A poem
doesn’t blush—
it blooms or
it doesn’t.

A bush
is fine
for birds
not a verse.

If you’ve
a thorn—
press it in deep—
make your poem scream.

I know love is simple.
Except, we make it more complex.
We forget the big picture that that it creates happiness.

I know love rules.
Except many forget this rule.
That is-love is simple.
And had made many acts like a fool.

But love controls the heart.
Yes, right from the start.
Love made many people see.
Just what love could be.

If they realize that love is simple.
And it always will be.

Yes, I am a poet
I feed blank pages, words for meat
Yes, I am a poet
I dip in my ink ***, rinse and repeat
Yes, I am a poet
I’m a minor for gold, digging and clawing
All my feelings exposed
Yes, I am a poet
Trading writing for love, to sing with the angels
Down on earth and above
Yes, I am a poet
My blood is my ink, my tears are my heaven
Sail the oceans, then sink
Yes, I am a poet
No tears left to dry, yet feeling emotions
I cannot deny
Yes, I am a poet