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Perhaps they were right putting love into books.
Perhaps it could not live anywhere else.
— William Faulkner*

Faulkner said that maybe love
cannot live outside of libraries

If his assessment is accurate
then I want to pen our passion
on every piece of paper I possess

I will produce poetry proclaiming
the severity of our seductions

And scribble you and I between
asterisks on the pages of periodicals
so we can be among the stars as well

Darling, I will turn all of our dates
into diary entries and change the
definitions for words like brilliance and
glorious into descriptions of us

When I’m through, we will
have the most eternal
love stories around
Matthew J Dourow Aug 2014
I miss you
More than a drowning sailor
Misses the oxygen that gives life
Misses the land that supports
You are my oxygen
You are my land
I miss You
Hannah Beth Aug 2014
Not often did he wish for things,
He had few petty desires.
“What’ll come will come,” he’d say, with a knowing nod.
And he was happy that way. He’d smile.

Most called him an accomplished man
He left the past behind.
His monsters were gone
Defeated at last
Not many were considered truly content these days,
But this man, they said, he’d made it.

He’d sit by the fire with a cup of tea.
He’d read stories to his children, he’d sing them to sleep.
But his heart longed for little more, just one final request
Not for himself, but for the woman that lay near.

The most magnificent woman he’d had the pleasure to know
She lit up each room with a heavenly glow.
This woman, he’d said, oh, she’s one of a kind,
Not one word was questioned when he explained why.

She was the kind to leave food on the sill for the cat
That had never belonged to her
Because she couldn’t bare the look in its eyes
When the neighbour three doors down no longer could.

She was the type who could never in her life tell a joke
Because she was out of breath with laughter
Long before the punchline arrived.

She was impossible to hold a grudge to,
A blessing to the world.
Though insecurity engulfed her
Self-esteem was unheard of
Seeing herself through devils’ eyes,
Heartbroken at her own reflection.

If the man wanted one last thing,
It would be a day in his life, for her
Plain and simple.

She’d see the way she curled her hair
Behind one ear when she laughed.
A golden noise, full of light,
He wished she knew
That it put everything right.

His dying wish was, to the love of his life;
*“Please, let her see herself, through someone else’s eyes.”
i think we can all relate to the complete and utter frustration of seeing someone so beautiful think of themselves as the complete opposite, and not be able to show them otherwise. it frickin suuuuuuuuuuucks
Hannah Beth Aug 2014

Her hand brushes
against my own
my mind screams
louder than even
the most horrific
of bombs to
hold it back
to close those
last few *******
feet between her
lips and mine
but all I
feel all that
shakes my entire
body and soul
is this crippling
shyness it refuses
to go it
digs its toxic
roots down to
the depths of
my stomach and
refuses to let
go and I
can't and I
won't and I
don't hold her
hand and I
wonder forever if
she could have
loved me back

an ode to all those awkward shites out there
Hannah Beth Aug 2014
She is the first springtime shower
a fresh promise of something new
The foundation to newfound life around her
a persona of all that is true

Soon, she is a summer downpour
A welcome respite from scorching heat
Every drop i crave, every storm near surrounds me
Her water is soon air, an overwhelming necessity

Later, an autumn storm.
Accompanied by a bite
A wind so harsh and bitter
Makes me forget her first spring life

And lastly, a soft snowfall.
Her floods have turned to ice
Frozen and forgotten
The damage heals with time

Storms must come full circle
none truly have an end
But to have known this girl,
What a privilege.
She was a living monsoon,
a friend.
Make what you want of this, but in my opinion, it is a story about relationships, and the different stages of them that are experienced. It was also inspired by Looking For Alaska, one of my favourite books, and my take on Pudge's relationship with Alaska. So yeah, that's basically it, I'll be quiet now haha
Hannah Beth Jul 2014
You are
The first delicate ray of sunshine
On a dreary Novembers’ day

You are
The pounding rush of adrenaline
Felt at a concert barrier

You are
The reassuring smile
Treasured in the midst of calamity

You are
The warm woollen blanket
Wrapped round my shoulders at night

You are
The butterflies found inside me
At the peak of a roller coaster

You are
The first birdsong
At the end of a sleepless night

You are
Every beauty in this world
To me.
sappy as hell i'm aware
This can be taken as both romantic and platonic
To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what I intended it to be myself

— The End —