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brokenperfection Aug 2014
Kiss me:
Once to unearth your secret crush
Twice when it's early and you don't want to leave
Three times to whisper you love me
Four times to send your apologies
Five times before breaking my heart  
And six before I take you back again
One hundred to show how much I mean to you
One hundred and one for that "other" girl
102 before I realize just how much time
I wasted being with you
brokenperfection Aug 2014
/ \
t  h e
and to
sweet
short
brokenperfection Aug 2014
is it alright if I link us all together? I need to lump us into a category entitled, "poets", so that I can discuss something with you all.
you see, I've read many a works with instructions on How Not to Fall in Love with an Artist. but there's a problem. we are poets, and we are artists, and the people who wrote me beautiful instructions know this as well.
but they forgot to teach me how to stop my heart from going there anyway.
it is a fact that us poets and artists and artist-poets see the world differently.
come on, tell me you walk down the street, see a kid dancing, and you don't want to run home and write about it.
I see poetry in everything I do.
every place I go, every voice I hear, every song I sing, I find a muse.
it's inevitable and lovely but it also makes living life with other people quite difficult.
when I was younger, my mom used to get so mad at me
because I'd sit in the car and question everything
I'd say
"why did we call a tree a tree? imagine if it were called 'blue'. we wouldn't say the sky was blue, because the sky isn't a tree. you see?"
and she'd say
"sweetie, I love ya, but you're going way too deep for me."
and I got so disappointed because to me, that was just the surface
I had an uncountable amount of questions and wonderings
with no one to discuss them with
so, yeah, I turned to the poet artists
I looked for love and all the hush hush and the yes
I sought out whisperers and thinkers and debaters
if they made me mad or confused me,
oh god,
it was love.
and yeah, so maybe none of those relationships stayed
maybe they were all way too broken and I couldn't fix them
they couldn't fix themselves
but I won't give up hope
I refuse to settle for the ones who are so numb to their own feelings that
they refuse to read a book
not because they're "boring" or "uninteresting" or "too hard",
but because books and words and poet artists transport us
directly to places we try to hide from.

my fellow poets understand and embrace this part of themselves
but "the ones" I am referring to, and you know who, because
you're imagining them right now...
they gotta think a little bit
they have to let me think with them
and if that results in misery and tragic writing
well, so be it
brokenperfection Aug 2014
Peering through the dense trees,
Sinking low, light footsteps
He stalks his prey.
A newborn pup
Yipping and clumsy
Falling over herself
Just to stand back up
And do it again.
The hunter shifts between the silken grass
And the soft clay earth
Keeping his eye on the promising young blood
Craving her bones and fleshy meat.

The pup licks her paws
Pouncing on small bugs and feathers
She laughs with a bark that sounds like music
Burying her new toys, she wiggles her tail in the air
Then digs in to the earth with zero inhibition
She is vibrant and strong, a natural-born leader.  
Happy, free, and full of promise.

Nose to the ground,
He anticipates the musky smell
Of his close-knit pack
He advances, visceral and quick
His vision turns a violent red as he
Loses his stealthy and cautious movements
His gait lengthens and he slides in the dirt
Snapping his jowls, he is wild with hunger.

The pup yelps and snarls,
Too small to fight back
But trying her mightiest to stand her ground.
Her attacker sinks his teeth in from behind,
Slashing his rustic head back and forth
Listening to her fading cries as he growls with success.
Shaking every ounce of strength from the
Poor girl's lifeless form,
He tastes sweet victory and steps back
Satisfied with his current catch.

He turns his head to call his pack;
A wolf's howl only the moon can hear
But he sees instead the sad, vacant eyes of
The pup's grieving father.
brokenperfection Aug 2014
Nah
maybe the universe wouldn't mind explaining to me
why we romanticize how we'd react in tragedies
I mean, we watch the news until our eyes glaze over
another school shooting, dozens more killed here, there
and we have the guts to say
"I would have done this differently"
no
I dare you to stare down controversy
chances are
your name and mine would also end up on an
R.I.P scroll at the bottom of the CNN media
brokenperfection Aug 2014
Black coffee to ring in Monday morning
Fingertips leaving his imprint on my collarbone
Steam to erase the last traces of my guilty pleasures
Ashes on my skin from her cigarettes
Words left by their sword-like tongues
Sunrises searing holes in my retinas
Tar below our bare feet
Memories branded in my thoughts
Scalding memories, scalding memories
  Aug 2014 brokenperfection
a m a n d a
measure the
                       quantum  j i t t e r
go ahead,
i dare ya!            
say my name
     like you are
             casting it
                       in bronze
                  make it stay
*make something stay.
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