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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. :)
I'm nearly catatonic.
My eyes shift spasmodic in their sockets.
They're closed, and it's far too quiet
for the racket ripping my inner eardrums.
Reliving the sound of grim acceptance.
Slack faced,in the blackness.
"I guess this is it".
I said it then. And I say it now.
  Didn't make a terrible difference,did it?
Gifted quesarito wrappers are
halfheartedly crumpled in the floor.
I was dead, I died, I'm dead once more.
We, my dear
Are falling stars
Falling in love
And the sky
Is the backdrop of our hearts.
Poem 4 of my love poem spree. It's nighttime where I am.
I always believed
Not in god
But in whatever it is
God does

Maybe giving us reason
Or giving us meaning
That whatever pain we feel
Is all a part of a plan

I always believed
Because the truth is
I can't live my life
Without believing in something
 Dec 2015 Solomon Sverdlovski
mk
in the fear of being pitied
i left your kindness out on the porch,
slammed the door in your face
& let your love wash away with the rain...
i want to eat
fruits and vegetables
with you
until we rot.
jupiter has been longing for our skeletons,
ever since we took our bones to saturn
when we wrought our bodies into the shape of the moon
waiting in darkness for the sun's return

all the fires burning beyond the blankets of space
have carried our breaths to a far away place
though our lips never spoke any words face to face
all the planets aligned in the black, cold embrace

the vacant sky we swim inside is nothing but antimatter
so i guess nothing matters here
he
"you're off in your own world, it seems like" is what he said to me as my fingers frantically typed my thoughts as quickly as i could think them

and even with him here to block my mind from wandering completely, it still gets away from time to time
but never learned how to tie its shoes
so it trips up once in a while

the world around me has left me lost
as i'm embraced by the chill of reality's grasp
and i lift my eyes from my screen
looking like a washed up sewer rat,
realizing i keep reestablishing my own inevitable loneliness
 Aug 2015 Solomon Sverdlovski
zak
Fire in my veins, blood in my mouth
Her mind was shattered, while mine travelled south
Did he cut himself on your pieces? Or did you learn to put yourself back together?
I hope you grew out of finding beauty in sadness, that you understood the possibility of happiness without depression.
I hope you learned never to fall in love with a broken mirror.
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