i once came across a bottle of thoughts.
opening it, not knowing what it lies,
only to realize it's yours.

both happiness and despair can be read,
warmth and isolation can be felt.
every thought was accompanied by a tone,
but one melody after another,
it felt a lot more melancholic
than i expected.

there was a sense of longing,
a somewhat cry for help.

and for a little while,
you made me forget loneliness exists.
so as a sign of gratitude,
i'll empty out my happiness,
and put them in the bottle,
—for you.

We are worn like winter coats
Held close while wild winds rage.
The scarf that suffocates the throat
The cloak that provokes the rain.
While the weather waits and wonders
Whether it will weep or thunder,
What we wear seems outnumbered,
Cotton caught out in the rain.

The coat now hangs forgotten,
Left to rot with wet socks,
Winter frocks and all things sodden.
The ghosts of colder days
Locked up and tucked away,
Moth eaten and decayed.
Waiting for the weather,
Wondering if whether
We will ever be worn again.

Love isn't blind,
blind are those,
who never loved.

I was fire, you were ice
You said you'd never crack

I'd like to think you did
Under the flames o' mine

We thought we'd reached equilibrium
Until things got uncomfortable

Fiery as I, bitter as you
We summon blows

I am fire, you are ice
People say opposites attract

We thought the same
Yet we never saw each other again

I have a confession
I must make
Its eating me up
It keeps me awake
I have an addiction
My soul keeps craving
It always longs for more
It will never stop chasing
The thing I'm addicted to
It's always in my mind
It controls my thoughts
Takes up my precious time
So here it goes
this is hard to concede
me, Kelly Anne
I am addicted to poetry

Poetry constantly runs through my brain
metaphors and rhyming couplets fall like the're rain
If I write a poem, after I just want to read another
I read a poem then write one because I get so inspired
But then I feel my poem isn't good enough
I impulsively write another to redeem myself, it never stops
Soon my thoughts have there own rhyme scheme;
broken into lines, filled with imagery to set a scene
They have a rhythm and are said in a certain tone
Poems always rolling though my head, especially when I'm alone
At night I twist and turn and try to escape
But then I write a poem about inevitable fate
I can't stop the poetry, It takes over my life
Its the poems that keep me up at night

So I guess until they find a cure
I'll live in my little poetry filled world