live life in warm yellows
when the sky is a dark gray and the clouds are a loveless black
live life in light pinks
when the trees are dying browns and the flowers are wilting ebonys
live life in bright blues
when the waters are a wild taupe and the sand is a rough onyx
live life in the colors of life;
for life is exquisite
but to see such radiance and beauty,
one must be appreciative and live life in warm yellows
reds,
oranges,
greens,
blues,
indigos,
and violets.
life is full of color, but one must be able see that to truly enjoy living

i just want to feel pretty
not the kind of pretty that people want to have *** with
but the kind of pretty that makes me feel happy with myself

i have learned to live without you
i have learned that there is more to life
than you
of course, it still hurts
but one day, this poem will no longer be about you
and i'll be the one that got away

your loss, babe

There she stands,
covered in paint,
admiring her work.

Her feelings.
Her thoughts.
Her.

She is her art.
She is the blue overlapping with the dark purple.
She is the light pink mixing with the red.

She is her art.
She is art.
I am she.
I am art.
WE are art.

On the 'Words' page,
here on this site,
'love' is the first word,
sitting lovely, without blight.
Peculiar, though,
it seems to be
That love is the thing
killing both you and me.

Why is it we dream of what we fear most?
For thrill, for passion? Maybe it is, who knows.
Many, many poems, and pieces of art
include the broken word sent from the heart;
l
   o
      v
          e.

I know our souls are not meant to be intertwined
I know how different we are from each other
I know how bad we are together
But God,
There is something about you
There is something about your blue eyes
that make the worries disappear
There is something about your smile
that make me forget that we are complete opposites
I know we aren't meant to be
I know I'm not supposed to like you
I know you're not supposed to like me
But there's no harm in pretending, right?

He stopped loving me.
The same boy who told me he wanted me to take his last name stopped loving me.
The same boy who said he would fight for me stopped loving me.
The same boy who held me and told me he would never let go stopped loving me.
The same boy who would write me poems at 3am stopped loving me.
The same boy who always talked about our future stopped loving me.
The same boy who said he would never stop loving me stopped loving me.
Why did he stop loving me?

Life, to me, appears meaningless
Poem
After
Poem
And I am still stuck
In the same place I was
In the same person I was
Life, to me, appears meaningless
But I cannot stop wondering,
If it will get better

em pleh

the devil played his music
and i sat front row through that symphony
ignoring the angelic choir behind me

Once again
I have allowed myself to live
in the illusion that
you actually care for me

How foolish of me
to let lowly emotions
get in the way of reasoning
and logic

Please don’t waste my time





again.

“You’re loved”
I know I am, but how do human
emotions compare to my actual worth
and value as a person?
I am so tired.

Does any of this matter?
Has it ever mattered?

it's constant now
the bickering
the fighting
it started as an insignificant disagreement
but it grew
and oh God did it grow
it's becoming something
that i'm scared is bigger than us
something too big for us to fix
again and again
one fight after another

Falling in love with you was easy.
You were a dream.
You were everything.
But falling out of love with you will be easier.
You were a nightmare.
You were nothing.
I love you.
I hate you.

if you were to wait for perfection to start flowing through your brain,
through your veins, through your hand, through the pen, and finally to the paper,
the world would lack a masterpiece
that is your
writing