Love just might be out of this world
Love just might be out of this world
Hi.
I am writing this poem about love.
Mostly for the loveless,
the love hurts and heart breaks.
The love saints believing in fairytale endings.
Texting.
Messaging.
Love emojis.
Blindingly selecting gains.
You do not know what love is.
Of course I'd say like the sunshine love is warm,
the light creeping in.
Breaking the shade under lifes tree.
And like two halves to this speech,
love is the highs the lows, repeat.
And not just what you would like to see.
The backstage scenes are real.
The tears and arguments,
seemingly simple envy--greed.
It is the silence in your room when that text arrives and your heart assumes,
he cares,
they want me,
she misses me again.
Jane knew about the trends and also had the best response.
When guys texted, dropped knives til she found the one pain that she could take--not another cheating Drake,
but that thumping pain from her beating heart,
and that image of her loneliness burnt at the stake.
That warmth in her veins sprouting elation on her face,
it's great.
But Josh would never take the first step.
It is that portrait shrouded in bliss,
of Jochebeds face as she gazed at her Moses resisting the urge to hold tightly to unwillingness as she let that basket drift into the world.
Her hands bloody with her blood as she grips tightly to broken mirrors,
her heart,
filled with so much love.
Imagine how she felt.
Love is...
Love is also dark.
Sounds dramatic but the truth is, this is the truth.
Grouping constructive criticism,
candid minds and every version of love that reminds you they've got your back.
Pulling down on the straps of the backpack so as to carry that pressure,
so as to reassure you that you're all they want.
Love is that ghost,
that haunts when loneliness is seated by your side.
Your confidant.
You ask, why?
Always cheering and giving a hand throughout the fight.
You look up.
Bruised and beaten--and you smile in that stage,
because loves still sitting in the front,
saying.
Hi.
10/11/17✅
Hi.
I am writing this poem about love.
Mostly for the loveless,
the love hurts and heart breaks.
The love saints believing in fairytale endings.
Texting.
Messaging.
Love emojis.
Blindingly selecting gains.
You do not know what love is.
Of course I'd say like the sunshine love is warm,
the light creeping in.
Breaking the shade under lifes tree.
And like two halves to this speech,
love is the highs the lows, repeat.
And not just what you would like to see.
The backstage scenes are real.
The tears and arguments,
seemingly simple envy--greed.
It is the silence in your room when that text arrives and your heart assumes,
he cares,
they want me,
she misses me again.
Jane knew about the trends and also had the best response.
When guys texted, dropped knives til she found the one pain that she could take--not another cheating Drake,
but that thumping pain from her beating heart,
and that image of her loneliness burnt at the stake.
That warmth in her veins sprouting elation on her face,
it's great.
But Josh would never take the first step.
It is that portrait shrouded in bliss,
of Jochebeds face as she gazed at her Moses resisting the urge to hold tightly to unwillingness as she let that basket drift into the world.
Her hands bloody with her blood as she grips tightly to broken mirrors,
her heart,
filled with so much love.
Imagine how she felt.
Love is...
Love is also dark.
Sounds dramatic but the truth is, this is the truth.
Grouping constructive criticism,
candid minds and every version of love that reminds you they've got your back.
Pulling down on the straps of the backpack so as to carry that pressure,
so as to reassure you that you're all they want.
Love is that ghost,
that haunts when loneliness is seated by your side.
Your confidant.
You ask, why?
Always cheering and giving a hand throughout the fight.
You look up.
Bruised and beaten--and you smile in that stage,
because loves still sitting in the front,
saying.
Hi.
10/11/17✅
Comments
Post a Comment