my poems are so good that they're bad. they are infinitely deep and meaningful and therefore don't mean anything at all.

Is it not a paradox that her deception should leave her beauty so unmarked? Her winsome countenance - generously admired - leaves her suitors abject; mere puppets on a string.

Verily, the essence of her is as a tarnished trinket. For to mine own soul she appears as jaded as a ***** house quean. Her eyes which once shone with the light of truth unblemished, a colourless and infinite mire overgrown with the entangled falsehoods she has seeded.

Falling in love is terrifying.
I do not fear
The heartbreak,
Or your love for me
And mine for you.
I am afraid
Of the epilogue:
The unknown which lurks
Behind the pages of our end.
I am afraid because
I’ve never been so in love
And I have yet to accept
This paradox:
The more we fear the end,
The more we love one another
But the more we love
The more scared we become.
My love,
Choosing to love you is the happiest
And bravest choice I will ever make.

we really liked each other huh
though we never said it out loud
we kept that thought to ourselves
we learned through our actions
subtle but powerful, we knew.
the irony of one to love the polar opposite.
of course you were uncertain.
you cant mix the + and - of a battery and just
jam it in thinking it will work
maybe thats why you never confessed.
if life ever decided not to give happy endings,
the moments we've shared together  
taught me that also love has barriers
of what was something that couldve been a happy ending
if love and religion disagrees
this is the paradox of you and me

Heart:
I have a book of songs,
a collection of antique emotions,
carefully crafted for someone
Like how seedlings germinate
inside the womb of the good green Earth
feeling the warmth of a watchful Sun

Yet I pick up another,
a chronicle sans embellishments,
A tale every bit pure, every bit unspun
A familiar fear grips me -
clouds me, maims me, ****** me
as I open it with glum expectations

But I feel myself break,
to know of my absence from this tome,
with each page I anxiously turn
Did I not deserve
a chapter, a line, atleast a word?
Maybe I will find a footnote - none!

Mind:
Oh my dear heart,
Do not expect in return something better
because you've surrendered to her memories
Equivalence is just, but justice is not a quality

How do you plan to **** the one
whom you've already granted immortality?

The constant reminder that our loved ones are gone.
Visiting their graves and placing flowers you bought on Amazon.
Realizing past problems that people never put their focus on.
It’s just an excuse to remember someone that has been withdrawn.

A physical phenomenon that keeps opening past wounds.
Feelings that people try to keep in, but still get loose.
Its repetitive and sad to tell you the truth.
Will it ever go away?

Ding, ding, ding. The alarm in my head rings.
Caution ahead. Dangerous feelings.
Prepare to get hit by sadness and other emotions.
It will end soon. Your mind is in the process of erosion.

A woeful fate with a caustic tone.
The mortality paradox without a doubt, well-known.
The charming idiosyncrasy of our loved ones,
Carved nicely in their granite gravestones.

The focus of death at all, ruins the day.
Exacerbating the situation, digging a grave.
Warning signs popping up like ads. Stop. Stop. Stop!
Just please stop and go away! Everything is better without it, okay!

When a man loves his wife he loves himself
I have heard it said
and I’ve read
of the interplay
of self love and love of another.
Can I love my brother, cherish my mother
if I do not accept myself?  
I’m still unclear which comes first or if this dilemma
circles and confounds
and will puzzle me forever.  

But I know with sureness when I love you
you soften and look at me with those big brown eyes
and sometimes I think I detect mist there
and when I run my fingers through your hair
I know your complexity and gentleness.
When I embrace you I know the fullness of your heart
that you loved me from the start
but even more now my precious one.

Maybe being a man this paradox of the circle of love
will never be mentally clear
but in my heart I know, my dear,
my love for you makes me me.