I wonder why some poems
flounder and some poems fly.

I do not cry, or ponder to long,
for to write simply for others
somehow seems wrong.

I've written many lines
that will never see the light of day,
not that their better or worse
than those on display.

Their just a piece of me I'm not ready to give away.

I know that notion may seem obscene,
what could he possibly be hiding
that we haven't yet seen?

I can assure you in the grandest scheme of things
my skeletons are few,
But shouldn't a poet always hold
at least one secret
or maybe even two?

I've matured and grown up
Just enough for me to see
The monster and the liar
You have come to be
Lies and late nights away
Women at every door
You said that you loved me
But didn't know what for
Now I've met someone who cares
Who hangs on my every word
Warms me when I feel the cold
I know you think that's absurd
Maybe one day when you're alone
You'll look back on these years and see
I just wanted to be loved
With inherent honesty.
.