"Perfect, just for you."

A Poem by PoeT4994

Another poem about my ex. It explains, no matter what you saw, if you saw me doing all this stuff, understand I was doing it for you.

Forget wearing my heart on my sleeve.
I like to keep my soul dangling at the tip of my tongue.
So even when I speak you can read the braille of my past.
And my heart hangs lynched from my septum.
So that every time I inhale, I can drift off into the girl that rests there.
And my mind, it waits somewhere on my feet.
Because my thoughts, they're going to carry me even when I can't stand.
See, me, I keep the sun a finger tip away and bright days tattooed on the back of my head.
Like a dog, I'll keep chasing 'em.
Until I snag one with a tight enough grip to bottle it and call it my own.
I'll keep the moon in my pocket.
I'll guide stars when I speak, so you know, that constellations are just a tongue twister away.
And if you ever need someone to take you out of this world, I got you.
I'll hold deserts on my back, and dance on Atlas' shoulder.
I'll know my girlfriend like the back of my hand.
And I promise to always find new things I like about the back of my hand.
I'm going to paint asterisks on the end of each syllable, so you know to listen up.
And as for you, I'll toss daily news printed on the back of bibles to teach you that God is the reason for all.
I'll keep death a breath away, and break dream catchers over my bed.
Then burn them.
And when I'm done, I'll resurrect my future from the ashes, something like a phoenix, but a little more mind boggling.
My wrists will be chained angels tugging on each end.
So either way I float, I won't be far from God.
I'll wrap flat-lines around my knuckles and sucker punch Father Time.
I don't kill time, I just beat it senseless.
And when I'm done, I think I'll plant caskets and tell Mother Earth welcome home.
And see, when I'm gone...my echos will be carving themselves into the sides of mountains.
And every time you think of climbing higher, you'll have to get past me.
I'll give the homeless places to sleep, right inside my ears.
So I can never escape the sound of true suffering.
And hopefully humble myself to my tragedies.
Sketches of Psalms 23 will prance in the lines of my palms, and I'll never be afraid to run into the darkness ahead, hands out, screaming like a lunatic.
Lights bulbs will hang like dreads from my scalp, I'll always keep bright ideas locked into my skull.
I think I'll walk.
I'll walk till my past bleeds.
Till my present cries, and my future regresses.
You can find me on the corner of streets, hustling life experiences.
And silver linings are free on Thursdays.
6-9.
Just to give myself a challenge...I'll try to hold conversations with bipolar multiple personality patients.
And to have fun every once in a while, I'll tell 'em their other self was talking trash about 'em.
See me, I see things different.
I have eyes drawn, on the backs of my eyes.
I see my own reality within this reality.
Whenever you cry, I see rainbows, resting in your pupils.
And when you yell, I hear lullaby's.
So, forgive me, for not being the person you want me to be.
Forgive me for not wearing my heart where it should be.
But I'll keep my soul, dangling from my tongue.
So when I speak, you know I left something behind.
And my heart, climbing ropes to my septum.
So that I can inhale you into me.
I'm sorry for doing the things I do, but girl, just know...that all I'm doing is trying to paint a picture perfect world for me and you to reside in, because in my eyes, you should see nothing but perfect tragedies.
Because, sure, things aren't all they're cracked up to be...but I'll still make 'em pretty to the eye, just for you.
Here's what I'm offering, take it or leave it.
But the world I'm crafting, I made it perfect size for you to hold.