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Can I write you every day? I don't know. A poem might be just two lines or it might be a lifetime.

It might be a confession or it might be a concession. It might be an ask or it might be a tell.

How would I know what these words want from me to ask of you?

How can I turn this thing into action? Suppress vulgar me and find salvation in transcendent you.

Is it the other way 'round? Maybe I'm the base and you're the acid I'm meant tone down.

Or I'm just another whore. And maybe, just maybe you're a proper locked door.

Can I write you every day? I don't know. A poem might be just two lines or it might be a lifetime. It might be a confession or it might be a concession. It might be an ask or it might be a tell. How would I know what these words want from me to ask of you? How can I turn this thing into action? Suppress vulgar me and find salvation in transcendent you. Is it the other way 'round? Maybe I'm the base and you're the acid I'm meant tone down. Or I'm just another whore. And maybe, just maybe you're a proper locked door.
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[–] • 1 pt

That edge of desperation reads as immaturity to me now, but I'll dig around for some less cringe too post.

I get that.

But there is something about the purity, and intensity, of the emotions you feel as a teenager, as retarded as they may be. The cringe makes it better, at least in retrospect.

[–] • 1 pt

I certainly wouldn't be writing the way I do now if I hadn't written the way I did then.

[–] • 0 pt

Admit your most overused adjective.

[–] • 1 pt

I've never been keen on repeating myself. I didn't get far in the slam poetry scene because I refused to write the same poem over and over with different words the way the slam devas did however, I've spent an embarrassing amount of time finding ways to not use the word "sweet".

Sweet smile? Welcoming lips. Sweet sorrow? Beckoning anguish. Sweet nothings? Empty whispers of passion. Sweet tea? Fucking disgusting.