This is how you write a poem;
First; forget everything
You ever learnt about poems,

                                Such knowledge should be reserved
                                For the minds of critics, and
                                Professors in dusty halls

                                                          ­­           Of universities, where
                                                           ­          They are dissected and re-
                                                             ­        Constructed against their will.

Second; embroil yourself in
Love; it is the only thing
That poetry is born from.

                            Even the saddest songs, and
                            Most bitter lines, are fueled
                            By what we once loved. Loss is

                                                            J­­ust a love that has been lost
                                                            ­­And anger; a love scorned. All
                                                            y­­our words will be born this way.

Thirdly; find a quiet spot;
It doesn't matter much where
As long as it brings comfort,

                             Be it an old desk in a
                             Darkened room, or a field of
                             tall Sunflowers or bluebells,

                                                     ­ ­       Or the last place you saw a
                                                             Loved one, before fate swept them
                                                            ­­ Away to distant valleys.

Next you must make a promise to
Yourself to be brutally
Honest. Only the truth must

                              Be written here. There is no
                              Room for flowery words that
                              Must be thought over to much.

                                                          ­­   If it is true it will be
                                                             Beautiful, and your pen strokes
                                                         ­    Will guide you towards greatness.

Finally, you must hold your
Writing implement of choice
As if it were the most loved

                                 Of possesions, or mighty
                                 Of weapons, or a  child's hand.
                                 I cannot tell you which

                                                          ­­ But you will undoubtedly
                                                     ­      Know which when the time comes. It
                                                           Will strike you as obvious.

Upon following these steps
You will have become a
poet. From now on there

                                Is no turning back. It will
                                Consume you, and thoughts will take
                                You by surprise in lover's

                                                        ­­  Embraces, in sudden deaths,
                                                         ­ Bird songs, and the words of of those
                                                          Y­­ou once thought to be strangers.

Each word will be a gift to
The world, whilst remaining un-
doubtedly yours to own.

                                        Use your power wisely.
                                        Remember; without love
                                        Your poems will start to

                                                             ­        Fall into disrepair
                                                       ­              And, without them you will
                                                            ­­         Lose your capacity to care.

I wish you well.
                                    I wish you poetry.
                                                         ­      ­           I wish you love.

We trailed through the moonlit road
As I wiped the tears that streamed my face—
Everything was calm, everything was serene
It felt like we were passing by a city
That had long fallen to deep slumber;
Where had once all the rushing cars had gone,
Back and forth, non-stop, as their engines rattled
With much desperation, pleading to rest.

Step by step, we slowed our pace, feeling the cool breeze shying from us
As we came to a halt.
The leaves ruffled, still, and the stars twinkled brighlty.
Everything seemed to come together in perfect harmony.
It all felt quite bizzare yet astounding;
quite frightening yet calming;
quite gloomy yet comforting.
It was unlike anything I've ever experienced before–
Perhaps my heart and mind had finally been at peace
And that the turmoil inside had faded into nonexistence.

• ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ •
Who knew that what a known-to-be ordinary walk
Could turn into a magnificent, almost magical cure-
A cure for the mind that's filled with cloudy thoughts,
And a cure for the heart filled with pain and faults.
But what had truly made things better was..
Having you by my side amidst the whole tranquility
The entire scenery might have felt mysteriously unreal to me
But your presence was my reminder that it was all reality.
• ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ •

I've written a poem about this before,
you're singing a song of course I've never heard and the lead singers voice is far better than mine so I don't try to figure out the words and sing along.

It's weird being back here.
With you
with us.

Is it awkward or am I just awkward?
I don't know but I am very aware of my breathing and how loud it is.

I'm sad so let's listen to something sad.
To feel more sad and force tears out that were probably coming anyway but apparently in this world force is the best way to take things, I mean get things.

This is what I'm thinking.
I know you're wondering as I just stare blankly, but of course you didn't ask cuz **** if I'm not the only one that cares about the state
of someone else's heart beside my own.

But I was thinking Its weird that you're known as the crazy one.
I've always thought that people were crazy because they have so many emotions running around in their head and they're fighting for which one will be felt.
But I think that I feel more than you...
I feel like you don't feel anything at all. Not even in the slightest do you feel. I mean ******* A I could hold your hand over a fire like roasting marshmallow and you'd probably be using the other hand to look at his snapchat, trying to see if you can relate to anything and text him about it so that he has to respond because it's something he likes and I'll die before he cares or even at the least knows something that You like. So I hold your hand there and I'm forcing you to feel something but I think that you work too ******* hiding feelings so when you actually feel them it scares the living **** out of you, I can tell you're frightened, you rip your hand from being close to mine. I hadn't even thought about holding your hand yet. And I think your feelings are louder than mine, and they're a jack in a box. And you don't spin the handle but other people do and every once in a while your feelings scream from your mind all the way down at your heart and you freak out, because it's scary when feelings are that loud.

I don't think you know that when I say I feel more I mean more. And the difference is that they're more often and they hurt more and there's more reason to feel this way. But my feelings aren't as loud as I think yours might be. Because they don't scare me like yours scare you. Mine are like a constant tapping on my shoulder. Please get the hell off me I know this is what pain looks like, I don't need your reminder. But for you I think you try to feel nothing because when you choose to feel you're normally offering your heart to a sledgehammer...

BUT at the same time it's like you like to get destroyed, like picking up pieces of you is a game. I hate that game. You always forget pieces, me pieces, the reason all your pieces were together in the first place because everyone else stripped and sold your parts, but I bought them. I bring them to you and they're fixed and they're ready and you love them. I promise you love being whole, I've seen it, I've felt it, but whole isn't normal is it. And you think you're weird enough already so shattered is comfortable and whole and complete and loved and happy is weird so you do whatever it takes to avoid feeling those things...

Sometimes I wish you played songs I know because I like to sing and I want you to hear me singing because you would know that I also know the words to your songs. But it's not like you like the sound of my voice anyway. It's shakey and weak and vulnerable. His is defiant and loud and harsh. But mine is real. My words are true, they're not games, or jokes, or lines for my next poem that I thought I'd try on you first.

You believe actions over words, my words only stem from my actions...
But You're avoiding me, like you know that my actions are what you're waiting for but.
you just wish that weren't my actions...
but that they were his.

Opportunities I missed
Become pins in my brain
Like a pin cushion they
Collect
Any moment to improve seems
To be mount everest,
The climb seems treacherous
But I never tried
Another pin in the cushion
Im a ragdoll with buttoned
Eyes and ripped seams
Never did seem to
Like the others

You can call me autumn
Cause I'm falling for you.

Here we go again with our
Little games, but this here's
A war zone, I'm in my finest hour.

Whatever you say, wherever you go
I will be with you forevermore.

Cute words in our conversations
exchange photos she my motivation, momentarily-- apparently the living virus I embody has signaled and I'm in need of another host I need but I know I won't --you see there's this truer quote,
you don't know what you have but I know when I grab that I need you most I'm floored when I see you pose, I'm so flawed,
but, do me this favor--
pose for my camera pose for the man you want I'll keep you as a memory,
I think my picture small will forever be and cleverly I use you,
yours
Impatiently I rush things
with no forever in sight I cite love songs give me extra credit
I'm selfish-- narcissistically I'm incredibly, guarded, she asks why,
and as my Valentine she's rewarded, temporarily,
Cause like any drug store my seasons will change and it's back to reality,
there is no bigger picture take my card and cargo with you,

a turquoise thunder
were the color of her eyes
against her golden skin
her freckles looked like chocolate
her long brown her blowing in the strong wind
love at first sight,
a beautiful sight, the pulled me in.
as soon as she laughed, she took my heart captive

the music filling my ears,
with melodies nobody wants to hear
crescendos intensifying the sound and emotion
the lows, the highs, setting the tone
a story is told
beginning, middle, and end
different interpretations, but everyone has the same understanding
deep in their gut they know,
it was tragic-
the last note got cut-off, a cliff hanger
an incomplete symphony,
unfinished poetry
we'll never find the truth.

I sway from side to side. Floating, hovering above the ground. My heart beat is starting to slow down. My vision fades subtly. My eyes feel like they're going to pop out of my head. The cold leather coiled around my throat, starts to chafe my skin. No feeling of air inside my lungs. Not breathing feels comfortable, it feels right. It feels peaceful. My mind casually slips away from me. Sweet serenity graces me with a final kiss I've been waiting for. Black. Everything is so fuzzy, and so shifty. I can't see straight. I collect the fragments of my mind. Above me hangs the remains of my neuse, frayed and torn. I lay on the floor. Unbelieving at this sight. This attempt has failed. Hopefully the next won't.