This Isn'T Love, This Is Hate. This Is The Real You. - Poem by Jesse Allan
You swallow sadness, like it's a pill.
I ask you to die, and for some reason you will.
Life is great, but some say love is better.
Nobody can match your smile,
Your grace, your craft, your thoughts.
They're like a drug, something so great,
Uplifting, powerful and dark.
Odd as it seems, I want to break you,
Drop you off and shake you until you tell the truth.
I can see beyond your youth some may say,
I can see your sin,
Throwing away people like trash into the garbage bin.
Smile again so I can see the real you,
The simple you, the love I thought I knew.
Grace and holyness won't get by me again,
You lie, but it's okay I understand.
The things you went through,
The falling feeling that you get.
I get it too, we all do sometimes.
The feeling when your falling and can't get back up,
The hard feeling of grief and greed,
The feeling of blood stains on your hands.
But that feeling will give in,
Give in to the power within.
Powerless and weak you try to shake off the cold,
But you can't shake off the cold that's inside,
Can't shake off the cold that lays in your heart.
And from the start I loved you, trying to stay with it,
Ignorant and boring stories, made my life dull and sick.
You've become something I hate,
My enemy, one who speaks in whisper,
One who speaks of hopeful dreams of death and love,
One that believes in true love, that believes in a perfect world.
But also one that has another side, is your true side.
This side would take a life,
Use hatred to fuel dreams.
Your idea of a better world will cause bloodshed,
I pity people like you, I thought I knew who you were.
But I guess not, you and sent and angel to face the devil,
and if you keep this up you'll lose the game, lose your mind, lose your life.
You've crossed the line this time, and I won't hold back,
Won't give you till morning to make up your mind.
I'm sick of being a coward, I can't stop the bloodshed,
But I can stop the person who started it.
Comments about This Isn'T Love, This Is Hate. This Is The Real You. by Jesse Allan
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe