I always overthink
Leaving permanent ink
One thought
Next another
Each and every other
The constant annoying utter

fairy tales
are told
in black and
white.

life
is
grey.

I didn't want to,
disappoint you.

So I tried to,
reassure you.

But I can't make a reflection
feel emotions

She comes to me, with eager tread, desiring my return. 
The old routine, each day evolves, that both of us must learn. 
 
Atop the post she deftly lands and murmurs fond affection.
I marvel at her agile grace, her clean, precise perfection. 
 
She offers me unerring trust, lays curled around my shoulder. 
Each day it grows, the mutual bond, I find her ever bolder. 
 
My hand enveloped in soft, warm fur, content she is secure.
The boundaries of possession lost, does she belong to me or I to her?

I think I am still bitter
over all of it.

I have declared self-enlightenment
from past heartaches and let downs.

Yet, I can't seem to let anything go.

I find the manipulation in people.
I search for the reasons not to trust.
I'm still trying to be alone,
though every atom inside of me,
clearly wants to be loved.

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.