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.

Let my silence teach you

what my words

did not

I forgave the ones who hurt me,
yet the pain was still too real.
It wasn’t until I forgave myself,
that the inner wounds began to heal.

FROZEN LAUGHTER

We dashed outside
as the sky was falling.

“Crunch...crunch...crunch! ”
chanted the snow

as our footprints
chatted to it

in a bold red
booted voice

and slowly a bird
wrote itself across the sky

with such careful calligraphy

& our laughter
froze

right in front of our noses.

the rain kissed my face when you would not.
ironically, its sorrowful downpour was a reminder
that everything will be okay.
(for just as rain tends the soil back to life after every desolate winter, flowers will emerge from the site of my pain)

Staring at an open screen,
screaming just to fill the noise.
Hoping that you'll never leave,
nothing else beyond the void.

Do we write to end our sadness?
or fuel the fires of our madness?
Do we write to end our pain,
knowing it will never change?

People always tell me
"Attention is what you seek!"
people always ask me
"why are you a freak?"
i can only give one answer
and that is "I don't know"
but is it such a crime
to just want to be loved?

we write because we are told
we write because we are cold

so why write poetry?

is it to obey
is it to simply misbehave
is it due today
is it more than what we say

if not
why do you write poetry?

because I can
&
because I am

we are made to feel
we are made to speak
some people are quiet
and others are bleak

words are expressive and alive
but some words are best left to die