Conjugated amid liberated duality,
     surreptitious catharsis of
        poetic revelations' flip side,
          the underbelly of sentience
  potentially validating perceptions'
          indefinitely extended,
figuratively speaking beyond
      literally unleashed metaphors
             play it backwards, if you dare

How many of you here counted
your last moment?
How many of you wondered if
your last breath breathed would be
the moment you would own it?

How many of you published words
as if it would be the last you write?
How many here read those words?
Hugging them long into the night?

How many of you tried to say
exactly what you feel, but failed?
How many times did you edited it
every single word, every line?
Just to post it so it was unveiled?

How many times did you refresh
the words that you have lied?
How many times have you typed
every tear that you have cried?

How many times did you say
I love you in a thousand letters
As many times as it takes you
to make the world seem better

Your poetry is as important
as the balm upon a soul
Your words caught upon a page
*are a literal bomb

I wake up feeling like nothing is real
and my heart beats
and I'm panicking
and I'm sweating
and I want to die
I don't really understand why I cry
If I could just get over it, I promise you I would

You don't need to reply my text in a ten to make me like you
You don't need to have a perfect skin condition
You don't need a artistically beautiful shaped accent
Nor do you need to sweet talk me into anything
Because you see
The boy who I loved had none of those things
We talked till the sun rose though now if I ever get a text from him
I will be as excited as if there was a solar eclipse occurring
His skin had many pimples but and his hair was another story
But I looked pass those and saw the way the dimples on his cheeks
Rose out and I saw the way his brown eyes lit
They were the most beautiful things I have seen
I no longer know his imperfections because I have fell in love
With every one of them
He never could complete a sentence without stopping to clear his throat
Though now he speaks well and high
But I am still in love with his long pauses
His pimples
His little stupid comments
Maybe now I have learnt
Maybe now things would be better
Maybe love could be better
After all
What is worse than falling in love with the most
Stupid boy

"You could never get mad at me"
Honey
Don't say things
You know aren't
True
"I've seen you mad, it's not that scary"
Oh darling
You haven't seen
Anything
And you
Have a big storm
Coming

I said I was walking on glass
You took me seriously
And asked me to stop
You told me to think
Of other ways to deal
With the crisis at home
And the pain I feel
I said it was figurative
What are you talking about
I chuckled to myself
Because I'd actually do that
But I'm fine
Just not at home
'Cause I'm walking on glass
But not literally
Figuratively

I notice everything.
And by everything,
I literally mean everything.
I notice when someone stops hitting me up
like they used to.
I notice when the way someone
talks to me starts changing.
I notice the little things that people do,
and the little things they used to do.
I notice when things change,
and when it’s no longer the same.
I notice every single little detail.
I just don’t say anything.
I'm not that different I'm just depressed
I miss him
and I'm sad, ok?