We're not meant to hate. I'm sorry but its true, no matter how much we say we hate someone deep down we know we're lying to ourselves.

You know how Love is the best feeling in the world. Don't you think hate is the alternative to when you're broken or something? Because with Love comes butterflies in our tummies, smiles in our faces, happiness and well thoughts of those you love. So with hate comes furry in our tummies, anger in our hearts, pain and memories of those who hurt us.

So does this mean we hate to remember those we love?
Because we don't really want to forget them?
Eh I think the heat is getting to me over here.

"Do you miss me?"

Yea I do.

"Really? What about?"

Everything. I even miss parts of me that left when you did. I miss my smile, I only gave it to you. Its gone now. But I miss everything.My heart aches but Its content. My thoughts on you are bittersweet, my feelings for is basically an oxymoron.

"I miss you too, I'm sorry for hurting you, I didn't mean to commit suicide okay scratch that I didn't mean to do it in your face. I Love you okay?"

Okay. Night Emily, Rest in peace buddy. Tom misses you, he's messy but I'm with him, we'll survive, God's with us, as we say In Setswana Ke a go rata, A modimo a nne le wena.

Got a pen and paper and all I want to do is write.
Block everything from me and just write but I can't.
Guilt overwhelms me as I try to ink the paper, mark it as mine but I can't.

I never meant to abandon you I swear I didn't.
He told me I wasn't serious enough about you, that I didn't deserve you.
He didn't see how much you meant to me... Since I was small I pictured you as my future. We were meant to be inseparable.
We were supposed to be infinite.
But he said I didn't deserve you and I believed him.
But I can't help but itch to run back to you each time I have a pen and paper.
But his words echoed in my heart.
I left you, and I'm sorry, I miss you. I'm not using poetry as an alternative.
Its just he can't judge here and take it away from me.
I miss you. I miss drawing. You were my life, you still are, I just draw you with words now.

He said I wasn't good enough, that it was an unrequited love, I believed him. I'm sorry.

Someone once said standing under the rain it feels as if someone is washing your problems away.
Each tiny droplet cascading down your way holding tight to your body wiping each tears away.

Then why don't I feel that?
Each droplet brings me down making everything around me heavy.
Tears are added making me feel as if I've got a whole more to carry.
Each drop is like a tap on the shoulder only to turn to realise I'm alone.
The thunderstorm to worsen to bring about the feeling of loneliness.
The golden lighting to entice fear.
And the worse part is after everything else I'm probably going to get flu.
Leaving me to wallow on my own with no way of running away.

Just by reading your words I immediately feel the pain you're going through.
Its probably empathy but I'd like to believe its more than that.
The pattern of your words synchronize with your pain, tears and sweat to create a beauty of words.
Your pain is painful but surely beautiful to me...
I'm sorry for your pain.
I'm a stranger but I would give a thousand bits of my happiness to make you smile because the person that hurt you is an *******.
Go ahead and tell them a random writer said that and if they try something just tell them my eyes change colour in the morning and night, surely that'll scare them.
You're an amazing person and I bet you that one day all this pain will be worth it.
But in the meantime can I just say you're awesometastic.

Thank you to the writers.
You somehow manage to portray a feeling that I a reader cannot put out there, you seem to understand what I am going through let it be pain, love, happiness, you understand me... Thank you for making me feel safe with your words. For making me feel as if I am not the only one.

To the readers.
Thank you for taking your time to listen to our words, to feel our emotions and being there for us just by reading our vulnerability. You accept us for what we really are.

To those who made a huge impact.
Thank you for the pain, the love and the chaos, Its been the best experience that has given us such motivation to keep writing and inspiration to those who needed someone to talk on their behalf.

To poetry.
Thank you for being my escape from reality, God knows how much I need it. Thank you for being more than just art but a way of Life. Thank you

I want to use all the alterations, Personifications in the world to impress you.
I want to drive you insane with the oxymorons, the metaphors and the similes.
I want to use coliqual words so that I can make you think I'm extremely smart.
When really in reality I'm just average.
I want to use euphemism and lititoes to really make you think I'm that good with words.
When really in reality I have writers block yet I want to capture your attention.
I want to write an iambic tetrameter with the rhyme scheme ABAB so that you notice some part of me in my writing.
I want my words to ****** with your mind so that some part of you thinks about me...
But I have writers block, There's not much I can do to grab your attention.