As poets make their final search
for the lost syllables of fall
and wet branches of the stately birch
point out foliage is out of style
youngsters dream of holidays and smile.

u see the knife
you watch the glow
u see me smile
but can't hear me cry
u think i'm happy
but inside i'm breaking
u see the blood
then u realize
that i wasn't
lying
when i said
i'm depressed!
u wish u gave me the
support i needed
but now it's too late.
I'm dying inside...

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

I don't feel special,
I'm not unique.
I want to cry
but I can't even speak.
My hands reach out,
but they cannot hold
a single thing
but the bitter cold.
Everything's frozen,
I feel lost.
Even my tears
have turned to frost.
When I cut my waist
it bleeds black.
I'm so deeply gone
there's no way back.
This is goodbye

All I know
Is how
I feel

And sometimes I
Wish I
Knew nothing

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

All things forgotten
Not one thing forgotten
Everything is dear
The dearly beloved
A Precious time,
the journey of love
Make no mistake
Mistakes will be made
The end
Will never define us
A true bond
How special it is
For better or worse
Take my love anyway
For it was always yours.

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

When I was little
I was scared
Scared of the monsters living under my bed
I used to hide, under my blanket
Under my blanket, I was safe
The monsters couldn’t reach me under my blanket

My parents used to say
The monsters would go away
I would grow up and that then they would leave

But I grew up
And the monsters didn’t leave
Turns out my monsters, grew with me
Now instead of under my bed
The monsters live inside my head

So I hide, under my blanket
Where I think I am safe
Wondering if after all this time
My blanket can still keep the monsters at bay

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 warm 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜,
The other day my 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 !

His love
lived in my eyes
ups and downs
little white lies
we played joy
well after dark
knickers around
his twisted toes
a gentle pose
inside
my scented rose
he held me tight
by the band
on my hand
peace and one love
is a song he sang
my hallelujah's
I sing
to his soul
I still hear
his heart beat
heaven behold.

The past is a novel I'm working on , revising , rewriting , and discarding .

The future is a perfect Haiku I've yet to corrupt

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

It's a cold call in the middle of the night,
you're orbiting a big yellow sun with long brown hair,
and sharp, fierce, green eyes.
Now you're being thrown from her orbit,
hurdling into a vacuum,
it's like driving without headlights.
Don't hold your breath,
you're out of her pull,
out of her grasp,
don't look back.
Just collide with other planets,
crashing and burning up with no sound,
it's a silent film.
Shedding yourself,
pieces of you crumble and break away,
as your last bits blister through the atmosphere.
Stripped down,
smooth and bare, like a newborn,
you land into the arms of a planet you can call home.

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

Her eyes were fiery
While her lips peeled away
Her sun was setting
But her colors never fade
When she bites she is bitter
But when she smiles she is sweet
Like a nectarine emblem
She’s the fruit of life’s tree.

I wonder if I really am kind hearted.
Most people think it’s true,
But maybe I’m just afraid of being mean-
Maybe I’m afraid of being you.

Like a rushing sea
wave you can't stop a panic
attack from flowing.

we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

He asked her what it's like living with anxiety.

She smiled sadly, "It's a never-ending pulse-race. Like knowing you don't want to jump off a cliff but not being able to talk yourself down from it.

Your fears take on a nebulous, unidentifiable form that tightens around your throat and incapacitates you.

There is no calm. No peace. Only the edge of a very strained thread."