poetry about poets

Lost Poetry

There is a place in my mind

Where lost poetry,

That should have been written

Upon first thought,

Goes to die of alcohol poisoning.

As they drink themselves

Into oblivion,

They tell the barman

That they would have been glorious

In pen, upon paper.

They would be read aloud,

Taken in and heard,

But all that wine has made them

Forget their own words.

One cafe au lait please.
With almond milk as a precaution to not ruin the rest of your day.

You came over and sat by my feet.
Offered your drink as an attempt to be the best thing that has happened to me this week,
and you were.

With air as still as ice
I never allowed the water frozen in my bones to unthaw for anyone.
Mainly because I didn’t know how,
and every time I have in the past I would wind up worse than when I first started.

But you are trained in physical therapy.
You could see the panic attack resting in my shoulders when I would pretend it wasn’t there.
You wouldn’t push me, but rather sit with a posture ready to take on anything I was willing to dish out. 

I feared how much I’d bleed if I worked through the knot.
I knew I couldn’t clean up the mess by myself,
so you waited with mop in hand ready to wipe up every tear that has fallen when I said it was okay. 

You knew it would take a minute.
You knew  I needed to see the scares first myself to believe they were real.
Knew when I was ready I would rip out my bindings for you to see how exactly my broken stories had formed. 
Saw the ripped out pages where my memory would fade. 
You saw the creases and broken words.

You looked at me,
with tattered covers and unfinished index with awe.
Dug your elbow in my spine with caution lights and saw the loose thread of my seams as inspiration.
You shined a light on every topic unwilling to be touched or finished. 
Held them, the parts of me I could not reach,
As sea glass, beautiful - and all so rare.

And when you were done
you asked me questions about pain as if I were a god.
Somehow, overcome with glory.
Somehow, able to survive a stab wound to the heart and still walk with ease.
You helped me see that the cracks in my eyes only refracted light into more colors.
That these kaleidoscope lenses helped me see a beauty many ignored. 
We were too big for this world, 
and I was too scared to see that.

So I hid all my truths in vertebrae after vertebrae.
Sometimes ignited when stretched,
but willing to be broken down when comfortable.
You were willing to break me down when comfortable.
And when I did,
you wept rivers onto me till your warmth soothed my rigid bones. 

An unknown savior of healing without words.
A gaze so willing to comfort without anyone else in the room feeling pain,
and I guess that’s the doctor in you,
and the patient in me.
Weak at times,
and reminded of what it feels like to need saving

—  Knots. (whenthefuturearrives)
oscar wilde
  • had three middle names
  • spoke five languages
  • was sentenced to prison for sodomy
  • was 16 when he had his first kiss
  • loved to travel
  • had an eidetic memory
  • lied about his age on his marriage certificate
  • held seances at his house
  • spoke with his hand in front of his mouth bc he was embarrassed by how supernaturally white his teeth were
  • kept a vase of flowers on his writing desk to neutralize the smell of his ashtray
  • had a passion for interior design and aesthetics—his drawing room was painted blue and covered in dragons, he even pressed feathers into the plaster to make it look cool
  • the kids at his school called him “grey crow”
  • one of the reasons he didn’t commit suicide was bc he was afraid he would go to hell for it
  • his favorite word was ivory
  • his last words were “i am in a duel to the death with this wallpaper, one of us has got to go”
  • his grave, in paris, has become the target of mass quantities of lipstick kisses. no lie. it’s literally covered in lipstick stains. and a sphinx. he also asked to be buried with his former lover’s ashes

❤️💛💚💙💜❤️💛💚💙💜❤️💛💚💙💜
❣️Love is

❣️Never unjust

❣️Love is open

❣️And filled with trust

❣️Love is what

❣️We are made for

❣️So welcome love

❣️Show hate the door

❣️
❤️💛💚💙💜❤️💛💚💙💜❤️💛💚💙💜
Willowseden1 2017©❣️Photo Credit: papermagazine

When he saw her, he realized how much she had changed.
Her stomach had flattened and her body gained more shape,
Her hair longer and darker than ever, falling in large curls.
Her usual scars and imperfections had left her face,
Revealing even more of her sun kissed skin.
Her laugh was louder and her smile was brighter.
And for the first time in 8 months he noticed her beauty,
And realized he had lost her
—  A.P
When you have the need to look for me in other people, please remember that I will not be found. Instead, try looking for me in any form of words that makes you feel like it is poetry. That is where you will find me. I will be waiting.
—  Lukas W. // I live in words
I miss her man, I miss her so much. But how the hell do I tell her that?”, my friend asked me once. It might have been the stupidest question I had ever heard because the answer was so obvious. “You do not tell her, you show her. Show her that you care and show her that her presence makes your day better.
—  It is so easy to say things but taking actions is the hardest part. // ck.writes
What do you miss the most about him?”

“I’m not sure,” she whispered, looking down to the ground, “I’m not even sure if I do miss him. I miss the memories, and I miss talking to him and the way he made me feel. But I still don’t know if miss him, you know?“

—  am i supposed to miss him? | a.m
Everything in life will either get better, or worse. And for you to get through it, you just have to prepare for both.
—  Lukas W. // About life