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Never fall in love with a poet.
They will break you apart
like stanzas.
You are a metaphor,
a simile, an oxy-
*****.
Never fall in love with a poet.
They will tear you apart
like a rough draft,
burn you, and then
call it art.

© A. Leigh
One night at a bar:


I asked her what her name was.  She said she had no name.  Her

parents never got around to giving her one. This was very

curious and I found myself suddenly interested.

So I asked her if I could call her some time. She said she never

got around to getting a phone either. Didn't feel the need.

She kept saying sorry, she had to go. So I told her I'd give her a

ride to anywhere.  She said she didn't believe in cars, religiously.

Wait now.  She had no name, she had no phone and didn't use

cars?    I said where do you come from, Mars?  She said she had

no history either, and then she was gone!

For some reason I get the strange feeling she was trying to avoid

me.
 Jul 2018 heather leather
jenna
the kind of person that gives you
straight,
blunt
advice:
great for breakups
or motivation to get off your ***.
they use logic. they say things simply.
it hurts
but the truth is
often what you need to hear.

the kind of person that gives you
understanding,
reassurance,
and love:
great for the sad days,
and for hope that the brighter days are
just around the corner.
they use compassion. they quote books.
it feels nice,
and you might get a good cry.

sometimes, though,
the spiral doesn’t want
logic,
or the blunt truth.
it wants, not understanding,
or reassurance,
because telling it that
“everything is going to be okay.”
makes it burn even worse.

sometimes it needs to
laugh at itself.
not to be told that it is
being ridiculous,
but to realize that
they way its brain works
is, in fact, ridiculous.
how it can look at a rainbow
and turn it into tears,
how it can laugh at
the most horrible joke, but yet
still get sick
at the idea of its friends
being in pain.

it needs to be reminded that
it is complex.
and that, while everything
will eventually feel better,
it might be worse one day,
too.
that itself,
and the metaphors it uses,
are just a small fraction of
the extravagant art
its pain,
its brain,
is able to create.
you are more than your thoughts.
I said no to drugs once.
I looked a bag of **** right in the face
and, like a loving but firm father,
I said, "No."
I was really high.
The funny thing about silence is,
In my head, It never truly is
silent.
In the end, It will all fit together, won't it?
I have never seen an apple more red
than my heart when it bleeds
the green grass and my jealousy meet
my soul has been charcoal
all ***** and black
leaving a mess on everything
when I look back
and Love would be like gold
if digging it didn't
**** people
stones
our left over obsession
from our work
when the aliens made us
possessions
i don't go outside
so I stay in the shadows
Fawn lifted me out of my shallow
Another instalment in my series of failed Love attempts. That's quite an exaggeration here.
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