Have you ever thought about falling in love with a poet?
It's such a simple notion because they too are people just like you
but the ability to constantly immortalize
Is that not attractive?
If you fall in love with a poet
alive you'll be for eternity
in a world that you
never could imagine
but one that they imagined you in.
It's a simple thought and a simple attraction that made an intricate
impact on their lives.
You are the reason they write
the reason that they can so innately describe what it is to be in love.
It's nice, isn't it?
To fall asleep knowing that this person is still awake writing about
how much more they're going to love you the next day.
Writing about the moment that you first caught their eye
the moment that they knew you too loved them.
Falling in love with a poet is a guaranteed way to live forever in their mind
to be the muse that they'll always use
to be the one person they'll never abuse.
Falling in love with a poet would be the adventure to end all
because in every word you would exist through 6 or 7 lifetimes.
So fall in love with a poet
because not only will their words convince
they're guaranteed to show it.

my first heartbreak wasn't one for the movies or the novels.

there was no shouting or cursing,
only the echo of my hurt raining down

and as I sunk to my knees and begged him to change,
he stood there silently and just turned away.

my first heartbreak wasn't by a boy but by a man.

it was slow and gradual and the worst pain imaginable.

and it left me wondering
why I'm not worth more than a bottle.

people tell me that I look like her
and maybe to them I do.
because they don't see what I see.

the beauty,

the wisdom,

the grace,

the strength,

all things impossible to obtain.

so when they tell me I look like her,
I politely decline.
because she's everything I strive to be,
not everything I am.

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.

You breathe music.

there's poetry
between your every
uttered word.

you own every room you
enter.
all is a shrine in your

honour.

I see paintings in the shapes of
your blood veins; ocean universes
in your tears.

when you cry, there's no fight.
just whispered discontentment,
comfort is the opposite of

argument.

you beautiful, little beast.
claws constantly concealed.
I kiss your paws.

see right through you.
love
it

all.

hands are such unique features in our bodies.
i mean,
hands can let us feel what we can't see. they have been our guide and support even in darkness.
hands make music. fingers pluck guitar strings and strong hands hold drum sticks
hands can describe our feelings when we speak. we use it to emphasize more of what we say in our everyday.
hands are for love. we have used it for holding others people's hands and let them feel what they are supposed to feel.
hand are also for hate and anger. the clenched fists we used to do in times of rage.
hands are for art. the way they hold brushes and give life through strokes of ink and paint.

but my hands haven't known yet what they are for.
these hands never understand
what story it can tell someday.