Out of all these poems I've written of love and longing, Out of all these years searching in the sea of people, I still yet to understand how it's possible to have words without a muse
I often wonder what it would be like to have a muse without words I believe it would feel suffocating As you choke on all the words you long to exhale within your next breath For a poet to be trapped by words is to be trapped by passion
Sometimes my heart swells up so big it walks across a sea of words and sinks into the deepness of the waters Lost among the clearer beats on land An abnormality pushed away from love like an ancient curse buried in my skin One day i'll make it learn to swim rather than let it sink and bathe in sin
The question still remains Would it be better to have a muse and feel like drowning, Or to have the the words to accompany the lonely?
I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe?
Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should?
I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is?
I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction
Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same Regardless what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself What it means to love you wholly even if I have to find out from loving at a distance
I don't understand why I write so many poems about love when I am not even in love. It is so frustrating to have words without a muse and a muse without words.
You've ... got me burning my mind's wheels turning no matter how hard i've tried i always find myself tongue tied mmm tongue tied with yours my libido soars touching you, touching me You're all that i see lying ***** in my bed can't get that image out of my head kiss me, touch me, feel me, want me i can still smell Your scent and all my energy's spent trying really hard not to care yet i still feel Your fingers in my hair my hair draped over Your face it wasn't the time or place me on top of You it was all i could do to not melt from the ecstasy i felt kiss You, touch You feel You, want You.
I can't write for you anymore. Yes, I have hundreds of loosely scrawled letters written, typed, stored in one or three or five of the books I've taken over five years in a milk crate from city to state to small town and back again. Yes, it took me an arm, a leg and a misguided rebound to get over you But alas, here we are. Yes, I know you won't miss me - though I know at one point you did care But it's time for us to say goodbye.
I will dot the period, not the semicolon (like you did a million years ago) Seal the last letter with a smile And never turn back.
Not until my teens ask me, "Mama, who were you before the world broke its promises?" Will I pull out the milk crate Filled with loosely scrawled letters written, typed, stored And talk about the curly-haired blonde boy who first broke my heart.