Poems

Words I’d like to call art.

Beautiful things

Look at beautiful things he said
and god forbid I ever forget that
it has watched us found love
witness us fell in love
and so gracefully viewed us fall out of the same love w found under the tower
I’ll always remember you when I stare at the swaying leaves
while I stare at the beauty of it all
I’ve forgot about you long enough
to forget why I needed to
I’ve loved you till my breath hicks
and I’ve lost you to the point of no return
but the skies we’ve left scarred
the flowers we’ve left damaged
the stars we’ve left disfigured
oh they saw what we did to each other
ones you tattle and ones you hold for the sake of your life
ones I’ve screamed and ones I kept like an oath
they saw what happend
they’ve died a million times over my knife that I brought to your gun fight
yet they’re still there
will you remember me when you look at beautiful things?
just the way I hear ur voice everytime I do so?

I don’t like calling my art poems though much might say so, I never think that my silly little writings are ever good enough to be called “art” I always thought that, that would make actual poets felt invalidated. But if art is whatever the artist thinks is, then I’d like to think that this is art.

Leave a comment

Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started