To the poet
Who writes for her -
Your words deceive me
Then destroy me with an endless longing.
I wish I was her,
For she inspires you
The way I only wish I could.
You write to love her
I write because I'm selfish.
Because it's the only way for my self-preservation,
Because if I don't hold a pen
I would hold a blade.
You write to impress her
I write to express my helplessness.
Your poems liberate you,
Mine suffocate me even more-
Pushing me deeper into the longing...
Forcing me to question -
How the heck have I been enduring
All this within me, without you?

I'm sure I did it again
Don't ask me how.
I ask myself this,
and I come up with a list
That is twenty miles long,
Listing everything,
Yet blank,
Just as confused as I.

I don't quite know,
If it was my insanity or yours
That shoved us away.
Maybe a bit of both?
Maybe it was neither.
Maybe you got sick of me,
I know I'm quite annoying
And I have to many flaws.
How did you ever put up with me?!

Maybe it was you,
Maybe we're just too different now.
But it wasn't your fault,
You've done nothing wrong.
You never do.

You can come back,
Anytime.
There will always be a spot for you.
Because you were great.
Funny and silly,
And even when you weren't
I felt nice near you.
And I know you're having problems,
I know too well,
For I read it in your poems,
And it hurts.
I want to help,
But only if I'm wanted,
Because in all those poems,
About people you like and love,
People who you need around
None are about me.

Please come back,
The table will feel empty.
I will feel a little empty.
I miss you.

Beautifully cultivated and so carefully crafted
Into intricate designs of the mine
Are words flowing from perfect lips
So lovely they could slow down time
For all the world would turn and gaze
At the colour of sounds swirling in the marvelous ways
Tying stomachs in knots and setting hearts on ablaze
I find the words and in the right place
Compos a tale with the emotional weight
I can order the order of these words in my corner
To flow from your tongue in fluttering fervor
Or drop your tone line a sun setting lower
The power of these words an invisible wonder
Creating these moments for you
So see what I see and feel what I fear
Taste what I love and hold these things dear
The stars in your eyes are more than real
And the light of your mind so brightly shines
I capture these moments for you

I used to find comfort in my thoughts. The ones that whispered to me, telling me that you were indeed looking at the same moon I was, letting me feel for just a moment that we were together again. I believed in the story told in the stars. The tales that danced above me, they used to give hope. They told me that I was small and my problems were smaller. They sang of how I was not alone and I believed every vile, sweet word. My blindness and your loveliness had intertwined to become my distorted view of love and ******* it if I didn’t love you with every fiber of my horrid, broken heart. But you were damaged in your own way, the crack running down your being was impossible to see. Even after I cut my lips on the edges of your broken heart while trying to kiss the hurt away I still didn’t see. Still didn’t feel. Every day the scarlet rivers they grew. I was killing myself trying to save you. Bleeding out with every kiss to your irreversibly shattered heart; your razor sharp soul. You pierced every vein, replacing me with yourself.. The most addicting drug dulling my senses. Loving you has ruined me, it’s taken from me things I miss. Like being able to see stories in the stars.. Instead I’m isolated. On a planet filled with self absorbed souls. Stupidly wandering about wondering why they’re unhappy. I’m left cynical, jaded but aware, able to see that the spark in my eyes is gone. And now when I look at the sky I hope that you aren’t looking at the same moon I see. Because such beauty shouldn’t have to feel the piercing stares that you use to give to me. Such quiet wonder shouldn’t be made to feel worthless like you made me feel. But then again, we are small.. And our problems smaller. Who am I to believe that insignificant you could ever hurt such a large moon? I don’t feel hope when I look at the sky anymore, no, I feel envy. Because they are untouched, untainted by you.. They did not change.. While I can barely recognize myself.

When I was little I always counted my steps.
I would keep track of the delicate taps of my feet,
to see how many I could fit in one square of the sidewalk.
And while I was busy naming each step after a number,
I was unaware of the world.
Because I marched to the music of my own.
Choosing instead to see the smiles on the shoes I saw go by.
And when that little child grew I knew, I knew, I knew,
of the world and all its evils.
So my silly counting habits, they returned because without it,
I couldn't see the smiles that I found on all shoes.
I tried to see the other side.
But people's eyes just can't suffice,
because a smile is so certainly scarce,
on the faces of those I find.
so I count on my counting, my sacred devout thing,
to keep me from frowning,
by seeing the secret smiles on the shoes that march on by.

I remember the first time I saw your face.
You, with an intense stare, a perplexed glare,
scrutinizing everything that was there.
Searching..
Looking for the perfect rhyme, an eye-catching design.
Going down the line I hoped you would find joy in mine,
and you did.
I remember the energy in your smile on the ride home.
Your nervous hand was hesitant to put pen to paper, wanting everything to be perfect.
Every piece of that puzzling emotion put together in a way that would  show how much you loved her,
and soon you could.
You opened my chest and on my heart you wrote what was on yours.
From that point forth I became a door.
I was an extension of your adoration and affection.
You felt like you were on top of the world,
and you were.
I remember the excitement the day you gave me to her,
I felt it too.
The words were coming alive, flowing from her lips like the most intoxicating wine.
Oh, how I wanted her to love you,
and for a moment she did.
But after a while I was put in a box.
I collected dust while she became bitter; a war was started,
one with no winner.
The words on my heart had lost their glimmer,
and so did yours.
I remember the last time I saw your face.
Unfamiliar, Unattached, you were not the same.
Something came, a sadness untamed.
Those words on my heart became a source of pain.
So you ripped me apart..
Piece by piece..
Just like she did to you.