I wish I were
your favourite scar

The one that you
enjoy telling stories about
as you run your fingers across

Like a prized possession
you got by accident


*AA

If there's one thing I've learned,
It's that love is real
And it does exist.
And you have no idea
What it is like
Until you're over your head in it.
And there's never really a specific moment
In which you fall in love with someone.
After a while, you just realize that
The way they squeal a little
When they laugh to hard,
Or how they always get  way too many banana peppers on their snadwich,
Or how they jump out from behind a corner and scare you
And laugh hysterically because you screamed,
Even though they knew you would.
Or how their heartbeat sounds when they're holding you in your arms,
Are things that you can't imagine ever living without.

And if you ever went to Subway with another person,
And they didn't ask for extra banana peppers,
It just wouldn't feel right.

And I love you.

Give me your inspiration.
Come on, you have enough already.
This isn’t fair, I protest;
how is it that you can create
a dozen pretty iced-cupcake poems
a day and I can’t?

Honestly –
sharing is caring.
I don’t want it all,
just a little bit.
A tenth will suffice.
It won’t take much from you,
I swear! you’ll still be writing
ten-point-eight cupcakes
a day.
Now would that be so bad?

No? Well, then.
Be like that.
It’s not like
I need inspiration …

I can't stop my hand from writing
these words I try to hide
I keep pushing them away
but they linger, remaining at one side

Forever following me around
reminding me of what once was
I do not ever speak of them
only recognise and ignore that I am lost

The words will keep flowing
until I can fully understand
what happened in the past
and events I hadn't planned

Each time I pen emotions
I lay them out in a form so clear
in the hope that it'll clarify
inner turmoil and shed tears

I can't begin to comprehend
so I just keep writing the words
as they follow me around
trying desperately to be heard

I would paint you a picture of us standing there in the pouring rain. You with your blue jeans and checkered shirt smiling while holding me close and telling me that you won't let go.

*If only I could paint.

In memory of the note
In the bottle
On the beach
In the sand
Behind the rock
After I met
The beautiful girl
Under the trees
At noon
While the breeze
Swayed the leaves
And me
On the day
In my life
That I would most
Like to forget.