let’s stop for a while
and find shapes in the clouds
feel the breeze on our skin
and take in the sounds

let’s take a moment
in the cool april air
forget about our problems
and last night’s affairs

can i just have this
return to nature’s call
because darling, i’m lost
and need somewhere to fall

A twist,
A burn,
Drown, you say?

Shall I spray these letters on the page for you to read?
May I display the writhing writes that within I keep?

I slash the pen against the inside of my skull,
To write my stories...

We call this,
a poem.

but does that make me,
the poet?

Sometimes I want to take her up in my arms
and feel like a man,
because I'm a lot bigger than her
and my hands dwarf hers,
but we both know I can't.

My heart rises up to my throat
when I think of her
and it swells from the love I hold so dear
and it breaks when I remember that I can't be close to her.

I'm not close enough to stroke her knotted hair,
and I'm not close enough to make sure nobody hurts her.
She can protect herself sometimes, and I know she isn't hurt as Much as I am angry when she is insulted.

Their jokes about me loving her hardly seem like jokes now,
and I might just be a bit high on pain or hunger or maybe it's just the lonely hurt,
but I want to hold her
and love her,
but I have to know that it isn't possible.
A love between us is impossible,
however much I wish I could be a man to her, for her, just to simply be
for her.