This poem's not for you...
My rhymes are too sweet,
Too rich and too deep
to be offered to someone
who seems incomplete.
My words are too special,
and carefully crafted
to be given to you, whom
nobody wanted.
These lines—too profound.
And such angelic sound,
is too pure for your ears
and your soul hellbound.
For I have not come to save you,
nor leave to forget you.
YOU, came to my rescue and
allowed me to break you.
Thank you :)
For giving me the pleasure
I always sought.
You rescued me from the boredom
others have brought.
In other words...
You were the scrap paper I used,
to draw playful scribbles
—to leave you a painful bruise.
In other words, you
were never an "art"
You were never MY art,
and never in my heart.
But now, now, dear... Don't read too fast.
Take it slow with your pace.
Let your emotions last.
Let the ache stain your face... Let in the horror of your past.
Let go. Let it show.
Your breaking heart won't define me.
It defines your weakness. All did know.
When I became the words to your poetry.
And what an opportunity it is to be
drowned in that vast sea
—in every phrase and bleeding plea,
knowing that the one who won the victory
was still me.
You write for me, while my poems
are not meant for you.
For your worth never fills mine enough,
While I shake every part of you.
You were the ship that I sailed
with a heart full of devotion.
For I knew with you,
I'll soon reach my destination.
Yes, you were just the bridge
that I was forced to pass.
You're my favorite chapter...
that I hope won't last.
For your story was such a blessing;
It adds up to my spice,
but too much of you
is something I'd despise.
Now, now dear...
I said don't read this too fast.
Take it slow with your pace.
Let all emotions pass,
remove the stains off your face.
Let go of the past.
Remember what I've said:
This poem's not for you...
And it doesn't deserve to be
written for anybody, too.