Oh to be trending with
Praise never ending
For poems I’ve shared on this site.

Likes and reposts give me
Reason to boast -
Justify staying up through the night.

Notifications are
Cause for elation;
The judges DO like what I write!

But a poem too plain
Causes heartache and pain, and
Is often my poor poet’s plight.

No comments, no hearts,
Silence tears me apart
As the view numbers start to get high.

Doesn’t anyone care?
Is it cause for despair?
Don’t they know how hard that I try?

And who really can blame us?
Our desire to be famous
Is a standard set forth at our birth.

Though it’s narcissistic,
We allow some statistics
To define the extent of our worth.

When I group words together
My soul is the tether;
I am sharing a part of myself.

The peril I fear
Is that no one will hear
As the words gather dust on a shelf.

So when the words are ‘bout right
I choose to quit for the night,
Add some tags, then I hit save and send,

‘Cuz when all’s said and done
We’re just writing for fun,  
Who cares if the **** thing will trend!
PwL   March, 2015

The fog is thick tonight
The fog is thick tonight
The fog is thick tonight

I'm on a different plane
Over a crystal blue sea
- yours is murky green
Yet I know you see diamonds

I died. Back then.
Amidst the chaos.
But I was reborn.

A true self?
Is this what was beneath the rubble?
And now am I a husk?
Or is it that I've been irreparably altered?

There's no knowing - but the fog is thick tonight
And there's some dust in your eye
Concern? Discomfort? Lack of recognition?

I won't burden you much longer
This tiny window you have glimpsed-
You will never revisit.
Oh if only your mind had of melted
Flowed forth and brought me that speck:
Just for the knowing of it.

Perhaps I'm too sincere.
Does it bore you?

God. I need to sleep.

We bond over sad songs and broken memories,
a toast to the times we shared
and the places we've gone.
And though they're only in my mind
I hold them dear
like the memories were real.
The times we ****** up,
or even stayed home on a cold winters night
curled up together in a blanket because the heat went off.
your love was like pure ecstasy,
warm and wonderful
but depressive after the come down
realizing you were never and will never be here,
as I want you to be.
So I locked the door to my cold room
curled up and waiting for a reply,
any reply
instead of this silence.

Dear diary,
I'm forever lopsided.
It's as if one side of me has gone to market,
And the other side went all the way home
And the rest of me is all caught in the middle
Torn, divided, uncertain
And somehow this is all set to the smell of roast beaf.