Being a writer
Is not a part-time job,
Like being a nurse
Or a teacher:
Where clocking in
And out
Is as simple
As lifting and putting down
A pen.

No,
Writers have words
Flowing though their veins;
Poignant thoughts and emotions
Shape and reshape themselves
Into poems in the writer's mind
Almost by instinct.

But
Do not be fooled:
The writer's world
Is no paradise:
Thoughts tug at our brains
In the middle of the night,
Like a child pulling
At its mother's coat
Beckoning us to the page
Where finally we free the thoughts
That have been held captive.

And finally with sleepy,
Satisfied eyes,
We place the final fullstop
On our latest masterpiece
.

In this world you're
either the writer
or the reader;
the creator or
the receiver.

And school never worked
out too-well
for me.

My morning glory
Would be to wake up beside you
Just as the sun stretches and yawns,
Its arms reaching past blanketed mountains to brush the sleep away from your eyes
A peaceful surrender and a lone fanfare from the horns and sirens below,
The roads ever branching,
Taking roots in cities and towns away from where we are.
The world is awake before us, but my whole world wakes up to your open eyes
And past them, I see universes that I will never be a part of.
We are magic, we are as light as fragments of matter drifting through strings of sunshine
And in this moment, although we are small, we exist.

I fell in love with a piece of paper
and a picture of you. Now here you stand,
and I don't quite know what I am to do…

We were lonely souls, you and I; felt like
only each other heard our laughs and cry.

Yet here we are, miles apart yet inches
so close. All I can hear are the words on
the paper; acting like an overdose.

You're not a picture, and neither am I,
falling in love was short; destined to die.

Love we did, even though our time quickly
ticked away. But my love was true; it could
not be born, ravish, and cease in a day.

A question in my head, it must be said:
Will I be back, as our history read?

True, I can not stop the dreams, but these bad
habits are hard to break. I'd rather miss
you than have more of your love bruises ache.

You're a part of me, like a glove, I can't
rid this picture and paper of you, love.

I will keep you near, of course, so you can
perhaps watch me grow, in awe or hatred,
to one day let go of your heavy woe.

Scars left from the battle of heart and mind --
My choice is clear, though it left my mouth ****.

My heart breaks, the body recuperates,
this time I’ve had enough of these rust gates.

Goodbye to the man in front of me, and
everyday Good Morning to the picture
staring, eyes bright, with pain and painted glee.

If only pictures showed what was below
the skin, then maybe we wouldn’t have sinned?

Why do we fall in love?
it is believed that when humans were first created,
We were two body's fused together
With two heads, four arms and four legs
But only one heart,
The mighty Zeus feared our potential
And split us all in two,
Dooming us to spend eternity searching
For our other half
Then why does love hurt so much?
*because child, sometimes, the love god Eros,
Well, he doesn't have the best aim
And that ***** everything up