonders and surprises
And though I can't even float
Nor breathe underwater
I realised
I'm still swimming
M.
I tried to make this poem different
But then I realized
If there's one thing I'm good at
It would be writing about you
About your smallest movements
No one seems to notice
Like the way you flick your hair when you get nervous
About the surprises in you
Like your soft cry to belong, to matter
When all people see is a hard rock
They never knew it was a build up of tears
And about the things I will never have the chance to tell you again
Like when you're nervous or afraid, I'll be there
But I won't tell you not to fear
Because there are some things we have to be afraid of
Or hey, you were my rock
The one thing I held on to
And I will cradle you
Your softest whispers
And the salty water you come with
Because
You belong with me
You will always matter.
I was thinking of continuing this poem and perform it as spoken word but lately I haven't been sure if I still want to say these. This is for the person I haven't gotten over yet and I've been wondering if he still deserves another poem from me. Maybe at the end of this poem, I could say that I do have other things I'm good at and eventually succeed in heartbreak but for now, let this poem be another one which shouts my love for him.

And please leave suggestions if you have some. I'd appreciate it so much. Thanks :).
  Nov 2017 damsel in distress
tragedies
the most frustrating thing
when it comes to a writer
is when everything
every word, every letter,
isn't enough to give justice to
the captivating picture of you
in the afternoon:

soaked in sweat,
grinning foolishly,
striking up a conversation
about coffee,
and how unhealthy it is
for me to drink
three cups straight,
to stay awake,

yet the bittersweet taste
stains my lips.

it spills down my throat,
covers my lungs,
and drowns them
with the addicting aroma
of coffee beans
and lazy dreams,
until i cannot seem
to breathe,

and the only thing
i can ever do
is to spill ink
for you.
10.12.16
Life is a
constant pull
between
running &
fighting

and

your brain
tricks you
into believing
that

nobody cares.

It is all in your head.
Not in your heart.

Every day that you wake up,
you have a choice
to be better
or worse
than the day before.

And even if there
is no point to
this life-

let that be a reason
to ignore
all of the people
that drain you
of your energy
and let go of
the problems
you CANNOT control.

This world is
temporary.
This pain is
temporary.
This moment
is temporary.

And so are you.

Please,
smile more.
Laugh more.
Express more.
Do everything you can to
leave your mark.

There is no concept of time,
anymore.

There is only you
and what you adore;

keep it.
Smile today(:
  Nov 2017 damsel in distress
JP
A flower picked
may be short-lived,
but its birth
and death
was meant
to celebrate
this event,
of having courage
to love again.
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
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