we own teacups
of porcelain   that
make up a couple
her always filled with coffee
mine with tea
this was what became
our morning routine
to spend time until the cups are emptied

we talk about irrelevant things
matters and thoughts that do not
have acquaintance with consequence
how it'd be possible to raise goldfishes in ***** bottle
we kept for remembrance or how many cookies could
the porcelain beauty we held so dearly possibly contain
sometimes we waste a good morning
watching wisps of steam          rise                    and vanish
like the way people seem to get out of sight after bidding goodbyes
after a certain distance they'd be nothing more than a sihlouette
and after time     slowly they get out of mind

one day you'd realize
that no longer can you conjure their sihlouettes   in memory     nor
can you remember the way they walked away
were they off in a hurry or their footsteps
heavy as the heart the carried that very winter morning
when snow didnt fall like predicted by the weatherman the night before
(and that was when you realised the weight of goodbyes)

these are the thoughts that occupy
my mind when I wash our cups
and notice (everytime) stain rings around the innerside of the cups
three quarters full of coffee          and half a cup of tea
we'd store the cups after
hers always facing left
they would sit silently       never a word of complain
as such nice mannered tableware,     cups are.
they'd wait silently for every next morning
to be filled,        coffee          and         tea.

I always thought of her          as a hot chocolate person
until one morning I saw sunlight caught in the dark lazy curls of her hair
until how the dark coloured liquid resembled the colour in her eyes
and came to a silent agreement with myself
how she suited coffee on lazy mornings the way
coffee suited her when she tipped her cup ever so slightly
and     sipped       like she'd found peace in mind
now I smile when she asks why I stopped telling her teacups are meant for tea
(that there are no absolutes in the things we do)

there are mornings she would wake to find me
already awake and silently staring at the rain pelted windows
legs crossed at the foot of the bed and singing
singing softly in russian

I'd end
always at Дорогая
and asks    if she
wants coffee.

if I should die today,
I would die without
ever having been
to China
without having read
Hemingway
with so many things
unseen
undone
still waiting
but knowing
that you love me.
if I should die today
I would be alright;
but if I had a choice
I'd rather die
having been to China
having read Hemingway
having seen your hair
slowly turning grey
having bought a house,
having lived in France,
when I'm nearly a hundred
and in your arms.

Bed sheets impregnated with her essence.
Towels dripping the sweetness of her skin.
Wild thoughts invading my subtle thinking.
Her scent still lingering in my senses and my soul.

A fleeting heartbeat was skipped the moment our eyes met.
All reality vanished as distance disappeared.
Poetry struck me as I chose my words carefully.
A smile was virtously drawn on her face when I held her hand.

The world conspired for us to meet then.
Not before. Not after.
Just at the right moment.
We pushed fate away as it pulled us back to its path.
We lost ourselves in each other in just the blink of an eye.

A voice so heavenly angels should be jealous.
A mind so priviledged she understands me whole.
Her eyes so pure and lively even diamonds are just stones.
Her sweet embrace so warm she could reignite the sun.

Love has been reinvented, and now it wears her name.
Beautiful turns ugly whenever she's around.
If perfection's bound to gods, then she must be a goddess,
and I'd worship only her for her blessings are all mine.

I've spent a year
Maybe more
I can't seem to remember
This time I think it's goodbye
I'm making a new account
Shutting the world out
I've written over 450 poems
Some ****** ***
Others surpassed my expectations
Thank you guys for helping feel accomplished
However it was recently discovered by someone
That I didn't want to know about it
So I hope you guys can understand
Why it is I must go

so deeply
I fell for you

I am on the ground now
You caught me, then dropped me

My love..

Who- everything
What- happiness
Where- in my head, under my skin
When- always
Why- magic

How..
How did this happen?
How did we come down to this?

You walk away from me like I have meant so little to you and it pains me
All I wanted was you

Me
I am on the ground
I don't feel a need to get up
I don't feel a need to redeem myself

I am broken
I am dust
I am nothing special
I am gone

I close my eyes and I don't see things the same anymore
Not in my head, in my head there's you.
What I wanted of us
Then a tear escapes
I let the dream leave me
And I sleep

I wake and the first thing on my mind is you
Happiness, love, you, I crave
Then a tear,
Then an ocean,
Then the need to sleep again

I just want to sleep
No more tears.
No more broken dreams

i don't like being still.
i like moving around,
making noise and
doing things.

i physically can't be
lazy anymore.
i can't stand the thought of
not being productive,
i hate doing nothing.

im not sure if this makes me
a hardworker or if this is
the only other way i know
how to cope with everything.

i just push everything to the
side and do a bunch of work.
constantly pushing myself into
stressful situations until i scream because
i like the feeling of being productive and
being someone my parents and teachers
are proud of and i dont know,
i guess thats better than cutting but
what if the stress becomes so much that
i can't handle it anymore and
then i go back to the
blades even worse
than before?

he told me that he was proud
of how well i've been doing but
i can't help but think that
its a lie and he could really just
care less about me,
just like my parents do.