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Literature Text
Some people said my words are fake because they sound so beautiful,
That it is always a good prudence to feel that things feel too good to be true.
People are not supposed to care, to see beauty in the plainest of things.
It's just like beliefs are not supposed to be true and there's no such thing as true love too.
Still I continued to write out all the beautiful things I know,
Trust in love that feels too good to be true,
Care for people I should never have cared for,
And never once looked to you.
But now you are the only one I speak to,
The only one who's heard all my ugly stories of love,
The only one who have always seen through my poems,
The only one in my life I feel may be too good to be true.
That it is always a good prudence to feel that things feel too good to be true.
People are not supposed to care, to see beauty in the plainest of things.
It's just like beliefs are not supposed to be true and there's no such thing as true love too.
Still I continued to write out all the beautiful things I know,
Trust in love that feels too good to be true,
Care for people I should never have cared for,
And never once looked to you.
But now you are the only one I speak to,
The only one who's heard all my ugly stories of love,
The only one who have always seen through my poems,
The only one in my life I feel may be too good to be true.
Literature
Memorizing Each Other
She pockets the stars
And chases the moon
She keeps aiming high
Even though she misses
She memorizes each piece of him
She clutches his back
And memorizes the notches
Of his flawless glass spine
She traces his rib cage
His rice paper thin skin
With her quill like fingers
And leaving her magic touch
She grips his hip bones
Memorizing the exact spots
That they seem to escape
When he moves her closer to him
He memorizes each piece of her
He catches sight of diamonds
In her ocean colored eyes
That seem to hold the universe in them
He runs his finger
Along her nectarine lips
And tastes the sweet nectar
That lies inside them
Literature
A Day Without
The sun
wrapped teasing fingers around my body
and shook me awake this morning.
Though I usually sleep in,
early morning is my favorite time of day.
When the sun is just peeking its timid head above the horizon,
eyes playing peek-a-boo with the edge of the Earth,
and its rays tickling the edges of dew drops.
It gives the whole world a soft glow,
that seems to warm your heart,
as much as the damp grass.
Trying to get out of bed quietly,
I let my bare feet hit the cool hardwood,
smooth beneath my feet,
as if welcoming me, and pulling me into the day.
An odd feeling is growing in my stomach,
and I rustle the bed a little too muc
Literature
I Promise
I promise
It's not the rifle you hold
Or the fatigues proudly worn
It's not the look in your eyes
Or the hard set of your face
I promise
I would kiss your bloodied hands
And brush the sand from your hair
I'd put my face into your neck
And breathe your gunmetal smell
I promise
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If you cannot be the poet, be the poem.
If you cannot be the poet, be the poem.
© 2010 - 2024 jackiewelles
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