Poems Quotes


I like your crooked teeth and I like your messy hair. I like the warmness of your hands; how they hold mine with great care. I like the paleness of your face, how I can make it burn bright red. How when I stare you start to jitter and look upon the ground instead. I like the way you like my eyes and the way you joke and tease, how just one of your simple smiles can weaken both my knees. I like how much you like me, we both know that it's true, but I'm still terrified of how I'm so in love with you.


I am drunk and I do not understand at thing but this angel who is beside me - This angel, who is sitting...waiting, I think. I do not know. I am too busy staring, steadfastly ignoring the blood that fills my shoes. I can taste the vomit in my mouth but I shut it down - I shut it off - because this angel cannot see me in this state; this mad, howling, pathetic way in which I sway and swish; how I bemoan cheap rum that tastes of 409 and treacle. I feel so deep underwater when she looks my way, this angel - this thin goddess who has strange small teeth and bird bones. she looks at me and I want to vomitvomitvomit. She must know, because she smiles like a waif with her eyes red as I tremble and sway. oh god, I am dyingdyingdying. I want to die. I want to sacrifice myself to the porcelain god and vanish into that place where people mingle and hide in perfect synchronisation. I see she is gone and I am high; I do not understand my elation at having missed the chance to touch an angel but then I shudder and vomit onto my shoes - the rum the vodka the coke, it hits me in tides of violent sluggish brown and I soon realise that I could have just soiled an angel in my own stupid intoxication. yet here I am, alone, with blood in my shoes and vomit in my hair. I wonder what my life has become.
And I think there is something broken inside of me.
I am just struggling to find it.
13/01/2015
I have a dog. She is young and small and cries when I leave the room. I have a dog, and she is white and fluffy and wags her tail when I come home. I have a dog, she is still a baby and sometimes I have to feed her because she is fickle. I have a dog, but to me she is a person. She is a person because when I have started crying she is quick to lick away my tears, and when I worry she nudges her face into my shoulder until I laugh into her fur. She is a person because she has a personality, more of one that most people I have ever met, and she is my friend. Dogs may seem dumb and inferior but they are capable of feeling love and sadness, they can sense when things are wrong, and they can feel pain. I have a dog, but it does not take a dog-owner to feel love for one. Today I feel love for Angel, who had sadly passed due to the cruelty of others. Today I feel sick and sad, as I have discovered the true lacking of human nature. Today I hope that heaven exists, because all angels should get to go to heaven.

My eyes are waterlogged, sunken in my skull and incredibly red. I sit, listless, and stare into space. My eyes are swollen, and thus I cannot really see; everything has started to haze, but I have tried - I've tried so hard - to find something...important, or worthwhile. Something beautiful, perhaps, but there is nothing. I do not know if I am blind or simply numb

Love is not very much but the look of my mother's face when she sees my clean, wound-less arms.

Where are all the poets
That are original and authentically real
Quoting themselves
Addicted to words
And married
to the dictionary???

Who are yall???
I cannot swim but I let you drag me far out to sea - I did not think you would leave me there.
I like it when you sleep. I like the calmness of your face and the way in which you breath, I like how you are settled and don't tug on your sleeves. I like the slowness of your heart - how it beats, steady, in your chest and how when you are sleeping, I also get to rest. I'll sit beside you in the darkness and I'll watch you with great care, I'll count all of your freckles and from your face, I'll brush your hair. I'll watch you and I'll worry, about problems that aren't mine, but the why in which you sigh will suspend them all in time.
the waters cool hands hold my face with simple adoration. my eyes sting as my nostrils are evaded, but still i do not care. i lay as sight drifts away to ripples of sunlight, and soon my lungs are filled not with air, but the lives of the ocean.
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