Shadows in a day
lights in the night
rainbow in your smile
and butterflies in your head
sometimes
everything is different
and it's okay
because
it's beautiful that way

Your eyes don't see me
I talk to you and you don't hear me
I can't reach you
A layer of rubber covers you
I would like to tear it up
and yell at you
All my love
All the love you gave me
My pain feeds on
your unwitting words
Fragments of you lost
One tear at a time
Fragments of me torn
Thrown into your oblivion
A crumbling rock
I fight with a sword of nothing
I can't win
I can't save you
I can only love you

You whispered my name.
It carried with wind
and made it to my ear,
to my pillow was pinned.

Evenings forsaken
most nights I'm alone,
dragging my feet like
I'm tied to a stone.

Where have you been, love?
The knife turns and twists.
I long to discover
that you still exist.

Procrastination?
What is that I've never heard of such a thing.
But maybe because I'm to busy procrastinating to hear it,
I am mike,
I am not a poet, a leader, a storyteller, or an academic,
I am a dreamer, a gamer, a man of many things,
I would rather let life pass me by and sit in my game,
Than to deal with the drama of reality.
It is not that I don't like reality,
It is that reality is too busy,
With school and work
Facebook and friends
Learning and imagining
Are they even one in the same
I love my games because it allows my mind to run wild
From building empires in Minecraft to taming creatures in Pokemon
Games are a way I can re envision my world
They allow kids to show their creative side something education removed long ago.
So I stand before you asking,
What is procrastination,
I'd rather play my game and imagine.
My life seems to pass by but in my one life span I have lived dozens of others.

i don't/can't/won't/shouldn't/ write this essay
instead i'll write poems
in procrastination
about girls that don't exist
guys that don't know i exist
unicorns i wish i was riding
holden caulfield
my brother
death and general grayness
procrastination poems
are better than my essay
writing essays are 95% procrastination and maybe 2% work
3% denial
this poem is already longer than my essay is
should i get to work or
read another article on my favourite band
or hover over the email tab
someone talk to me? no?
but music!
no good music is this a sign
minutes tick by drawing closer to midnight
my fingers have yet to fly over keys
like a reporter's with the Next Big Thing
i suppose i will sleep
and let the essay write itself

By this time, it's been a few years
mulled wine on the stove
and songs of reindeer

And lights in the windows
of homes I held dear,

I wanted to keep you here

I wish for my work
To bring a smile - and smiling
To not be such work.

- p. winter

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.