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.

-t.o.

With poets' sinew, the dream I have will be
played like a harp until I wake.

Until the time comes
I hope one day...
the elixir that remains
in my mouth will last
until death comes.

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."

... I may calm my fear
and unseen horror
with words light and clear.

... I may ease my pain
and tend gaping wounds
with verses of healing rain.

... I may release my rage
and spark fiery storms
of rhymes that burn the page.

And maybe, one day
I write about love's joy
in a dazzling lyric play.

tragedies - an heir to all
the mess inside those walls
i can still recall

lunged in anger, seized with fear
oh, what have you done
i tried to leave the thoughts behind
but i couldn't run

black silhouettes, tragic memories
now i'm in constant doubt
am i ready for this?