they call me a heartbreaker,
because im all alone.
but theres no way they could know,
the only heart broken is my own.
i remember the way the warmth of your kiss
trickled down my forehead and into my heart
i remember how my breath would stop
and i’d let your smile throw my spirit against the wall
i wish i had fought back
against the love you began to choke me with
before i forced you to crumble
as i was notably unprepared
and hardly deserving
I always think I’m ready for love again, but once it gets close i just get overwhelmed.
But all cliché kinda sad poets have it —
a storm of poems
for someone who left.
all of my storms
are named after you.
“You needed someone who could fix you.”
A pause filled the air after I had said those words — not because we didn’t know what to say, but because we knew it was the truth. Sometimes, there was no way out of the truth.
You needed someone who could fix you — someone who would make you a playlist of the favorite songs you’d thought you’d already forgotten — someone who would take you to museums and laugh as you spill coffee on its clean floors. You needed someone who would look at you like you’re made of tiny poems caught between their eyelashes, someone who would hold your hand as the mountaintops melt into silhouettes from the rearview mirror, someone who would give you a box of a hundred hand-written things they love about you. Darling, you needed someone who could fix you — someone you could live for. And we both knew that I wasn’t that person, for darling, what I needed was someone I could fall apart and crumble with. What I needed was someone who looked close to my demons, someone who could crush my snow globes and trace poems on my skins with all its broken bits. I needed someone I could watch the summer nights fade into repetitive dawns. Darling, I needed someone who I could stay broken with and yet still feel human and whole.
And regardless of how much we could try to love each other, my hands would always find their way back to placing cigarettes between your lips. Your hands would always find their way back to writing poems for someone who could save you — and honestly, I no longer even know how to be someone you’d still write poems about. So I would say it again. You needed someone who could fix you. You needed someone who would fix you.
And all this time, I needed someone who wouldn’t fix me.
One look in your eyes,
I can see you judging my personality.
One word from your mouth,
I can feel knives stabbing my heart directly.
One touch from your hands,
And I know that you will never see me so dearly.
My head and heart are split so
Please excuse me if I sound confusing
And make no more sense
My brain has 2 sides,
1 is ruling proudly and the other is sadly devastating
1 makes me HAPPY:)
And the other makes mesad:(
it is a battle of being kind
and being lost in my mind
My heart is split
With two equal halves
The heart of a lover
And the heart of a killer
One falls too easily for traps
And the other sets them
It's very odd to be broken hearted
And be a breaker of hearts.
So I am split right down the middle
An axe making a clean split
but I've gotten better with my halves.
Maybe one day I’ll stitch them up
and see who I become.
I really like this poem :)
isn't it weird?
I was never jealous.
of nothing, of nobody.
But today I became aware of;
I'm eternally jealous.
Of the woman
who will be yours
Throw back another shot,
Put on that dress that radiates
The siren within.
Go out and hunt.
Dance like you actually want to.
Break his heart.
Ruin his life.
Make him believe he wants you
More than you want him.
Make him follow you like a puppy,
Throw him a smile to gives him hope.
Paint your mouth a pretty colour
So he notices.
If only for few hours.
Don’t regret when you wake up.
The light of day is a cruel mistress.
I've been hiding baby
Oh for so long
Been afraid I'd turn into the morning fog
I'm still shaking when I'm standing right next to you
You call my name and time just stops
You make sure to hold my hand in a dark room
I'm holding back from you
Because once you get me there is no turning back
In this game of two
heartbreaker and the fool.
And I suppose its poetic that my bones snapped
to every beat of your heart,
that my body gave out every time you looked at me;
lighting in your eyes.
And I suppose its poetic that i've only ever felt hell
when i've been in love with you.