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i.

your love is like that
of romeo and juliet.
you fit perfectly,
like puzzle pieces,
and despite the raging seas,
you both man the sails
of your eager ship.

ii.

the night sky
is empty,
for all the stars are now in your eyes.
and you have all the blueprints planned out
as though you've forgotten that life
is not a house.

you keep on running,
as though you've forgotten that life
is not a track.

you keep on loving,
as though you've forgotten that life
spares no one

(not romeo, not juliet).


iii.**

and just like romeo,
and his dear juliet,
in the end,
you will both come crashing down.

(a.m.)
**.
let us toast,
my dear,
to making it this far.

even with our tortured minds
and glazed eyes;
hell,
who would've guessed it?

//

it's a good thing you don't wear mascara in public.
then again,
maybe it doesn't really matter.
you only cry when you're alone.

and i'm sure you're more broken than you seem,
though you still manage to get up and
plaster a smile
onto your cold, blank face
each dreary morning.

//

i am not the poster child of happiness,
or wealth,
or intelligence.
(they don't know that, though.)

failure is in my veins,
mistakes written into my skin
with permanent marker --
the same one they use
to write all those A+s.

//

is it really faking
if we believe it, too?

bravo,
bravo,
look how good we've gotten --
believing our own
little
white
lies.

but little white lies
never hurt nobody.

//

right?
uh idk. thoughts?
she was a poet,
and he was her pen.
in him,
she always found words to write,
songs to sing,
thoughts to think.

he'd smile,
and kiss her softly,
and say,
"write me a poem."

and she would.
she'd put poe,
and whitman,
and shakespeare to shame,
and she'd write a poem that made his eyes water.

she'd compare him
to a rose with no thorns,
a book with no end,
a world with no poverty --
the things we all wish for,
but can never attain.

//

he asked her one day,
"what am i?"
and so she picked up her pen,
and began the usual:
you are the shining sun after a hurricane,
with rays that open the eyes of the blind.

but he stopped her after those two lines,
and said that this time,
he didn't want any metaphors,
or similes,
or analogies.
he wanted the truth.

and so on that night,
as he slept,
the poet picked up her pen,
and she wrote.

she wrote,
then thought better of it,
then started over again,
and this cycle continued well into the early hours of the morning,
until suddenly,
she wrote, frantic,
if i can't love you for what you really are,
have i ever really loved you at all?


this, too,
she thought better of,
condemning it to the trash.

the next morning the poet was gone,
her final work a mere two words:

i'm sorry.

(a.m.)
this is more of a story than a poem but i like how it came out so leave thoughts & comments please
i got pulled over for speeding on my way home tonight and the first thing i thought of was you

it reminded me of a couple of years ago and how i was so busy running towards you that i didn’t see that you were trying to stop me.

i can’t stop thinking about how we got here

why are you in 400 miles away in a cold nebraska town while im still driving home twice a week to sit in the old choir room and rack my mind trying to remember how things used to be

you never told me

why’d you give up?

why didn’t you cling on for dear life until the forces of this universe ripped you from my hands.

maybe thats my thing. i always was the poetic one of the two of us.

I’m having trouble falling in love again and its taking everything i have not to straight up blame you for it

don’t come home

I’m still learning to be without you
he put down his paint brush,
and told his artistic heart to shush,
for he was no longer feeling the lovely creative rush,
reality was gently tugging at his sleeve
telling him its time to leave
hurrying, so he won't decieve society
as time passed, he went from an artist
to a blank canvas
he was finally human at last,
sadly.
this is what happens when you loose your artistic touch, you become emotionless, artless, souless= human etc. In my opinion. <3
you were a virus,
polluting my mind and veins,
and I'm the fool that trusted you
now I left digging deeper and deeper into my skin
just trying to get every single piece out of my system before it kills me
similar to You're In My Veins but pffffttt
---
Therapy by All Time Low
I'd like to buy a year.
A year for us, and us alone.
A year to realize what we've been missing all this time.

I'd like to buy a kiss.
A kiss for us, and us alone.
A kiss that ignites our somber and dreary souls.

I'd like to buy a song.
A song for us, and us alone.
A song that plays on through the brightest days and the darkest nights.

And lastly:

I'd like to buy a vow.
A vow for us, and us alone
A vow that will not be broken.
A vow that thinks a year is forever.
A vow that intrigues an all night kiss.
A vow that insists that a song never ends.
And knows that we won't either.
The thing about loving you
Is that I don't love all of you.
I don't love:
-Your arrogance
-How you push me away to look cool
-The way you get away with everything
-The look in your eyes that almost shows me your heart.

But here's the other thing about loving you,
Everyday I love something about you that I used to hate.
I love:
-Your passion
-How you make fun of the things I used to be so insecure about
-The way you'd do anything for what you love.
-The look in your eyes that almost shows me your heart.

So I guess that makes the score for the day:

You: 1
Me: 0

And eventually, I guess, the score will be:

You: All of me
Me: All of you
We ride in the car
Just like always
Your eyes scanning the road
And mine fixed on the horizon
Or on you.

And just like always
On comes our song
And just like always we sing along
You fumble over the bridge
I'm friends with every platform of it
You laugh, because the words don't matter.
Not to you, anyway.

Your lips released her name, yet again.
And for a moment, my sealed lips unlocked.
Out came lashing and biting words on that day.
And you fell silent.
When all I really wanted to know was:
Do you two have a song?
Do you stumble for those words too?
Every **** time...

Though she's beautiful
Outgoing
Abundant
Honest
I'm the one you always choose
I have so little to offer you
And she has so much.
Yet I know one day you'll listen to our song and you'll hear the words.
But by then, it'll be too late.
We'll be too late.
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