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#love poems

The thing worse than loving something is not knowing what you love. What you love is what you see and that’s where the world starts to blur out and our eyes weave colours that aren’t there. The sight of a lake in a barren desert is an illusion that can either kill or breathe life into us. Perhaps that’s what love is. A hand in air, touching your body, as tenderly as a flower or as abruptly as a bolt of lightning. Some people never realise the water that isn’t there, the hand that doesn’t love. The hand that only knows love as a measure of pain. The skin that craves it, the lips that drink it, boiling sand running down parched throats, growing thorns of dead roses, arms colliding against bodies like the last meteor to end life, eyes searching for an illusion, the brain playing its tricks. Love. Water. An arm drowning in soil is confused for a growing seedling, and is left there, helpless, among other arms trying to pull it down. The ones that water it are just as guilty as the ones pulling it down. If you see a frown on a damp face, don’t confuse it for a smile that lost its way around gravity. Love is not drowning.


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How Does Love Feel?

it’s the gentle lap of waves on your feet. it is the quiet beauty of the horizon when the sun sinks.

it’s the sudden breathlessness when you realize you’re no longer ashore but adrift.

you didnt know how it could take you without precaution and how you missed the process entirely, but yet here you are:

everything around your sharpens and for one sick moment everything seems bearable. youre drowning but the sea is warm.

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in the summertime, we are eternal. lips

cherry sweet pressed together in the back

of a yellow camaro, hands sticky with 

soda clasped firmly into each other. torn 

skin from tree branches, lemon balm grenades, 

days bleed into each other until we feel like 

fallen angels too powerful for these bodies. it 

tastes like pills in the back of a subway train, 

and spray paint fumes fill our noses until we 

can’t inhale anymore. we bury ourselves in the 

dirt under old backyard tire swings until it fills 

us full of nitrogen ecstasy. to us, anything but 

sadness is akin to a thrill. we are invincible on 

rooftops and in glass bottles shattered over 

cement. hours and days and a lifetime slips past 

us, and we just keep going faster. we take your 

dad’s car out onto the highway because it’s the 

fastest one we have, music head-splitting loud 

and i sit silently in the back seat while you have 

the time of your life. singing along feels like having 

too much faith that my lungs won’t give out like 

a car gives way and intertwines itself with a tree. 

i look over to you in the driver’s seat and for once, 

we stop moving.

 - ghost

. The Dead Anon Poets Society .

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           When i look into Your eyes,

              My scars starts to burn and i hear the echoes of your crying heart.

I sink deep into the ocean, start to drown but i can not die,

    The water fills my lungs, it hurts and burns this endless punishment of mine for breaking your heart,

Now i am forever lost in those eyes


. The Dead Anon Poets Society .

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Originally posted by romanmorrey

“Let’s tell the world all the things we’ve done

Falling in love in the setting sun”

-thepineapplepoet (Eric Hutchinson)

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<div> —  <b>- our first January -</b> </div><span>a rushing winter<br> beneath the lights <br> in a city as nocturnal<br> as I,<br> laughter on the stage,<br> watching a first date,<br> snowed in & forced to stay</span>
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Love story 💞 of the Sun 🌞 and the Earth 🌍


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6:42 AM

i rose with the sun
this morning
as the sky exploded,
navy blue and flamingo pink,
i wanted nothing more
than to turn to you,
cold, eyes still tired,
socked-feet on the balcony,
and say, “isn’t this marvelous? 
isn’t this everything we could
ever ask for?”
the world is blooming
before our eyes –
but you’re not here,
i stand alone, with the winter,
and because
i love myself
i cannot love you.

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Pain gives a different perspective

I am not sure I took advantage of it

Instead of using it I just left myself stand by

Help me walk and run away from here

I am deeply sorry

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<div> —  What do women want?, Kim Addonizio <br> </div><span>I want a red dress.<br> I want it flimsy and cheap,<br> I want it tight, I want to wear it<br> until someone tears it off me.<br> I want it sleeveless and backless,<br> This dress, so no one has to guess<br> What’s underneath.  I want to walk down<br> The street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store <br> With all those keys glittering in the window,<br> Past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old<br> Donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers<br> Slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,<br> Hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.<br> I want to walk like I’m the only<br> Woman on earth and I can have my pick.<br> I want that red dress bad.<br> I want it to confirm<br> Your worst fears about me,<br> To show you how little I care about you<br> Or anything except what <br> I want.  When I find it, I’ll pull that garment<br> From its hanger like I’m choosing a body <br> To carry me into this world, through<br> The birth-cries and the love-cries too,<br> And I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,<br> It’ll be the goddamned <br> Dress they bury me in.</span>
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