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
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