You wonder if she knows
If she can tell how deep it goes
This sadness that you carry neath your skin.

You wonder if she sees
The way you fall down to your knees
And how hard it is to get back up again.

You fear she’ll walk away
Leaving nothing in her wake
But the broken, shattered pieces of your soul.

But if you’d look, you’d see
She’s aware of everything
And she’s holding tight, trying to keep you whole.

I’m over loving you

I know I’m over loving you because when I look at the space in my bed
It isn’t your outline
I know because I smile more often everyday
I know because I wanted him to hold my hand even though he wasn’t you
I do think about you in the strangest times, on planes, on trains and in coffee shops but as a passing memory
A traveller exploring a city but never experiencing its true delights
I know because I have grown up and I realise loving you was toxic

When I catch myself adoring you again, on your pedestal
I pause and wish you well
I know I’m over loving you because I want the best for you now, and I know now, that isn’t me

She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.

If I could turn back time
I would hit Backspace all day,
Id put on Caps Lock
and SHOUT what I say.

I'd use the whole Alphabet
To tell you hello,
Press seven Numbers
Til you picked up the phone.

I'd Tab through the comments
I didn't want to hear,
And use the Arrow Keys
To drag your body near.

I would Delete the harsh words
I didn't mean to speak,
And Insert the "I love yous"
I before couldn't leak.

I would use Ctrl to
Keep reigns over my heart,
And I would Escape lies
That tore us apart.

I'd Print out your photo
And kiss it goodnight,
Use the Calculator
To check that we were right.

I'd Paint you a picture
of us, you and me,
Then I'd hit Enter
Just so you would see.

Those are the things
I would do in my strife,
If only Backspace
worked in real life.

And like that
my voice has been stolen away
Anxiety barricades like invisible steel walls
Trapped, I’m left banging with clenched fists
A prisoner within my own head
My brain a chemically imbalanced warden
My mind in solitary confinement

Poetry is art
      Poetry is visual

Poets can see the words

The way a play write
Can see the actors on stage
       with every line he writes

The way a musician
Can see the notes dance on air
       with every key she plays

The way a sculptor
Can see the final sculpture
       with every cut of their knife

The way a painter
Can see the waves of the ocean
        with every stroke of blue
                  on a blank canvas

Poetry is visual
      Poetry is art
            Poets are artists
       They write **from the heart

The rosin still clings
To my slackened strings
And my shine is all but gone.
Yet you found me;
There lying still and silent,
In my funerary garments
Of tattered velvet
and darkened oak.
You called to me,
Coaxing me back into being.
For yours is a labor of love;
I need you nearly as much
As you need me; Musician.