Never Fall For A Poet..

   Unless you are up for the challenge, never fall for a poet.

   Unless you are willing to give it your all, never love a poet.

   Poets look at things differently, and their words have a deeper meaning. A poet would study you like a science and memorize your most difficult chapters by heart.

   A poet would sacrifice the life of a flower just to make your eyes light up.

   A poet would want to know how different kinds of music make you feel, what makes you tick and whether or not you’ve stayed up at night merely thinking of the moon.

   A poet would want to know why the nail polish on the index finger of your right hand is chipped, and would want to know what made you that nervous. 

   A poet would want to explore parts of your soul you never knew existed. A poet would find the crack in your soul and completely seal it with their love. A poet would say all the right things to make your head spin for hours on end.

   When you speak, a poet would be busy admiring the way the voice leaves your mouth, and how your mouth shapes itself differently, depending on the words you utter. They’d be way too busy comparing your voice to musical symphonies and would notice that single hair on your left eyebrow that’s longer than the rest.

   When you smile, a poet would use their thoughts to count the distance between the two corners of your lips, and how many teeth appear in the spotlight. A poet would wonder what lies behind your smile, why your molars don’t appear and what they are hiding in the back of your mouth. A poet would be so invested in your smile that they wouldn’t notice their own; smiles are contagious to poets. A poet would want to know what lies beyond your smile and why it sometimes appears broken. When you smile, a poet would wonder when the world will finally come up with a mathematical equation to count the depth of your dimple, and how it makes the world go round.

   A poet would wonder how many eyelashes are protecting your dark eyes. When you blink, a poet would wonder why your left eyelid is a fraction of a second later than your right.

   A poet would then take the depth of your dimple, multiply it by the distance between the two corners of your smile, divide it by your number of eyelashes, and get lost within their own equation.

   When a poet asks how your day went, they’d want to know what the first thought in your head was, the second you woke up. They’d want to know what you’d dreamt of the night before. They’d want to know why you’d chosen to wear that specific shirt, why you’d put one spoonful of sugar in your coffee instead of your usual two, how the wind hit your skin and how the sun treated you that day. They’d want to know what made you smile, what made you laugh, and will pray for it to last. They’d want to know what made you even slightly upset, and will pray for it to never recur. They’d want to know what you ate, how it tasted and how the different outbursts of flavors mixed in your mouth to make an exquisite artwork. They’d want to know how many traffic lights were green as you drove by, and whether you were late for work. They’d want to know the details of your work; even if they don’t understand its nature. They wouldn’t pretend to listen, they would genuinely listen too much. They would listen so much that the song of your voice would be stuck on repeat inside their head for a lifetime.

   A poet would be with you and still miss you when you look away, as much as they miss their pen and paper as they stare into your eyes.

   A poet would care too much. They’d make a fool of themselves to cheer you up, they’d pray for you behind your back, and would remember how you love the color yellow, so they’d always somehow throw in some yellow in their clothes, something as big as a shirt or as small as a button. 

   When you love a poet, you would never be as handsome as you are through their eyes. When you love a poet, be prepared to read between the lines. When you love a poet, you’d be jealous of the book, the pen & the paper. When you love a poet, you’d discover yourself through their words. You’d discover how your own smile feels like spring, what makes you nervous enough to bite your nails and how worrying makes the vein in your forehead appear out of nowhere.

   When you love a poet, you’d read them to know you.

   A poet’s friends would make so much fun of them and label them as cheesy, crazy or weak, and the poet would always reply with a snappy comeback or merely laugh it off, while knowing deep down inside of their poetic heart that they have been blessed with an ability to love at the level of, as well as beyond, words…and if that makes them weak then so be it, as their strength lies in their ink.

   A poet would fill the gap between the two of you with letters of the alphabet exquisitely sown together to make a masterpiece, and would spread that masterpiece across the distance. 

   But be careful, because a poet could paint you in their poem with a color of their own choosing. A poet’s words could be misleading, as there is always a deeper meaning.

   If you hurt a poet, they would use their disappointment as fuel to brutally murder you in their poems, and would hide the crime’s evidence behind beautifully chosen words. A poet would write all day and all night, until they find themselves again and glue together the pieces of their own broken heart. When in trouble, a poet would find shelter in their own words.

A poet would love more but forget less.

A poet would hurt more but heal less.

A poet would notice more but comment less.

A poet would think more but do less.

A poet would feel more but confess less.

 Unless you’re up for the challenge, never fall for a poet.