Hand in hand,
Certain emotions go.
Like passion and envy,
Or anger and jealousy.

Like red and green,
They compliment each other.

Passion that fuels the envy.
Full of fire and frenzy,
Pulsating out.
The envy creeping in with tendrils,
A seething mass of resentment and desire.

Anger that provokes the jealousy.
Raging with pain and misery,
Seeping out.
The deap jealousy pooling,
A grasping puddle of hurt and greed.

I write but I don't know why.
I never wish to share it with anyone I know.
I don't wish to try and learn to write,
Nor to try and pursue a career.
So why do I write?

Is it really all to send a message?

Hidden under countless sheets,
Behind lock and key,
Like I'm scared they'll see.

I really do love poetry,
The way it feels to write,
To feel.

But I find myself embarrassed,
When in conversation,
A poetic stream slips out, free across the screen.

I don't know why I fear it so,
Or hope that it would go,
But I wish I didn't feel like this.

It's true that it's poetry I miss.

Up and down,
Thats the way life turns,
Round and round,
Like a swirl of water in a bottle.
Like a bottle.
Like I bottle.
Bottle it all up deep inside.
Until the bottles burst,
Until the stress is pouring out of my ears,
Until my head is just full of glass shards
And shattered emotions.
And I'm just left frantically running,
Pacing,
Like a chicken missing its head.

And so I tell myself to pour it out,
At least till I can clean up,
Find some new bottles,
Feel some new things,
Before we start all over again,

Because the bottles will have fallen.

Like rocks in my stomach,
Pulling me down,
I feel such guilt,
But I don't know how.

I do this accidentally,
Every single time,
I always type so hastily.
What is wrong with my mind?

When your mood changes,
I feel so weak.
I know its my fault,
And I almost wish to weep.

I never want to make you hurt,
But I worry that I do,
I wish that I was there,
So I could show that I cared for you.

And every time you end up sad or mad,
Or somewhere in between,
I get so nervous that its over,
Lost for eternity.

I don't know how to apologize,
Other than to say I'm sorry,
But I know its not enough,
You deserve more.

I wish I could give you more.

Time is a tricky mistress,
I'm sure of that,
Full tricks up her sleeve.
But the truth is,
I didn't expect this.

I don't put it all on her,
I don't put my feelings all on her.
But I do place the time on her.

Some people grow apart,
Some people grow parallel,
Some people grow perpendicular,
And some people grow together.

I don't know how we grew,
But it feels like we've been growing together for a while.
It seems only our tricky mistress, Time, will tell,
But Time seems to have a thing for surprises

Poetry,
Its a relationship with yourself,
It's something you've poured into,
Released your emotions,
Entangled them in understandable metaphors,
And buried them in verbose language.