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)

Less love in my soul than ever before
I’ll be taking care of myself
From here on out
And God, I don’t want to

I can’t keep killing my soul
There will be none of me left
To love the little I have

Loveless, I’ll live, I guess
What an unhappy existence

Maybe I’ll give up one day

Maybe later

I really dont know
How i feel at all, but i
Want to feel loved please.

There used to be a bottle on the wall.
It was very green.
I'm sure it was the loneliest green bottle
that I had ever seen
It used to sit on the wall
all day and all night
And every day, when I looked out of the window,
it was always in my line of sight
Then one day, a cat came along.
Something was going to happen; I could tell
The cat then accidentally nudged it
and off the wall, it fell
When it had fallen off the wall
it had dropped with a very loud sound.
There were all these little pieces of the green bottle
all over the ground
Then the cat yelped
and I knew it had gotten hurt
I could quite obviously see its paws were caked in
blood and dirt
The bottle wasn't harmful in the beginning
it did not look the slightest bit treacherous
but after a nudge in the wrong direction
it became very dangerous
Now I look back at you smiling
next to me on the big armchair
Your fingers running through your soft locks of hair.
You remind me a lot
of that green bottle.
In the beginning, you were harmless
you were all sorts of fun.
Now you hurt me.
Could you tell me why
as I don't quite know what I've done

I never liked anyone so much...
Like I like you...
But I never felt so ignored by anyone...
Like you ignore me...
But I can't blame you...
We can't go back in time...
And I can't change what happened between us...
But I wish I could get my mind and heart to ignore you...
The same way you do ignore me...
I just can't...
And it is so painful...

Who wants a victory that no one else recognises?

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.

I think the sun has grown jealous
Of my friendship with the moon
I prefer dusk to dawn
And midnight instead of noon

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.

Writing forms a bond between these walls
A security in which I can speak my mind
Without fear of others manipulating me
The beauty of words and the scolding it brings
The terror I feel as I write within my bones
It's filled with laughter, pain and regret
Most of all it tells a story of what happened

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

Press me against you
Like flowers in a book

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

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."

"I'm not a poet. I don't feel like one.
I like writting. That's all."

He was smooth but not understanding
He was charming but not loyal
He was beautiful but a manipulator    
I knew this would come to and end
I knew I was a fool
He was secure but brought my insecurity
He was strong inside but not loving
He was my first but never mine

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.

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.

Sometimes, the words don’t come.

The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.

I am left with nothing to say.

There is a beauty in the broken mind.

Like an abandoned building taken by nature.

It is not that my mind does not work.

It is that it works too fast,

And I am left behind,

Scrabbling in the dust,

Desperately seeking a connection,

In the discarded fragments of thought.

I am fighting a losing battle.

I fear the white flag will soon arise.

And signal the end.

i never intended
to take apart
all the pieces
you glued back
together

Most think their locus of worth is outside themselves. They are wrong.

It is within us. All possess the same inviolable, sacred worth:  Love.

But each of us needs to have our love nurtured by someone else's love.  

It's like a planted acorn. For it to grow into a mighty oak tree, it must too be loved:  it must receive care, water, sunlight.

Therefore, turn inward, not outward. When loved, you will become all you can be. You will become your real self.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I’m sick of all these love songs
Written about another
Sonnets and odysseys
Desperate for a Lover

I want to enjoy the silence
Nihility subdue
Equally alone
As I am with you

I try to reflect Compassion
A metric of good health
Psuedo-neo Truism
Learn to “Love Thy Self”

If the sunflowers knew
what I carry in my soul,
perhaps they would wither
to the winds of winter that accompanies me.
Indeed, my sun is burning out
and it weeps for those
nostalgic flames that summer
once held dear.

I am rotting
and poetry falls from my hands
like leaves
from a hollow tree.

Wake up, my dear friend.
It's a new day today,
and I have a new song for you,
said the yellow-bellied sunbird.

I converse with
The voices in my head

They talk slowly
So their guidance isn't misread

Dear death,

I have met life,
He wants me to fight,
But I'm so weak-
So can we meet?