don’t fall in love with a poet
I do not take this world lightly.
cut open my chest, I’ll show you what’s inside me.
pardon me if it’s empty, but don’t let that scare you.
ask me about my thoughts on the universe, I dare you
now you might not like what’s coming out of my mouth, but I’m not here to please or make anyone proud.
this world is not pretty, and neither are my words.
I’ll give it to you straight
if you don’t like it, I’ll kick you to the curb.
don’t fall in love with a poet,
if you can’t handle the racing thoughts.
you can pour out your heart and we will cut you off
in a split second because it hit us.
it cracked our heads in an explosion of words and we are addicted.
not all of us will pick up a pen and write you sonnets about how your eyes blend with the blue in the sky or that dark green bruise on your thigh.
we are tattered souls, but we don’t neglect. semi erratic
we don’t write every second we breathe
but poems form in our minds before we even see them on paper.
we won’t write of your love and how it flows and fills us within
we write about our souls, not because “poets are soooooooooo in”
I’m not a fucking fashion trend, Whitney.
I won’t make you swoon, Brittany.
and I can promise you I’ll never compare you to a tumblr girl, Tiffany.
tattered souls, erratic thoughts, I won’t feed your ego with my words and I won’t hold back these thoughts
because they make you uneasy.
the point of my poems are to make you queasy. to make you think to make you see
you’re not fucking special I’m just growing a seed in my mind branching off little rhymes. it’s not
my fault that you find pretty. trust me, you couldn’t understand them if you tried. when I tell you your eyes made me think of something to write, I lied.
I’m not your fucking Shakespeare and you’re not Juliet.
I’m a fucking mental case
but you won’t see it yet.
my deepest thoughts are always poured into my poems. I'm not a writer to read if you don't like profanity and truth. stay positive, stay you.
