a 1d

I just want you to know
you're a good person
and I think you're cute
and you should go to bed

a cute text i got tonight. really needed it.

you followed me
home last night
because i was
giving you something

little did you know
that i also wanted to
give you all
my love and
my heart along
with it

Spending time harvesting forbidden fruits with you
Was never a waste of my youth
Days shaped into the form of each other
Most winter nights
We didn't open our eyes
Till the sun rested it's head again
Waking only in darkness
But your morning face Shone so brightly
Like a gap in the curtains the sun broke through
Affecting my sight
But opening my eyes
Wider than they've ever been before
So I could see
The simplicity I needed in my life
Spending nights waking up complaining
About aches and back pains
Just to spend another night
Doing the exact same
Cramped up in a single sized bunk bed
Living the dream
I once created in my sleep
Before I woke up to you

i remember sitting in the passenger seat
of your car one last time you were taking
me home yet again

we talked a little smiling and laughing
i asked you to play my favorite song
little did you know that it’s only my
favorite because of you

i gave you a hug as i smiled
being in your arms even for
that small second made me happy

On one hand
It's one of those days
I fail to string a sentence together
But on the other
I'll form a line
And hang this old birthday banner
And celebrate
The day my head is silent

Love is like a flower
It can be so delicate
And when you are seduced    
with its beauty and delicacy
You will want to pluck it.
But plucking, in essence,
Kills the flower
Love is different.
Love is leaving it be;
Letting it flourish
and growing with the flower.
Love is watering the flower
when it needs it.
Love is letting the flower
Live among its kind
if it desires it.
Love is appreciating,
Love is beautiful
but when one tries to control
or mold someone into an idea,
this is when love dies

We were wrapped up in blankets and sheets
That had memories of others who lay here before imprinted on them
Your hands were locked in mine
I could feel your velvet skin between my fingers
I had felt silk, wool and cotton before
But velvet has always been my favourite material
The silence of the room sang songs
I had heard it sing before
Songs that tasted of melting honey and warm milk
There was a sadness stirring inside me again
It had visited countless times before
Yet the thread of past ex lovers  always chose to ignore
But you looked at me and could feel it too
So you curled your body up against mine
And began to extract each droplet of woe
You replaced it with intimacy
That hit me like the sun rays when lying on the grass on a hot summers day
Then I realised
You know

Mims 7d

She likes my bed
She always says
"So this is where all the creativity comes from? All those sleepless nights?"
I smile
Because I have been so much more romantic lately
Boxers and vinyl record players romantic
Flannel sheets and lazy smile romantic
Thrift store art hung loosely on breaking walls
Because each piece has 'history'

I get up from warmth
And comfort
And you
To turn over the Bon Jovi record
In nothing but plaid boxers
And a messy bun
You smile and stretch



She tells me she thinks that she's fallen in love with an art hoe

I agree
mjad 7d

his hair swished to the side
he flicked his fingers through his bangs
his eyes darted down to me
his hands exited his pockets
mine reached towards his face

"If you want me to make the first move, you're going to be up for a wait. You're half a head taller, I'm not growing six inches at this rate. . ."

so he holds my hands
he lowers himself down to me
his lips hover in front of mine
he flashes a smile
his hands drop mine and grab my waist

"This leaning down better be worth the back pain,"

He smirks and pulls me in
I laugh while my lips touch his
he dips me and spins me around
his height doesn't matter in the end
Because we will both end up on the ground

im only 5'2"so 6'0" is a stretch
Neha Bhatia Jan 12

Why do poets talk about snow and shoes,
but not about potties and poos?
Why do poets talk about fragrance of flowers,
but not about bubble gas showers?
Why do poets talk about sound of bells,
but not about pffftts! and windy fart spells?
Are these poets too shy? Or maybe,
because they don’t go to the park,
because if they go to the park for snowy views,
they will also see lots of folks,
doing Potty Poo.

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