day 3

Don't fall in love with another poet

They write shit about you

Good or bad, you don't have a choice

but to choose to listen to their honesty

I fell in love with another poet

And while I sit among the sidelines wishing to be noticed,

He is wishing to be noticed by someone else.

I always wanted to be the topic of someone's love piece,

have someone piece me together whole.

Close stitched and close to their minds,

like the very pieces of wool he wears around his hair.

Holding each strand of angel,

and being that much closer to his thoughts.

Don't fall in love with another poet.

You end up spending more time writing around them,

hoping that they notice,

but they don't.

I fell in love with another poet.

And while he sits there on cloud nine,

pen in hand, words googling around her sweet rose-colored complexion,

I am wondering what makes her body make up

make up more inspiration than mine.

We are both mostly made of water, blood cells, and wants.

What makes her wants more appealing than my wants

I just want 

to be noticed.

When he writes up another jaw dropping masterpiece

I can't help but awe

I wish he could piece me together into something breathtaking

because I am the poet that falls in love with other poets

Spend too much time finger painting the next Van Gogh

But simultaneously cutting off my left ear

Don't want to listen to the words that have no relation to my being

but for the time being, I can only wish

Compose a starry eyed madness

to capture his heart

Place his heart upon the stub of skin I used to call ear

Convince him that I am listening to his every word

Although I know

that I am just the poet that falls in love with other poets

And he is the poet

That knows not to.

And I am slowly wilting away at every breath he takes to call her name

But he himself

is not sure if she exhales as much carbon dioxide to help love grow

How tall of a bean stalk love is he searching for?

Is he actually willing to climb the depths of Mariana Trench for her love,

or even swim to snow capped tops of Everest

to proclaim his feelings.

I am nearly not as adventurous

But I still fell in love with another poet

The silence is loud in this gray area

Drop a pin from my tongue and hear it explode into the many beatings

my heart skips through while seeing him

Instigated a wave of avalanche hoping

to paint her sweet rose-colored complexion blank.

Willing to recycle his rose-colored lenses into 

something lovely we can both hold.

I know I can't hold him the way she has him by string

and I know that he wouldn't even try to cut the ties

He is her puppet

Drags him through cross word puzzle confusions

And leaves him without oxygen

The way he leaves me breathless without even resting an eye on me

I am just the poet that fell in love with another poet

Tending a garden of false hope and pretty make up

Finger painting a starry eyed madness upon the puddle of a melted avalanche

Googling over sweet rose-colored words

that have no meaning to my existence

Might as well sit and watch while letting my flowers grow extinct

Don't ever fall in love with another poet

He is hopelessly drowned in the avalanche of kisses he sends to her