the flowers died on monday
the clouds cried on tuesday
the sky screamed on wednesday
the sun dimmed on thursday
the stars hid on friday
mother nature weeped on saturday
the earth spun on on sunday

i let him read my poetry
as he flipped through the pages,
i hoped
he wouldn't recognize
the ones i wrote about him

stop asking my how I feel
I will always say I don't know

We cut one another
Down to the very flesh
While we miss each other
Deep inside our bones

Isn’t that ironic?

i was born wanted but for the wrong reasons
with a mind marked to be ill
thrown into the wilderness of a foreign country
with not even a common language to call home
i am loved but i am placed in the wrong season
built in the summer but living in the cold
by happenstance the unwilling champion
but only of the loser's side
the air i breathe is borrowed but bound for oblivion
it is a consolation that at least to the earth i am a reward
even if i die in my treason of life