A hairy ball of energy
Who loves to run and play,
Whose tricks and tomfoolery
Would brighten any day.
Almost hyperactive,
Without doubt lively,
Incredibly inquisitive,
Exploring constantly.

Chewing on everything,
Peeing everywhere,
Not fond of house training
but slowly getting there.
Extremely mischievous,
Just wants to have fun,
Loves to get pets from us,
Each and everyone.

Yapping so excitedly
At everyone and everything,
Such an incredibly funny
Lovable little thing.
Who looks at us imploringly
With great big brown eyes
That we fell in love totally
Should come as no surprise

This lovely little puppy
Right from the start
Became one of the family,
Captured every ones heart.

Puppies and puddles
Licks and hugs
Soft and lovable
Just look at their mugs
A smile on their face
a twinkle in their eye
they're just so sweet
no need to ask why.
Little wet kisses
soft gentle nuzzles
not very complicated
like crossword puzzles.
They arrive with love
and joy in their heart
just wanna share
and not be apart.

I have wearied of grand romances
Of deep sighs and swooning trances
Of doting gentlemen’s advances
And all manner of courtship play
I am tired of love confessions
And of dizzied, dazed professions
And of unrestrained obsessions
I grow sicker day by day

I once dreamed of adoration
Went quite mad for veneration
Laughing, flirting with temptation
The queen in Camelot
The lonely, lovely Guinevere
Dainty-masked with girlish fear
But when King Arthur wasn’t near
Dreaming of Sir Lancelot

These days I want no noble knight
Despite my seeming helpless plight
I wish to set myself aright
And tread upon the ground
Yet here I am, pedestal-high
Too close to the dazzling sky
As my life keeps passing by
And boys keep running round

I’ve let myself grow much too proud
Drew up arrogance from the crowd
Heard the cheering, bright and loud
The queen in Camelot
And though I had my faithful Sir
Still my heart was all astir
With flying fancies, all a blur
For Guinevere and Lancelot

These fantasies have grown too old
I’d rather let my bed grow cold
For I have wearied of being told
“You are mine to keep”
Men have tired me to the core
Left me sad and sick and sore
And have turned into such a chore
And I’d much rather sleep

What blasphemy for a maiden fair
To toss such doting to the air
To turn away without much care
Though queen in Camelot
But I have withered, I have tired
Felt as if my brain’s been mired
And find not Arthur much desired
Nor dashing Lancelot

Is it so bad to want respite
From endless longing, day and night?
This constant charm becomes too trite
With ever staler tone
I only wish to rest a while
Recover from incessant guile
Forget the weight of lovers’ trial
And simply be alone

Being alone and being lonely are two different things
Feeling alone or feeling lonely are two different things too
Alone, meaning no one is around
Feeling alone means there's people all around, but in you mind, heart, and soul you're all alone inside
Lonely, meaning you're single and searching
Feeling lonely means you're always alone, no matter the place or people

Alone
Or
Lonely?

I am both

I feel alone and I am alone
I feel lonely and I am lonely
My soul is cold and empty
But my body is warm and full
My body is heavy
And my spirit heavier
My mind the storm and my heart the war

Will it ever end?

The overcrowding loneliness and the loud silence that comes with it
Or the feeling that I'm alone

I cry
I mourn
But what am I crying for?
What am I mourning?
Am I crying for death to take me?
So that he can warm my soul and unburden my spirit?

Am I mourning the life I'm living?
Am I mourning the future I think I'll have?
Am I mourning that death doesn't want me, or that he doesn't love me the way I love him?
Am I crying and mourning the deep thirst I have for him?

I think I am
And I'm not sure if I'll ever get over him, or stop wanting him
He was my only solace except writing
He was the only thing I thought I could control
But I don't
He controls it
He decides whether to push me away or to bring me closer

This burden I carry
It breaks me a little each time I feel I should die
Why haven't I died? I think
I should be dead. Someone else who deserves to live should have the rest of my years.
I always think this
Then I think of others
The pain ebbs, but still flows much more greatly later, when I'm thinking too much, feeling too much
Am I alone or lonely?
I think I'm both
And as I said in one of my last poems: Am I trash or golden?
I'm not sure
Am I trash because I'm too broken, or am I golden because I'm broken in a beautiful way?