love poems
Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
7 Letters: Letter 3
Dear Second Chapter, I went to the bookstore today. I'm sure you know which novel I picked out first. You've been in between my tear-stained pages and pen for so long, I know you wouldn't be surprised that I pulled out a novel with the greatest kind of tragedy, dying for love in vain. Could you imagine if that had happened to us? What if I had taken that bullet for you and you had left me there to embrace a slow and painful death? What if you had ripped me apart, and molded me into your favorite kind of phone call to make when you couldn't breathe, and I never answered?
By Sharlene Alba7 years ago in Poets
7 Letters: Letter 4
To The Man I Hope You Turned Out To Be, I bought a special dress to wear for you tonight. It’s red. Your favorite color. I laugh as I write this because I remember why it’s your favorite. It was the night of my senior prom and I was frantically pacing back and forth, rambling on about how I couldn’t find my brand new bracelet that I had bought to match my gown. The silky fabric wrapped around me was long, a rich crimson color, with a plunging neckline that almost reached my navel. I knew it was certainly risky to show up to a high school dance in this type of dress, knowing there’d be a gym full of boys who’d be completely wasted and more than willing to take advantage of such a naive seventeen year old girl. Once I had found the bracelet, I placed it on my slender wrist and took one last look in the mirror. I remember frowning because I felt dirty. I felt sick. Unhappy only because I didn’t think I was pretty enough to be seen in such a stunning dress, the result of opinions coming from ignorant lips. But then you appeared. You stood behind me, just a breath away. Your eyes, they looked like something I’d never seen before. They looked like they’d found something they’d been looking for. The chocolate pools had been wide with astonishment and wandering with curiosity and appreciation. You looked like you had found something that had always belonged to you.
By Sharlene Alba7 years ago in Poets
7 Letters: Letter 2
To My Favorite Daydream, Do you know you’re in every scenario that I can think of? There’s one where I wake up in the morning, and the first thing I smell is the scent of your aftershave on my pillow. It's the most delicious scent. So masculine and strong. The aroma causes a soft and hazy smile to form on my dry lips, like a woman after her first mind-blowing climax, or letting chocolate melt and spread over your taste buds after weeks of dieting. There’s another particular scenario in which I come home from a long day of work, completely sodden from head to toe due to the heavy rains outside our windows that matched my mood. I have my usual frown on my face but then I see you appear from my bedroom, in nothing but black boxer shorts and a cup of coffee in your hand. Your glasses are falling off of the bridge of your crooked nose and I can't help but giggle at the sight. You do that you know, make everything better by doing nothing at all, by remaining a figment of my imagination, because otherwise you’d be real and we can't have that. I love molding you into my perfect summer day, and having you in front of me, alive, breathing, sighing beneath me, it would only cause this dysfunctional heart to stop beating.
By Sharlene Alba7 years ago in Poets
Completed Portrait
I guess, Whenever I met someone, and they seem to really like me. They always find another girl with better qualities She said as she pondered about her past. Would one compare someone to a bucket of paint that drips off a cliff, individuals may not like where it lands but others find the beauty in the little droplets. Droplets of paint and different colors representing personality traits. Sensitivity, anxiety, depression, well, I feel as though I’ve landed safely in the hands of a man whose corrosion around me is something I’ve never felt before. He doesn’t just accept my droplets that fall from the paint bucket over a cliff, but he soaks up all the colors and paints a beautiful photo on a blank campus. While the other wanted me to keep my colors dimmed and weak. He was infatuated with them even at their very peak. This man never critiques who I am or what passions were, For he as always stood by me and supported me in the things I’ve wanted to endure As she painted a photo of her beloved she created a smile along the portrait of the man who loves her, A smile brighter than the sun, with hair the color of chocolate and golden brown eyes that some may compare to gold in a mine. A moonlight background that resembled the bright future they share, so there they stood holding each other close as the midnight air touched their angelic flesh. He kissed me as we knew the night came to a rest.
By harold hart7 years ago in Poets
7 Letters: Letter 1
Dear Twenty-Four Year Old You, I kind of imagined this moment, where I would bump into you and everything would make sense in my life. A moment where I could lay my eyes on you, and everything would slow down. I would take a breath and just know that everything would change. I always knew it would happen like this. Unexpected and painfully slow. Like coming into contact with something foreign yet too fascinating to look away from. And there you were. With your perfect dark hair, and those soft hazel eyes and that smile that made my heart skip a beat. That smile...it haunted me for years. I had no idea who it belonged to, but it was enough to keep a girl up at night. Everywhere I went, I compared you to every guy I saw. Strangers sipping coffee on sidewalks, mysterious men on motorcycles wearing black leather jackets, the everyday heroes that stopped crime and put out fires. Artists that painted their souls on blank canvases with worn out paintbrushes or poured their hearts out using nothing but a broken heart and an acoustic guitar. I didn't want you to be any of those faceless people.
By Sharlene Alba7 years ago in Poets