Looking through old belongings,
Knicks, knacks, and other things.

A paper she wrote three years past,
Ticket to a show from summer before last.
A wallet containing five dollars and some,
An old, slightly mushy piece of gum.
Blue ribbon from the first-grade Field Day-
The picture taken when a friend came to stay.

Some things just have to be tossed;
Others are treasures that she'd lost.

Sorting through her childhood,
She sees she's grown... for ill or for good.

You took me to that greatest sea
I looked at you, you smiled at me
I started freezing you held me close
I don’t ever want to see you go

It started on a hot month of May
But ended on the last summer day
And as you crossed the block watching me
I moved towards the sycamore tree

“Hi” was the first word you said
I thought you’d say something else
It’s been a long time since then,
That we’d talk about ourselves

I bit my lip not knowing what to say
You moved towards me and asked slowly:
“Where were you these past few days?”
“I don’t know”, I sighed heavily

I hope that you really understand
It’s hard to love someone innocent
You were popular, good looking too
While I did nothing good to you

But I know you loved me like no one else did
You treat me like I wasn’t just any kid
I was afraid of what everybody thinks
That’s why I avoided you relentlessly

I’m sorry that was just a summer love
It could disappear and fly like a dove
It was fast paced and quick moving
But let’s just say it was life changing

Watch me while I set my crown on the ground.
Or don't.
Just know my reign is over.

Sometimes it is necessary
to stop silent and stare,
to quietly listen
at everything there.

In the hubbub of the heart
where all things we are
will end,
we beat retreat so many times
from the chimes that
ring out love.

The dove will always fly
that is the way,
if we do not spread our wings,
then one day,
with the dove
we'll die.

In the hubbub of the beating hearts
there are many endings,
and
many starts
but only one
beginning.

We create a web around us
With our feelings and emotions
To secure us from any danger
Getting caught in that world
Unaware of what’s happening around
Obstructing our vision
Somehow getting caught in there
And realize quite late
The world has changed and moved ahead
Leaving us behind
Only to reminisce what has been
Before we realize, it’s too late

Feeling not so pretty
in the middle of the night

I've got a glass of wine
and a fluorescent light.

I've got a fridge full of leftovers

of feelings

of spite

I've got a bottle to my left

and its contents to my right.

And there's a morning fast approaching
In which the real life lies

but my body isn't tired
and my brain is stirring fry

and my hands are typing nonsense
as my face becomes my eyes

there's a birdie in the corner
in the corner with the flies

I've got one more chance to make it
but my head's become my mind

I've got one more chance to shake it
but I just can't quite decide.

Ironic isn't it?
A poem about poetry?
A small thing talking about
The larger thing that is makes up.

But that's what poetry is.

Poetry is made up of words
That people are afraid to say,
Yet yearn to write because
Everyone needs to let the words escape.

Poetry is a collection of poems,
Which are a collection of words,
Which are a collection of thoughts,
Which are a collection of ideas.

Poetry is a collection of everything that makes a person who he is.

So, yes, this is a poem about poetry
Because poems are about expression
And desire,
And the desire to express.

That's what I have,
A desire for expression.
So, I'm expressing my desire
By writing a poem about poetry.

Poetry is the small thing that makes up the big thing.
That big thing is me,
And people around me.

And we make up the world.