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This Isn't A Love Poem

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I'm a fool for my own persuasion,
I promise myself no, and I go right back to falling head first into love
convincing myself that its worth it,
that no matter the pain of the fall I'd still be able to get back up
but that won't happen-because he'll catch me, right?

I promised myself no more,
I said enough was enough the last time I got scraped knees from praying that he'd never leave-
but the moment I saw your face
persuasion became the key to my heart, that you happen to know so well
after all, my heart was the same odd shape as your own-
a four walled room, each brick even crumbling in the same places as yours

And no, this isn't a love poem, but a warning
that similar hearts break the same, and broken bones don't even compare when it comes to
an open flesh wound where every memory is salt pressed into and made to bleed

Our hearts are open canvases, every mark an unerasable one, every tear trailed like paint-
our once white world covered now in blue.

You don't need another layer to show how deep lies your pain.

We're fools for persuasion, our feelings tied directly underneath our feet
that way when someone isn't, it is our own weight stepping all over our feelings
Don't let yourself trip over love as if it were undone shoe strings
That's a good way to fall without precaution-
keep your hands outstretched- catch your own love as if it was the last and only thing
because sometimes, that's all you can hold onto

and I know it hurts to polish your bruised heart for someone, when you know they will be the reason it gains another scuff mark

but let me tell you this, sometimes, its the abnormalities that make someone love who you are-

That kid with the crooked smile, is afraid to show his feelings because of the fact that the corner of his lips will never be symmetrical
but he doesn't know that its because of how his right side always rises more than the left,
is the reason why her heart grew a few sizes

and that girl with the birthmark on her cheek buys the heaviest concealer she can to hide the very mark that he loves to see

And this guy I love, always talks about how he doesn't like scar that travels down the center of his chest but he doesn't see it like I do
I could walk my fingers up and down it for a lifetime as if it was a map that was directing me directly to his heart

And he always tells me that i'm too harsh on myself because I've always believed that I fall short in every category
but he tells me i'm perfect, because everything wrong with me is something he sees as a beauty,
he calls me beautiful because of how my scuff marks show a different side of me

We're fools for persuasion, being convinced that love is a bad thing because our age only ranges in the teens
Some of the dumbest people I know are in their 30's and some of the wisest souls I've ever seen are only in high school
sometimes, you have to understand that love doesn't mean marriage,
but instead a common knowledge of each others flaws, and the raw beauty they hold
its only then that someone becomes perfect-
to me he is my definition of perfect.

I am a fool for persuasion.

I promised myself no, and went right back into falling head first in love
and even if he doesn't catch me, the scuff mark will only make my story a bit more filled,
and no, this isn't a love poem,
but a warning to love whenever you get the opportunity.



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