Love is a 4 letter word with different meanings and properties.

It can be the appreciation¹, the admiration², the affection³ or even the constant need⁴ for person or object.

Love can be overrated¹.
It is seen as a fulfillment² of one's lustful³ nature and not as an intimate⁴ and mutual way of showing affection.

Love should not envy¹, it should be kind².
Love does not boast³, and it is patient ⁴.

4 fingers represent 4 different meanings and properties of love...

4 is the half of 8, the shape of Infinity.

2 sets of 4 intertwined fingers makes 8, love lasting for Infinity. - The holding of hands.

McDonald tsiie Mar 2017

I've always wanted to:

Write in a sedated state of mind
Make stars and clouds intertwine
Plant seeds in dictionaries as intuition is set to grow
A volcano erupt in words
Sweet lullaby's sang and whistled serenades in birds

Red in blue
A beautiful poem in you

McDonald tsiie Mar 2017

He had a voice that made her want to believe in eternity
She had a heart that made him want to believe in love

His mind has a secret garden bearing grapes
His proverbs are butterflies kissing flowers
His thoughts derives from what passion brings
His eyes shooting like meteoroids'

Her body curves perfectly like a well crafted grapevine
Her velvet vision crystallised in a palace
Her crown is the minds eye image
Her beauty is light in a formless world

Her body gave him life
His soul told her spirit to feel honesty from the hug

The Love Religion...
McDonald tsiie Feb 2017

Cry as loud as clouds rain
Shine as moon stars
Blow as monsoon winds
Paint colours in the night sky as fireworks
Word artistry like black ink on white

Everything was destined to be
But what's the story behind our broken destiny
Sky falling the reasoning
Cutting loose ends leaving me
Ohhh its so sad to see

I knew the point of growing together
Now ours is pointless 'cause we've grown to never

Not heartbroken and lost
Heart stolen and cut in smaller parts
Trying to shed light in my heart
Trapped in the sea with white sharks
You were too emotional
I never understood the motion of your emotions
Where's thou heart... in the ocean

2015-11-27 (draft)
A Jan 2017

I hate you

I hate you for making me catch feelings

I hate you for telling me nice things

I hate you for making me think I was healing

I hate you for playing with my heart strings

I hate you for leaving so soon

I hate you for finding someone else so fast

I hate you for telling me I was your moon

I hate you for telling me to forget my past

I hate you for making pinky promises

I hate you for showing me your favorite songs

I hate you for telling me to give more people chances

I hate you mostly for just stringing me along

You didn't even really matter that much to me
athrx Jan 2017

as you getting close
and closer
and i getting out
and out...
of breath

walking past me
i looked over
as you getting near
and near her
and you getting out
and out...
of breath
as your lips touch hers

madrid Jan 2017

It's her putting letters into words
So he becomes a part of literature
It's the way she spontaneously smiles when she remembers his dress shoes
It's her sitting on the rooftop holding nothing but a half-spent cigarette
Wishing it was his hand instead
It's the exhausted smell on her comforter
Until the day he sprays more cologne on it
Or body spray, either way
It's being comfortable enough to not wear a bra (at times)
It's her way of looking at the shirt he gave
It's spicy food
And the cup of Nissin seafood

It's his giggling whenever she acts like a child
It's the pendant on his neck
It's the "wo ai ni"
It's the intensity of his stare
It's resisting the urge to fuck her
It's the bonnet
It's his first kiss in the rain
It's his fear of oblivion
It's his whispers of "God, I love you so much"

It's closing her eyes when she hears "Walang Iba"
It's the "keka ku, kaku ka"
It's the dark closet in her room
And the inflatable bed of their friend
It's fighting over the simplest things that seem like mountains
Like the Great Wall of China
Or the Battle at Gettysburg
It's her shouting "I hate you!"
Only to hear "I love you too!" in return
It's the duets they got used to.
It's being with each other for 72 hours straight
It's him
saying he's not good enough for her
And her
thinking he deserves someone better.

It's the lapse between seconds
It's him breaking her walls without breaking anything else
It's her making him believe in waking up to the same face for the rest of his life
It's the music
It's the silence
It's knowing that she desires him for herself
Even with all the stars between them.
It's seeing,
That although the road is rough,
She is his medicine
Just as he is hers.
It's the entire universe conspiring to bring them together
It's the petty misunderstandings
Or the major ones.

It's the stargazers.
And the shotguns.
It's loving too much
Or loving just right.
It's you.

"I was her's but she was never mine to begin with..."


Sorry forgot to give credit to the original writer event tho they are unknown still felt bad i did that.
Martin Narrod Oct 2016

Your parade makes me purple, it makes me thin as an alphabet, I don't know, I don't wanna understand. I'm an estimation, I'm over and not in great abundance. Don't defend me, I'm not the header atop your letter.

Open me, I'm like your chimney, inside your mouth I am the lips you dip your tongue through, growing with sensation. See me and seam me to threads and tow me through your pantie lines-

little piece of flesh
Just a little dance, Just a little romance
Keep me in your pants let me be your postcard
I'll float across your eyelids.

Let me know your name
You can taste my skin. You can see my seams bend, my hours grow a little tired
Lifting up your dress, I can taste your pastes, your pastel belle comes floating at me sideways.

Ours and again, you ask me, "is it a nightmare?"
You ask me, "is it a car crash?" You say, "I can feel you breathing." This is not a spell, there's nothing left, not even a little lie I can play with in my fingers, you say, "is it the moon in the stars." And I stop you from ruining the sound of words to preserve a moment. Something a silence and a dollar doesn't buy you. I ask, " is this you my love? You're an imaginary process I'm never going to be interested in prosecuting perfectly. I'm not- an extroverted invert, a spirit floating in the corner of your eyes. I'm over zealous, a zealot, full of youth, using grief to keep your eyes

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