He lets me place my hands on his cheeks
and what I mean by that is
he doesn't hit me when I bother him with my affection
He lets me travel my hands gently to his chest
during my slow and careful inspection
It starts with them trembling against the scruff on his cheeks
He says he needs to shave
I say he needs to let it grow
I run my fingers across the peaks of his eyebrows
He relaxes his tense muscles slowly under my touch
I feel an influx of emotions as I begin to understand
This man loves me
I'm tracing every inch of him into my brain
Because love like this can never be attained twice
The way he lets me be myself is something I am unaccustomed to
It is something which I am still adjusting to
My hands become more confident
They explore his arms, the ones that hold me
He holds me delicately as if I am a paper bird
And he does not wish to crumple or fold me
I tell him I am not fragile
He says he is aware
He says he knows how much I like it
when he pulls my hair
I ignore his sly comment and continue my journey
Whoever came before does not concern me
I know I am his
I am comfortable in this

As a poet
I am expected to romanticize the **** out of you
spill my heart out on paper write about the way you drink your tea so calmly and how it reminds me of the sun going down
sliding my fingers through your messy hair is like running through a field of sunflowers, I'd write
none of this really fits though
after all, I'm a poet

when you sleep
I'll admire the peace and beauty that lie within your precious, resting face

I'll write about the shades of green your eyes hold
and go in detail about how different they are from each other

I'll fall asleep next to you and hold you tight when you're not sleeping right

I'll be the breeze in the summer
not the disturbing type that ruins your hair
but the type you crave when the hat is running down your neck, spine
(everything will be fine)

I'll kiss you
wait, no
I'll gently press my lower lip against yours
breathing in the air I've been missing out on
placing my thumbs on your cheeks, carefully
I'll kiss you like my life depended on it

As delicate as a poets soul may be, my soul

I'll be the first sip of coffee that burns your tongue
the insomnia sweeping into your bed at 3am
baby please stay up with me
I'll be the discomfort in silence, the wrong color that ruins a painting
(pardon my screaming I can't hear myself with all these voices in my head)


call me a poet

To lay dying in a world of despair
A landscape of disarray meets their demise
A closure in despise, forgive us for the entropy
For humanity suffers from the perks of greed

Yet the gods watch us from above, they atone
Our prayer, our faith and belief
As we cry and weep as they pinch our cheeks
The lazy gods enjoy the ordeal as we grief

The cold.
My cheeks flushed pink as I inhaled the remnants of the frail air
Surrounding me - clouded tufts occur
They dissipate as I breathe
I whisper.

The prevalence of rosebuds, nature's pride
Flourish amongst the beaks of the emperor.

Strands of scarlet, stains of blood
They all entail the unrequited sentiment of the weak
The frail entrails dwindling downwards on the empty patches,
Barren warfields where I exhaled.

The enticing floral rain, the vermilion of the soul
The pale old man with the raincoat is watching me
I turn.

Bring me deliverance, old man
The joy of my ultima, the ****** of my being
For you watched me ultimately,
For death cheers for me from the sidelines.

Bring me deliverance, for the caress of the end
Is my valentine.

I walked around the world today
and I couldn't help but smile
yet I paid for that smile with pain
but at least I know I was happy for a while
and my cheeks don't hurt in vain