all the flowers
i have ever
taken care of
and has ever
held in my hand
always ends up
withering—
just like how
your heart did
when you gave
it to me.

I'm lying in my little
home,
my dim-lit phone, I'm all
alone,
now staring at my dim-lit
phone,
I miss your call, I miss your call...

At last, this scent entraps my
nose,
the smell of rose, it must be
yours...
and yet, my body isn't
close...
it's not near yours, it can't
be yours...

-This dream again! It's night, I'm home,
a giant hole, I call it
home...
a little light - it's just my phone,
I'm all alone, I'm all
alone...

Our pond is empty,
our trees are cut
to clear.

You, right now,
are lost to me;

how I wish that
you were here.

Never was it spoken
true, how important
that you are.

But, without your
light to guide me,
I’d have never
traveled
so far.

The softness of
your voice,
the reassurance that
you gave;

left all who heard it
with a little more
life to save.

Now these woods
are hollow,
the pond
is all but dry.

The leaves begin
to scatter
as the wind
gusts sharply
by.

The owl asks
me who I’ll
miss,
but never
says
goodbye.

*
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications

Hi, I'm an insecure poet
Just like I don't like myself
I don't like my poetry
I don't know but sometimes
My poems aren't just it
They are unclear and weird
Like my personality is
They're short and stout
Just like I look physically
They sometimes rhyme too much
Like I overdue too much
Sometimes the free verses
Seem like the amateur I am
And everything's clichéd
Like my creativity got ******
They're hairy and dark
And ugly and scarred
But most of the time
They're just all over
All over excellence
Just like my neighbour
Is all over men
And I try too hard
I get all over it
But when I let go
No matter that I'm fat
The breeze carries me forth
No matter that I'm dark
I shine
And my creativity
Crawls out of crevices  
To create poetry
That warms the soul