Bitter anger and confusion like vinegar won't stop love from flowing. They are both liquid coursing together through the great channels carved by passion. When dammed, these too overflow. I must, somehow, create culverts and new places to go.
when he says he wants to put you in a poem, don't believe he'll put your petals to his nose, inhale gently, and enumerate the tickling scents waltzing in his nostrils. believe he'll put your stem to his tongue lick the thorns slowly to open his masochistic metallic blood. believe that he'll spit that blood on the floor or in a teacup to sit out for hummingbirds. believe he'll paint you ***** in verse clothe you in meter and ***** you once more. believe that no poem is refuge and that your ugliness and his ugliness will not make a poem beautiful.
You are... Vinegar Rather strong, for some Not always in a good way But I like you I mean, I'm salt I know that too much of me Is just no good But you and I, together Oh, we are the dream team For some, anyway I wouldn't call us a cup of tea In front of some friends But I know that I love us And maybe I don't want you Every single time But I will always come back Because I need you And we do make a good team In the end
Another one from my drafts I don't love it, but I may as well post it