Come closer,

What do you see?

Look deeper,
There's more of her than what meets the eye
She might spell queen on her tongue
She might blind people with her glance
But don't believe anything you see

Explore further,
There's more to her soul than the physical shape
She might wear fire on her skin
She might imply strong on her wrist
But don't believe anything you touch

it doesnt matter
how many times i call myself beautiful
the meaning completely changes
when it comes from your mouth

Dissect me, tear me apart, take what you please and turn me to art. Poet, poet mind, poet soul. Write me like one of your poems old. My eyes green and my soul - a rainbow dull. Piece me together with words that flow. Break me apart to describe me as I grow. I want to see what others do. I want to read the thoughts of you. Poet, Dear Poet, write me please. What I ask is not a simple act; I know it won’t come with ease.

Sincerely,
Me

Miss you
I miss you  as  I sleep
I miss you as I eat
I miss you  as I talk
I miss you  as I walk
I do not talk bout it cause it wont bring you  back
Other year with out you here as people take a drink to remember you
You smile down an alot as we due our daily duty
If I could turn back the time I would never have let you  read what I wrote it stills to this day
But I know you never want me blue
So happy birthday to you
For lance rip

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I always feel sentimental when it rains,
So, on sad days like this I leave the house without an umbrella.

With my headphones in,
listening to our favourite songs,
I walk past your old house.
Or the cheap restaurant we always went to.
Just so I can let my heart feel close to you again.
I must be so pathetic.

but when the rain stops
You will exist only as another memory.
So, I embrace the droplets on my skin,
Even if I do catch a cold.

On sad days like this I cannot help but wonder
if it’s raining where you are,
if you think of me.

So, until the next time it rains, we walk our own paths.

And just as the season changes; so does she.
As the sun goes down mid day, so do her thoughts.
Her emotions are raw and brisk, just as the wind in the night.
She applies layers to herself, as if she were going into a blizzard.
But this isn’t a bundling up that you can see.
She builds thick walls to protect herself from more than the cold.
Darkness seeps in and covers her.
She is consumed by her despair and she remains frozen.

-ED