My teeth sink to the bottom of my tongue I bite my words cutting them into halves then quarters then numerous flecks of unintelligible nothings until I finally learn to dissolve my anger like a pill fizzing into water I diffuse, I remain calm, unchanged by any Outside interference. In this subtle way of no swords drawn I conquer my enemies depriving them of reaction.
“Smile, my boy.” The dad, with a smile, said. The boy just shook his head.
“Please smile, son.” The dad said, his voice pained. Jaw muscles, the boy hadn’t strained.
“Smile, look at the cam, boy.” The dad said with a frown. The boy looked down.
“SMILE, BOY!” The dad shouted loud. The boy no longer bowed.
If i coulda advised my younger self i woulda just said "look straight g and force that smile, no problems caused." :) But if you think about it, isn't this just another variant of smiling to hide our true emotions?
Dear Poets your words urge me on in moment when alone. Tantalizing my breath that echo your words. Tickling senses that awaken my mind. Piercing heart to spread wings of emotions.
Dear Poetess your words illuminate in moment behind eyes. Calling me with grace to read on. Expanding self with your wisdom Words Shinning like woven threads on vellum You are a gift to me, and I do bow to the power of your pen.
Hey, Stranger. Its me I don't really know you But between your verses Are a revelation of our common uniqueness I missed our bonds behind a screen Like the kindness in your smile, I've never seen; A healing elixir. Not exaggerating or being a drama queen I'm just..grateful..and..thankful..for your honest, loyal heart -Worthy and pristine We are no strangers no more
when they tell you, "don't fall in love with a poet," mark their words.
poets love differently than most. we feel differently than most. we fall in love with words as we trace their outline onto your bare skin. we fall for prose, not people.
we'll dream about what it's like to lose you before you're ever gone. we romanticize loss. a heart inflicted is a powerful tool and the passion that flows through our bodies fuels our writer's hand. melancholy was gifted to us.
we express our thoughts best when we write them down as we write you off with nothing left to say. we will leave you br oke n.
"don't fall in love with a poet," they warn, "you'll only ever be their muse."