Beauty is pure.
The idea is to be pure, too,
to see it through.

Life is short, is on the move,
never does the truth grow old.
Destination du jour is one not two.
Either end up with a thorn or a rose.

Read a heart, find the truth beforehand,
when two folks both tend to hide.
It’s worth looking closely, maybe
one is hiding one’s true self,
one is a pearl keeping inside the shell!

Life
force me to
go back and
build a
hive

Bees
will have a
place to go
to all
she's

Full
of a thought
once there was
and now
dull

Die
let the idea
dry out and
be one
lie

Nothing
where it meant
to grow but
one day
something

He
adores
the
idea
of
his
non-
existence.

i often humor myself
with the idea of us

the idea that
someone as stubborn as you
could love
someone as carefree as me

i know that it is silly
you aren’t the type
to shut off your brain
and follow your heart

but here i sit,
wondering
wondering
wondering

is the idea of us actually silly at all?

how tragic that i’ll never get to know

after all we've seen
the things experiences we've lived
the poems i've written
to soften your existence
to make everything a little more romantic
with words to describe what i can't describe
after all my kisses
the hugs
the meals we've shared
the moments we'll look back on, the moments we've looked back on
the cringey moments
the broken smiles
after all the music we've listened to, it'd be hard for me to listen to again
the lingering vibe in my car
every fight feels like a break up
every argument makes me want to sew my mouth together
shut up david
but we are both wrong
and sometimes your words hurt me
(they're not supposed to, yet i'm crying while typing and my throat feels choppy)
the things you've done for me don't reflect what you said to me in absolutely certainty
"******* idiot"
i feel dumb
because of you, for this moment, i do.... feel like a ******* idiot
i look around with watery eyes
i look down with hope i've built for us, and it disintegrates
i look in the mirror and my reflection is blurry
i read "******* idiot" when i look myself in the eyes
for the moment
my ego is hurt, and something bad happens when it is


i have to let myself go


"self"

My view of the world
           through rose tinted glasses.

I hope that we can pick up roses
      hand them to each other
rather than point weapons upon
                       brothers & sisters.
But a rose is a sour beauty
for even thorns can bleed
              deeper than a dull sword.

We must speak to each other find
             solace in others humanity.
For words can heal rifts that started
                 long before we were born.
But syllables latching on to the misgivings
                      of insecurities can wound.
Like papercuts on the mind,
        speaking to the shallow cradles swinging
        in a hateful wind of whispers flawed.

I wear glasses that I take of every now
          and then, I have a idealistically flawed
view seeing the potential of us.
But knowing we can fall harder
                                      than when can get up.

I don't care what you say
This is not a bad idea
I don't care if I'm not ready
This is a good idea
I can't hear you telling me otherwise
That this is not a good idea
Here I am, I'm doing just fine

You were right, this was a bad idea