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sing me your inspiration,
so that words may blossom
through the rings of the tree
in my paper.

gift me your passions,
so that pathways may carve
through inked rivers
and graphite daydreams.

paint me your love,
so that I may palette
your rainbow
and color my canvas

with my favorite colors of you.

the soft pink
of the inside of your lips,
and the offset grey
haloed through your eyelashes.

tiger lily freckles framed
by sweet peach
and wallflower blushes.

rainfall wrists
and dutch cocoa silk.

all my canvas needs
are the colors of you.
acrylic affirmations and watercolor whispers
"...to live again."

As I meld back into the
scarred infinity,
daffodils blossom
in my frostbitten dimples
giggles run wild,
over the slumbering
reminiscence,
the tide's ebbing away
slow and sure,
I kiss the raindrops goodbye,
yet,
the child inside,
never seems to die.


"I wish..."
Now there were two of them
Separated between thousands
of read texts and timely
chats touched by sound
but not skin  
Awake in the others sleeping
Sleeping in the others awake  
Restless as they wait
Restless as they wait
I wish the stakes were higher.
you know who you are
When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.
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