He's high again,
doped up on emotion.
Claiming he can make you safe.
To build a house of rotten wood.

He's here again,
in my home with cruel intention.
Screaming he can make you pretty.
To scar your skin with fingertips.

He's in my head again,
wrestling my peace to the ground.
Whispering in thieves cant.
To steal all the things that hold me up.

This girl was the wind running wild.
A breeze too terrified to admit it was lost.
She was phantom traveling through breaths.
Her words were gales, her screams were storms.

I'd swear she was an angel, even though I don't believe.
Her lips formed constellations, behind them pure black.
She's a cloudless nights sky, her body the moon and stars.
I promise you her eyes built worlds in mine, forged truth from thin air.

So, girl. If you find this; I remember you.

Words carry more weight when sewn in ink.

i write because paper
always listens

Brothers and sisters of ink and blood.
Storytellers, poets, connoisseurs of love.
The downhearted, broken. Betrothed and betrayed.
Lend me your ear, your heart, and your page.

My quill has run dry, but yours still runs free.
My imagination is dim, though you still believe.
I said hello, poetry. Goodbye tainted thoughts.
But it takes more than words to break such locks.

So, write me a sonnet, haiku, or a ballad.
A lymeric, lyric, even elegies are valid.
Deliver your song of keyboard clicks,
Tell of your lover, your pain, politics.

Grant me this wish,
Fulfill this desire.
I am freezing cold,
and your words are on fire.