Days like today call for second dinners
Because days like today missed the one in the morning

Seconds dinners substitute one for the other
You get sleep, but miss the one
You miss sleep, but get the other
Though you hardly ever get the one,
You can still hope to get the other,
Because one bowl filled with satin glazed rings is just as promising as those midnight stars outside your window.
They both help you sleep
and the thunder begins to settle.

waiting
              for
                   the day
                               that you
                                              will
                                                     write me
                                                                      a few
                                                                                kind
                                                                                         words
                                                                                                    ........................

Innocent girl
You have no hate in your heart
You only see the best
In people

Innocent girl
Precious in all that you are
You deserve the wholesome things
So little

You have to understand
How the world is imperfect
And no boy or any man
Should make you feel less worth it

Pretty little girl
Let no one challenge your art
It’s unique in every purpose,
It’s fragile

Pretty little girl
Talented, careful, and smart
Keep that steadfast, selfless love,
It’s valuable

“Why does she write poetry?”
“She must be in love...”
“I wonder who she’s writing about.”

My words are more
than mindless infatuation,
though they lend themselves
to this tendency.
For instance, I wrote this
in less that 5 minutes,
because “love” isn’t the only
motivation to my poetry.
Don’t underestimate
the intention of my inspiration.

I often see poems that go by "untitled".
Some may even refer their poems as "Untitled" with capitalized importance.
"Untitled" is not to be, nor should it be, mistaken for "unimportant".
The work is still in process.
It has importance.

I often write poems that go by titles.
Some may even say that my poems are "Unoriginal" with cliche names.
"Unoriginal" is not to be, nor should it be, mistaken for "unintentional".
The work went through the process.
It has intention.

I often read poems because of their titles.
Some may even claim that their poems are "Profound" with unlimited potential.
"Profound" is not to be, now should it be, mistaken for "invaluable".
The work is still processing.
Its value has yet to be seen.