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 Jan 2017 Tyler Lockwood
sierra
When the sky turns black and I'm deep in bed,
I can't get the thoughts of you out of my head.

"You!" I yell.
What a lovely word!
I just hope that no one has overheard.
A simplistic write that I thought was kinda cute
 Jan 2017 Tyler Lockwood
sierra
Oh, what I would give to kiss you one last time
Your lips were as divine as wine.
A strawberry shortcake
Soft and sweet
Dripping and delicious
You were always such a treat.
I don't eat meat, but if I did,
My teeth would be dug deep in your skin.
I really don't know what you think about me
I just miss you, my strawberry.
needed a more light and airy write to aid my crippling sadness
 Jan 2017 Tyler Lockwood
sierra
I locked all the doors that surround my heart
But why did I give you the keys?
Sierra has a breakdown pt. 2837372882
It was killing me
To know
That I meant so little to you
But now
It's killing me
To know
That you know that I cared
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

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my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
 Jan 2017 Tyler Lockwood
cr
everything is meaningless and i
mean it. there's no point to this
there's no point to me there's no
point in existing other than to
breathe and love and make sense
of why we're here and
i'm sick of people telling me that the smart ones
are the sad ones
because i'm not smart,
i'm sick.
i'm vomiting up all the
feelings that are so overused
and overexaggerated that i cannot
tell what is normal or not
until someone informs me
that daydreaming
of slashing wrists and leaking
red when i
drop a glass of water
isn't normal. i used
to think everyone was
this way and i used to
think there'd be some
cure
to this, some magic pill
filled with stardust
and a tendency for
chemical codependency
that would make
me stop throwing up
all the feelings
bottled in the pit of
my stomach. (the
magic pill made me throw up,
just not the bad things. only
the good ones.) and
i can't stop thinking about
how everything is meaningless
and we are all here
and they are all there
and no one will ever
know one another completely
and that's not okay with me.
it's not.
//
i wrote this poem in five minutes in a sort of stream of consciousness way that doesn't make sense. enjoy.
Most humans drink coffee and wine
They consume television and mainstream novels
They feed their souls with popularity contests and safe relationships

But poets
We could not survive without passion, intensity, and meaning
Everything we feel is felt to the depths of our souls
We are the ones to put into words the unspeakable pain of heartbreak
The incomprehensible joy of falling in love
We are the ones brave enough to say out loud the diaries of a thousand souls

Us poets
We drink tea and whiskey
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