J.H.S.

Every few hours

To see if one of us read, liked, or related to those silly little words

that are your everything.

I do too.♡

To be an arsonist

And burn bridges without shame."

For bleeding from my heart, words that you may never see?

Can I call myself a poet, if the words come naturally?

Even if the rhyme or flow isn't good enough for me?

Surely, I could be a poet, for feeling every line

For leaking letters you can feel, even though they are mine

If you read this and relate, then it may be a sign

That you also wonder if, you're a poet by design

But can I call myself a poet, if I don't follow the 'rules'?

The guide that makes it 'poetry', like they taught us in the schools?

If you ask me, the ones who made that guide are fools

That's like a jewler telling me that diamonds cannot pass as jewls

So yes, we are poets, when words explode from inside

From our happiness, anger, or tears we have cried

When words resurrect pieces, of us, that we thought had died

If they say you aren't a poet, I say they have lied.

In this house

The walls talk, and they say I'm so lost

I keep chasing Us, through every loss

They don't approve, the happy, the lies

The way we come back, even after goodbye

In this house

Our words echo through the halls,

Out of the windows, into drywall

We fight, then it's over just before

You leave, and walk out of the door

In this house

The walls feel our longing, sees our pain

The way we keep trying with nothing to gain

The breathless words, the lingering moans

The okay we feel, it comes then its gone

In this house

It's alive, it breathes and it sighs

The love we feel, the hurt, the 'whys'

The bills on the table, your hand in mine

Our feelings explode, the energy is divine;

Still, with what shes holding, she stays in routine

Burdened, must be something that runs in her genes

You wouldn't know, with a glance in her eyes

What you see on the outside, well managed disguise

Pretty and perfect, her false confidence

Sits upon her shoulders with high maintenance

She stays put together, till shes falling apart

And they'd never suspect what she has in her heart

A flame that keeps burning, fueled on by her soul

And if she isn't careful, it'll blaze till charcoal

Missing respect, they could never understand

The effort it takes to provide on demand

Her silent battles, locked behind bars and brick walls

She wont let them see it, even when she falls

She gets back up and she does it again

Determined that next time, she'll fight and she'll win

Why does it seem that this world has a goal

To burn her all the way down to charcoal

I am still, I am frozen, I'm mimicking death

My fingers are feathers falling unto your chest

My heart has been pounding, yours sighs in deep rest

I try not to wake you, as if you could feel

The way I feel around you, seemingly unreal

I'm transcending my body, my soul is so light

When I'm laying beside you, the whole world feels right

Your touch burns and it blisters right into my skin

'Till my new scars remember how you feel, again

But to be able to meet you there, id have to learn to fly

Id jump off from the pedestal I've placed you upon and

Practice spreading my wings that I once thought were gone

But they're merely a delusion, and they open so wide

That I know I can reach you, I can fly by your side

But I reach the top, and wonder why you aren't there

Then I fall back to the bottom, the hell that we share

If you were a cigarette, I would smoke the whole pack

So I could breathe you in, have your taste back to back

I heard someone once said 'cigarettes are good for you'

Funny that I have the same sick delusion about you...

If I could consume you, you'd take up every part of me

If I could break my obsession id learn to leave you be

But I cant close my eyes without seeing your face

So even though you're awful, you're the perfection I Chase

J.h.s.

Right over the scars, where I'd once carved it in. :)

How did our story end up twisted? We were romance now we're gore"

From an unfinished poem of mine.