I wonder how you'll react when you find out what I've done
you won't be able to hit me or scold me because, I'll be gone.
But will you cry? Will you feel ashamed? Will you wonder why?
I don't think that you should, because now I'll no longer cry.

So don't ask why,
don't you dare cry...
Please, don't be too upset
I'm getting away from here
and with no regrets.

I never knew how to
write poetry correctly.
It's not like it comes with an
instruction manual
that reads in italicized letters

"dig so deep into your head that if a brain aneurism were to spontaneously combust, you'd be the first to know about it"

No one told me that my emotions
would corkscrew like falling
meteorites every time I picked
up a pen.

No one told me that the thoughts
would sometimes dry up
and leave me searching like
a dog who buried a bone and
then developed a rare type
of amnesia.

No one told me that sometimes
it would be hard to get the words
onto the page without tears
falling like a liquid avalanche.

There was no instruction manual
or italicized letters. There was only me,
and a lot of lessons to learn.

Our fingertips touch and the world
Comes to a standstill-

Still as all of nature at dusk,
Silent as the moonlight on a starless night,
Heavy as the gurgling clouds just before it rains,
Blinding as the sun in all its glory and light

Our fingers begin a rhythmic dance,
As if playing the piano, rendering a favorite song,
Knowing the pace, the moves by heart,
Not faltering once, not going wrong,

Then twined together, we blissfully lay,
Content, peaceful, complete.
The moment of oneness cupped between our hands
preserved for all of eternity.

I used to draw cages,
Cages as open as your mouth,
But as empty as your words.
Cages as cold as winters touch,
But not as frozen as your heart.
Cages so dark and lonely,
A mirror of myself.
I used to draw cages,
Cages that I could never fill,
Because they were
only drawings,
That I drew
Inside
my cell