we write because we are told
we write because we are cold

so why write poetry?

is it to obey
is it to simply misbehave
is it due today
is it more than what we say

if not
why do you write poetry?

because I can
&
because I am

we are made to feel
we are made to speak
some people are quiet
and others are bleak

words are expressive and alive
but some words are best left to die

i cannot bring myself to hate you,
   not even when you're the reason i feel blue.
i should bring myself to hate you,
   but with each glance at you, my love only grew.
i must bring myself to hate you,
   at least that much, i knew.

yet every time we talk,
   my heart would flutter and dance.
yet every time we text,
   i savor it like it's my last chance.
yet every time you cross my mind,
   a smile plays across my face, ever the romance.

There
Are thousands of ways
To feel better
In touch difficult times

But we fail
To explore the easiest one
That is:

Keep doing finer
Correcting the blunders.

I felt it
The cold and warm breeze on my skin
As he spoke
Words that made my heartbeat quicken
The resonating vibrations of his voice
It flowed through me
Cascading down
Melting my icicle heart
And along with it, my fears,
And all my walls of insecurities
Are broken down
A cataclysmic shift
My mind now adrift
Consciously, yet cautiously searching
Looking to merge with his
Melted ice
Broken walls
All give way.
His words
They vibrates through me,
Opening me up from within
Yes, I felt it.

Gazing up at the luminescent moon
surrounded by a star-dipped sky,
a touch of magic upon the breeze
as the wind blows slowly by.

The coolness of the wind
caressing gently my skin,
like the sweet kisses of you
over and over again.

The wind whispering softly
as the trees sparkle with dew,
with the most adoring of messages
sealed with a soul kiss from you.

Standing in pure amazement
in the glow of that silvery moon,
hoping that magical breeze
will be sent again real soon.
~