Oh, for we are not taught to love oneself,
But we love others much more savagely.
We do not see the goodness in our self,
loving flaws of others passionately.
Instead of loving our beaten up soul,
We trust others with our weak, battered heart.
When Caring for others makes us feel whole;
to care for oneself will tear us apart.
People will leave but we are our only-
constant; here, even if we do not wish
Even with our constant, we are lonely.
Destruction- loving and not, we perish
Finally knowing to stay on alert.
It's funny how we always end up hurt.
a very rough draft. A sonnet about love
towering gently overflowing with heightened awareness
subtle hints of blade’s keen glittering chiseled edges
untamed rugged surface powerfully averts gale’s acrid tempest
vigor pulsating that doth persuade the cloud’s reflections
if i shall not again embrace a meager glimpse; a demure echo
of thine towering mounts my soul shall ever suffer
my spirit soars with e'er one glance of thine majestic presence
replete with reminiscence seasons stir and beg thine tender mercies
to house the changing leaves at dusk of autumn’s auburn portraits
and give birth to crystal snow cascading peripherally in winter
which melding into spring then begs thy bluffs to cover
in soft amethyst of columbine blossoming first light of summer
‘tis not paramount to scale high aloft thine peaks in escalation
for small sheer glances stamp forever with imperial impressions
and ‘tho i’ve traveled ‘round and savored nature’s varied essence
none can compare thine evergreens laced in aspens nuance
my breath is gone and shan’t return ‘til in thy shadow casting
i stand and look upon thine hallowed face the rocky mountains
In the blackness of the darkest hour
I felt his arms tight around my waist
Loosening as they drew nearer towards by stretched
Naked, fevered neck
His stars all bolted my nerves to the bottom of my feet
Stuck like pink bubble gum, melty and stringy
Like 97 degrees
His sweet breath grazed by cooled, burning cheeks
His touch reminded be of swimming under the moon of
The darkest hour
I drink in his laughter
It trembles the pads of my fingers
Shattering my vision all over again
I wait for him on the loneliest nights, when
Rusted wheels of cargo trains roll in, tight and full of history
The neighborhoods won't quit, even when the day does
He's always there
Nonchalantly kicked up against some shiny car, titled to another
He's wearing his darkest jeans and his James Dean smirk today
I slurp it up
Soak it in like he belongs to me
Like I belong to him
So when my dreams came true
When I got everything I wanted,
I was overcome with joy.
Because desire isn't wrong &
You are allowed to be wildly happy
by being uncommonly blessed.
— The End —