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Luis Valencia Dec 2019
I kissed your palms
And offered you all my praise .
You took me in your hands
And molded my heart
You made me into art
You made me feel whole.

You planted yourself inside of me
Your roots dug into my body
You nourished yourself
From my pain.

You used me as a host
For your lonely soul.
You left when You were done feeding.
When I had nothing left to give.

You left me hollow.
The art is gone.
You replanted yourself.
You found a new host.

I'm left as a blank canvas
an unfinished meal
half of a soul
because You couldn't commit.
If you give yourself to me I promise I'll be true to you.
Brooke Nov 2018
Let me tell you, I thought I knew love before you came around.

I mean, I’ve written a million love poems.

But the subjects, they’re more or less the same, black ink, red ink, graphite.

And the graphite smudges, and so the picture is never perfect.

I try to re-write it all without mistakes, but I don't have an eraser.

Which is to say that I have commitment issues, but no issue committing, I just commit all the time, to everything.

I've canoodled with paper, but there's never enough space on the page for all the love I have.

Sometimes, I’ll meet a crayon that brings some colour to my life, but they’re just too waxy and impressionable. Too immature, too naive.

Naive.

I’ve never actually been in love.

But you, you are so much different and way hotter.

You bring a spark into my life that I’ve never known.

Baby, you set my world on fire.

I tell myself, blue pen, don’t let this go up in smoke.

Let me tell you. I would do anything to know love.

You see, there isn’t much to me, but I’ve got this way with words and I’ll write you into every poem that’s ever birthed hope in the eyes of star-crossed lovers.

I’ll draw you a map of my heart so when you feel lonely after you’ve been put aside and forgotten in the back of a cupboard, I’ll be there.

I want you.

I want the good things and your sweet embrace of smoke smells really good right now.

I want the good things but I’ll take it all. I’ll take the bad things too.

Fill my lungs with your poison, show me what it’s like to love something so much it kills you.

Teach me how to give all of myself to someone just so they are satisfied, even if it leaves me crushed on the cement.

Let me become addicted to you.

My whole life is written in ink and I can’t escape the mistakes I’ve made so if you’ll have me, here I am.

I can’t guarantee that I’ll be right for you, who knows what you write with but I will be here.

Let me tell you, I will still love you after watching you kiss the lips of every person that craves your taste.

I will still love you after you steal the oxygen out of helpless gasps and sunken cheekbones.

I will still love you after your temper sets forests ablaze.

I will still love you when you suffocate me in your fumes, leaving me choking on everything I should have said to you.

I will still love you when you burn out and your ember softens against a pillow of ash, and your smell, your taste, your everything lingers in the air like a nostalgic dream that I never want to wake up from.

Let me tell you, I am forever.

I am infinite and I can create and write anything you want, even if it’s just prose on a piece of paper or a picture of the moon on nights when you’re the only good left in the world.

I can be anything you want, and if that is someone that will love you because they want to, and not because they have to, then I will be that.

I won’t quit you.

I can’t.
Äŧül Oct 2017
If loving you completely,
As I found myself in you,
Could be termed as a sin,
Seen through spirituality,
Then I don't mind my life's sin,
And I'll proudly carry the guilt,
As I have you as my happiest gift.
My HP Poem #1673
©Atul Kaushal
Nairi Kalpakian Sep 2015
I’m scared of permanence

Of any form of an ink stain on a white linen shirt

That no matter how hard I try, the scrubbing I do

Will not disappear, will not fade

One day I will come across a stain that will ******* me

And as I attempt to rid it, it will damage me further

This shirt I wear, lies lightly on my skin. A second skin.

I want to be involved yet fear an embrace

Or rather, confuse being held to being held down

Wings being clipped, screams that fall to deaf ears that cannot hear because what I fear doesn’t exist…

The fear keeps me from playing the game, yes,

But can it keep the game from playing me?
Mohammad Skati Jan 2015
There are pretty flowers and wild roses                                                                         Coming from within those pretty cracks of                                                                   That Rock of Suicide with many places of                                                                       Wild and green grass ......................                                                                                   That rock was never for those who like take                                                                   Their lives by their own hands anytime .................                                                          I feel as life is over there and when there is                                                                           Life in a certain life ,then                                                                                                  Committing suicide becomes banned ...........................                                                              Committing suicide never solves any ordeal                                                                   Simply because there are ways to invest life well ...........                                              That Rock of Suicide is only for love ,life ,and even more ................                        ___________________­__
I am against anyone who commits suicide simply because we all need you .

— The End —