High MaintenanceRoses are red, Violets are blueHigh Maintenance by Th3-C0unt3ss
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Doesn't that line just sound cheesy to you?
When I open my card, I hope to find
an original, sweet, more creative line.
All that you do, is scribble your name
at the end of a poem that's genuinely lame!
Tut...roses are red, violets are blue
Do I look bloody colour blind to you?!
You didn't even write it! It came with the card!
Poetry isn't exactly hard!
Sweetheart, I love you, really I do
But I coulnd't care less that violets are blue!
Couldn't you have made an effort this time?
Coz I'm getting real sick of reading that line!
Most girls love romance, well I do for sure!
Tu Peut même parler français pour proclamer ton amour!
That would be different! That would be sweet!
Come on baby, sweep a girl off her feet!
I'm not asking for much, just some more va va voom.
Love doesn't have to be shown in the bedroom!
why i never wrote you a poem.last summer i triedwhy i never wrote you a poem. by colbalt-rain
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to use the words that you fell asleep to
to write you a love song but
every time i tried
my fingers froze up.
i failed the test of describing you
in a paragraph
in a sentence
in a word
there is nothing in my head adequate enough
to describe how you look
on the train station platform
when you smile at me.
i can tell you that
my heart climbs into my throat and
my body prickles with heat and
everything disappears, for just a moment, but
the thing i cannot describe
your mouth caresses my name
like it’s the most beautiful sound
it’ll ever know,
like it understands me perfectly,
you are not made of verses.
you have no meter.
you are not written in stanzas
that i understand
and i find myself captivated
at how beautifully complex
your language is.
you say i’m the mesmerizing one, but, baby,
you've stumped me.
you have left a girl,
a person who wants to build their life
go to sleep for the love of godi kind of feel like ripping my face off.go to sleep for the love of god by ohsostarryeyed
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it's not one of those sad, suicidal stories. i mean, if i believed in suicide in the way that means i could do it, then yeah, it would be. but i don't, and i guess you're kind of lucky for that because now you can go to sleep with a clear conscience.
i won't ever tell you about how many pages and books and scraps of paper and unsent text messages and notes on the backs of my hands i've written for you, or how inarticulate you were when you wanted to say how you felt. i won't ever tell you how i wished for a few words that could tell me that i was loved, even a little, and i sure as fuck won't ever say that when you managed to pull a few words together for some girl you haven't even touched, well, i won't ever say that all i feel like doing now is unravelling the skin on my arms, down to the bones, and watch as rivers of red fall out of me like stars.
maybe i'd be beautiful enough for you then. i