these days, emptiness is beginning to look more like a poem that writes itself. the irony is it is everything i can't be and everything i am

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

Mister
I'm not sure how you don't
Appreciate
The wonderful wacky
Being that is me
I suppose I could try harder
But it's not my fault that
You can't see

stumbled upon your hideaway
an unexpected intrusion,
sunken heart I swallowed
hallucinating your shadow,

bluntly dismissing my worries
as my eyes fondly sought
a heaven within your cheeks,

softly blushing underneath
your eyes treasured me
oh, naive little me,

put a foot aside, darling,
undone love awaits outside,
fantasies blinded your soul
while I stood, earnestly
yearning to own your heart

looked
into the mirror

there was
nothing staring
back at me

could be
I'm free

could be
I'm free

people tend to complain
in the very peace and quiet
about what someone else
has accomplished in the hurry