Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
Avoid the Clichés
Express what's in you

There in a small room,
the writer lays on her bed
writing little stories, wheels turning in her head.
Across the moon sky lays the reader, lying on her back,
mind waiting for a good book to feed her.
Writer writes broken-hearted
Reader reads with feelings guarded
Coexisting in the same quandary of life
Finding themselves on the opposite ends of a sturdy rope
Woven together with the same fibers of the same hope
Both holding each other in strength from their codependency
Yet their presence might never touch
Their words might never exchange
They live on with their lives as two strangers with a
connection
In a life, in a world, in a love,
so strange.

I do not fall victim to my pain
That is not why I write
When I heal, you will hear the groans and the moans
Of my stitching  
My battle wounds do not go unnoticed
My pain does not leave in silence
My transformation is gruesome
I digest myself before I rebuild myself
I outgrow my own skin
Growth becomes a metamorphosis
to my mind and body
My old cells self destruct
I even develop some spare parts
And through the process of self love
I step out of my embodiment  
Reincarnated
As an absolute masterpiece

I never found it easy to bite down on my tongue
with the blood of my rage pumping through it
I thought about breathing before speaking
but the words in my head explode against my skull in rage
I close my eyes with the image of your mistakes like a projector
screen to my thoughts
I am heavy on assumption
and light on the evidence
Standing over another filthy crime scene
Where you were involved as a witness
And you stand there looking so clean
But why do you look too clean to sentence
And your alibí doesn't make any sense
Your tongue twists in lies you've spoken
Overtime I work again
in a job I overwork in hoping
So here I am dusting fingerprints
to the truth you've left unspoken.

I guess you thought I'd be wrapping my
arms around someone new by now
But unlike you, I can sit
comfortably in my sorrows
I don't need conversation
I have them with myself all the time
I don't need a strangers lips  
I like having them pressed against my familiar wine
I don't need those midnight phone calls
Where I sleep to the sound of your voice
I sleep when I want to now
And even where I sleep is my choice
I don't need your morning texts
Your "Have a great day's"
I needed you to keep your word
But hey, **** happens nowadays