These are the hands that will guide you to greatness,
These are the hands that will stay through the years,
These are the hands that will celebrate good times,
And these are the hands that will wipe away tears.

These are the hands that will love you forever;
When you are weak they will help you feel strong,
And, right now, since these hands are entwined together
These hands are precisely where they belong

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

This disease struck me
Like a brick on pavement
Hard

Everything was
Perfect
Then that brick came along
And with the slightest movement
Destroyed everything

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
The voices say

Why can’t I let them go?
They keep repeating:

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
Why won’t they stop

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
I don’t understand

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
Someone just HELP me understand

This disease is about
Perfection
But it's the biggest
Imperfection about me

Love didn't end wars
It started them

Our backs hold stories
Not even the spine
On a book can handle

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

to me,
you are
an art

                              to you,
                              I was
                              a tragedy

i bathe in serene
sleepy mountainside ledges
kissed by lips of fall