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noa 4d
this time of year feels like a memory already
I will follow you to heaven,
If you come with me to hell.
A poem every day.
I won't ask,
I already know.
I love to talk to you,
But not about this trauma though.
A poem every day.
So my brain thought of another stupid thing;  "You don't deserve to hurt this way. You don't deserve to hurt at all. So please, let me in. I will help protect you from yourself. You've been there so many times, I don't want you to fall." And it's true. I don't know if I will be able to fix you with poetry and stupid nursery rhymes, but I will try. I don't think I'll be able to fix you at all. Maybe I am, who knows? I'll always try. Will you just let me in? Not only in your mind, not only in your words, but in your heart? I want to help you with every bit that I can. And, I get that's not enough. My words will never be enough. But, I will try. So please give me the chance to? That would be enough. Whatever horrible things it are that you're feeling, I will try to understand them. To understand them, and to help you get them away. Because you don't deserve to feel bad. You don't and you never did. And I get that my words will never be good enough to live up to your expectations, but please, please. Will you give me a chance? I love you, I really do. So let me help you, let me in. It doesn't have to be soon, it doesn't have to go fast. But remember that whenever you need me, I'll be there waiting. Waiting with all my words. To make you feelbetter, even in the slightest way.
I don't know what this is but I just typed it and here we go
I just apologise for everything I guess.
They call it "the result of trauma"
I like to think I'm just a very out-of-myself person
You can't raise Hell with a saint.
A poem every day.
I wrote and thought, erased and tried.
Because sometimes, being a poet hurts.
But then I looked at you, and right away,
I knew I'd found the exact right words.
A "poem" every day.

(hehe ily)
"He's either a madman or a poet."

"Can't I be both?"

"You already are."
Late night conversations are weird yee yee
Butterfly Sep 21
A feeling
That will never be the same.
I want your hands on my hips and your lips on mine.
But it will never happen.
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