Write me a sonnet, point dozens of Cupid’s arrows to my heart if you dare to awaken it. Tune into your inner Shakespeare, fantasize us as Bonnie and Clyde if you care to spend time in it. Recreate the Titanic, recreate it with the ending of The Notebook if you can bear to believe in it. And if that doesn’t work, cast me to sleep like the Romeo you are and let me awake next to your lifeless flesh and dagger as I pierce my soul with it.
Write me a sonnet, let every single one of those fourteen lines bleed with emotion. Leave The Notebook next to my notebook and become the protagonist of my dreams. Think like the wind and attain the kind of power that’ll allow you to ******* away on any given day. Your presence keeps transforming our thoughts into beautiful poetic paintings, Basquiat and Picasso would’ve been proud.
Write me a sonnet, silence every impurity that does awaken my love. Summon the essence of my soul for the taking of your unforsaken hands and make Mona Lisa cry sacred tears of joy. Create simplistic glimpses that only our superior beings can understand, only then can I unleash my undying emotion towards your uncontested universe.
Write me a sonnet, the kind that will make me realise that your heart isn’t filled with any doubt. The day I realised that words could touch you, I wanted to become a poem. The kind of poem that Maya Angelou’s ink always dreamt about. The taste of your smile still lingers on the edges of my lips. I see galaxies in your eyes, it must be in the way I love you like I do. I could’ve settled for less but I don’t want anyone else but you.
Write me a sonnet that speaks to the heart of my mind. Because I always hear your heartbeat when I think about you. Write me a sonnet that intertwines our inner intuitions. A sonnet that makes you believe in shooting stars if you’re into wishing. And finally that captures the very essence of the unknown soul that’s unspoken of. Because it’s within your golden silence that I hear the loudest cry.
I set myself on fire just to keep you warm. You should see my third-degree burns. I was taught to never play with matches but I guess I’ll never learn. You stand there with no sense of panic and watch me as I slowly burn. Ascending to new heights and I still want to take you higher. Burnt every flower in the garden of my heart and you’re still fuelled with a burning desire. All that I needed was the kind of love that I mysteriously couldn’t find. I’m the boy who didn’t give up on love and you’re the girl who stopped learning to love again. For some odd reason, you enjoy watching me going through relentless pain. With your kerosene hands you ignite every single thing you touch. All I wanted you to do was love me, I wasn’t really asking for much. Every time I say your name, I feel a burning sensation at the back of my throat. Swimming in an ocean of kerosene with no signs of a lifeboat. I keep thinking about how loving you is complicated while I try to stay afloat. I’m the boy who taught himself how to love through the pain. I thought that your love and laughter could keep me sane. You constantly scorch my skin with your burning love. I set myself on fire just to keep you warm. You should see my third-degree burns. I was taught to stay away from fire but I guess I’ll never learn. You stand there and watch me as I slowly burn. Slowly burning, now here comes the smoke. But a phoenix will always rise from the ashes. A phoenix will always rise.
I need conversations filled with laughter followed by bursts of love after. The last time I tried to recite this poem to you, I couldn’t get the words out. I somehow couldn’t get the words right. Slow-paced piano music gently echoes in the background. The notes keep echoing while I try to patiently pen this down. I am convinced, that the sun came out just to impersonate the warmth of your aura. I’ve kept your fingerprints pressed between the pages of my favourite author’s book. Somewhere between the prologue and chapter five. Where the protagonist almost died but luckily stayed alive. I wanted to become a poem, the day I realised that words could hold you, have you, touch you. You are the stars that my night sky longs to hold. You and I are meant to be. Your love and laughter have liberated me. I want to heal your wounds while carefully embracing your scars. I know you feel broken, so let me kiss you where it hurts. I’ll arrive to the other parts of your alluring anatomy, eventually. Let me breathe life into you. Let me prove to you that ecstasy is something we all need to go through. Poetry rests on the curves of your lips, so how can I not love the meaningful things you always say? My eyes will recite to you the poetry that is written on the pages of my heart. I need conversations filled with laughter followed by bursts of love after. To write about you is to keep your presence alive within the unseen parts of me. You are the reason why my heart feels free. Your love and laughter have liberated me.
I’m slowly falling apart, but all I can think about, is holding the pieces of your broken heart together. You are the rain I keep dancing in and I see no use in being under an umbrella. I’ve somehow forgotten the lyrics of my favourite love song. Slowly sing with me and help me remember. All I want to do is help you appreciate love’s panoramic view. All I want to do is know you better and move closer to you. There are millions of poems and words, but none can explain my love for you. Give me something that I can hold on to. Give me something that cannot be defined. Help me build up my faith when I’ve lost the spirit to believe. Provide my lungs with sufficient air to breathe. Show me the pictures of you that haven’t been Instagram-filtered or tainted with Photoshop. Teach me how to slow dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat. I’m less interested in seeing you “dropping it like it’s hot” or showing me all the bad things that you’re not. Let me be more than just words for you. Let me be more than just hands that long to embrace you. Let me be someone you can relate to. Someone your family and friends would love to be introduced to. Someone who can find the hidden words in your silence. Let me be the peace that heals your wounds of violence. Let me be the piece that completes your complex puzzle. You are everything to me. If only you could realise that, if only you could see.
My hands will always long for the company of yours. I’ve been hopelessly walking around with a broken heart. Yesterday I felt like crying but surprisingly nothing came out. I patiently put my pain on paper to let you know what I am all about. I write to write, yet the emptiness remains. All that I’m left with is a broken heart and black ink stains. Walk steadily and try by all means to maintain your centre of gravity. I’m forever drunk on love while you’re still living off its depravity. I’m not always this quiet, my mind is as loud as a riot. People stop and stare, their expressions prove that they don’t care. I love hard like I’ve never ever been acquainted with heartbreak. I’m on the pursuit of happiness but I’m currently running low on love. Hold me like a conversation, hold me and don’t ever let me go. But if you ever feel like giving up and letting go then let me know. Overdosed on morphine just so I could morph in. Except I use other drugs just to numb the pain. Searching for my rainbow so allow me to dance in the rain. On some days it gets worse, this sickness is a curse. I think you know it, I think everyone knows it now.
I am a blank page, craving for your ink to bleed onto me. Your thoughts and secrets are safe with me. Chain yourself to the idea of freedom and slowly begin to liberate me. Metaphors and similes hit the page at extremely high velocities. People should often see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently. It’s fascinating how you create poetry out of silence. I’ve felt you, seen you give life to things like love, pain, peace and violence. As soon as inspiration ignites, you gradually begin to write late in the peaceful hours of the night. Everyone knows that your words and verses tend to excite. The day your muse realised that words could touch her, she wanted to become a poem. The type of poem that Maya Angelou’s ink always dreamt about. Keep respecting your craft, make it more constructive. Live life and regret nothing, be completely destructive. You have spent endless nights, hopelessly staring into the void that you are constantly trying to avoid. Your mind is constantly being filled up with possible poems, people should really see your pen in motion. You are the Michelangelo of flow, you paint pictures with your poems. You are the countless calm moments after months and years of violence. It’s fascinating how you effortlessly create poetry out of silence. People should see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently. But I wish you took more time to write.
I will continue writing your name onto the sky until the stars embody your beauty. I want to be the half that makes you whole. I want to be the poem written on the pages of your soul. I am addicted to the ink that flows inside your veins. Drench your heart in ink then pour yourself on a page and become my poem. A poem that describes your heart’s complexities and desires. A poem that patiently awaits to be recited. A poem that exists inside the poet. A poem that eventually becomes the poet. I hope my presence will awaken every single poem that gently lays inside you. What use is my poetry when I cannot recite it to you? What good is my love when I cannot share it with you? You are the one song I keep listening to every single day and night. You are the poem I never knew how to write. Your love is the story that I have always wanted to tell the world. I have captured your smile in the lines of this poem. I want you to be the poem that keeps writing itself on the pages of my soul. I want you to be the poem that makes me whole. Plant roses in my heart and promise me you’ll be there when they blossom. I will continue writing your name onto the sky until the stars embody your beauty. I will continue writing about you.
I need a sky to read from and a star to write on. Traded in graffiti spray cans for poetry and a microphone. People are often left in awe when they see me in my zone. Ever since high school, I’ve been lost in the world and I often wonder if I’ll ever make it on my own. I want to write my poems on the sun so that you can feel the magnitude of my love when it shines. I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms. I want my words to heal the wounds that never heal but always bleed. My kind of love is kinetic, never stationary. I’ve been blinded by love but still I remain visionary. I want a sky to read from and a star to write on. I want the splendour of God’s grandeur embedded into every one of my lines. I could write poetry forever with the inspiration that life provides. Maybe I could write you a haiku or two. My mind has been thinking about you. My heart has been asking about the pulchritude that is you. You are the unforgettable muse. I still marvel at how God’s love consists entirely of summer, autumn, winter and spring. It can never escape me even when the seasons change. Maybe I should write you a love poem or two. My heart beats only for you. I wrote my poems on the sun, you’ll eventually feel my love every time it rises. I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms. I need a sky to read from and a star to write on. Traded in graffiti spray cans for poetry and a microphone. People are often left in awe when they see me in my zone.
They laughed and criticized at my starry eyes. But suddenly stopped when I rose like the morning sun. So now I humbly thank God for all that He has done. In a world burdened and ravaged by wars that seem to go on for forever. I try to find peace inside myself and pray to become someone better. I’m responsible for my own peace. But He protects me in the battles I fight on my knees. The figures of speech I use may often remain unappreciated. The words I speak may often remain unheard. The poems I write may often remain unread. But the beauty of God’s grandeur will never go unnoticed. You can see it in my starry eyes.
You’ve got your hand comfortably placed in mine. A few minutes ago I was placing kisses down your spine. Who gave you curves like those and said that you could keep them? You know how it goes, the thicker the better. But don’t get too complacent, I’m still drawn to your grey matter. It’s evident that you’re more about bass than treble. This is all new to me, I’ve never been on this level. Let’s become a poem that Pretoria can always snap its fingers to. But if that doesn’t work out then we’ll travel to Venice, Paris or Moscow. Maybe even Florence, Rome or Vienna, anywhere you want to go. When you finally make up your mind then love let me know. Your fascinating thoughts always inspire the movement of my flow. It’s within your simplicity where I discovered how beautifully complex you are. In a sky full of constellations, you are my favourite star. Don’t leave me behind, I just want you to gently place your hand in mine. Don’t leave me behind, you’re the one I’ve been patiently waiting to find. No matter what happens don’t ever let your hand slip out of mine.