Writing in prose
Does not make you a poet

Telling of times
Of a crimson stream
Caused by your denial
Does not make you a poet

Just because you starve yourself
In a fruitless pursuit of perfection
Does not make you a poet

What makes you a poet
Is when seeing her eyes
Makes you want to stop the world
And detail how they twinkled
When the light came in
At just the right angle
From the glass pane windows

What makes you a poet
Is when you think that her hair
Even when she wears it in that messy bun
On the top of her head
Looks like the gold
Of that ring you found
That you would love to put on her finger
Someday

What makes you a poet
Is not knowing just the right words
To describe her
So you just say nothing
And make her become these words
That you obsesse over
Every
Single
Day

Before I met you I was so uptight
And now that I know you
All I want to do is write
About how the world sees us two

Your eyes are bright enough to shine
Even in the darkest times
And to know they have love only for mine
Makes it easy to love myself sometimes

I've always had problems with love
And you have helped me become free
Now I can fly as high as a dove
Now I can be me

And now there is only one way to say
How I love you more everyday

You are my 4 a.m.
And I don't really know
What that means

Every night
I feel you tugging
on my heart strings
pulling me closer to you
With every
Second
     Minute
         & Hour
That passes us by

I can hear you
Whispering sweet nothings
Into my ears
Enticing me with every word
That drips from the tip
Of your tongue

I feel like I will die
The moment I lose you
But I also die
Every moment I'm with you
You are my toxic
And I am hooked

I need to leave
Because nothing good happens after 3:30
But I know I never will