I Write

I write it down.
Somewhat poetically.
Spill my guts.
Somewhat poetically.
And then I read it later and I’m promptly ashamed
to read the truth of it all
so then I delete it and
go about my day
And then night comes and I look for it but I got rid of it so I write it again.
And the cycle continues.
Emote
Delete
So I don’t have to absorb it
and live the truth
or deal with the  things
that are eating me
from the inside out.
I guess that’s just the way it is.
I guess
that’s  poetry, baby.

for

    once,

   i would

love

      to be

         the poem

and

     not

         the poet

She changed
He noticed it in her eyes
The last time he acknowledged her was
before he left
When fresh tears came out her eyes
When she dedicated her love to him
But no matter what she did she couldn't stop him
from leaving
Her eyes held sadness and love
That he had never seen in anyone before
The kind of eyes when someone betrays you
This time
Her eyes had fire
And as he stood and looked at her
Her hair and the wind
Her eyes and the sun
This time
This time he saw her worth
Her love
Her strength
But this time she was strong enough to fight
Strong enough to say no.

everyone was dancing
having fun
not caring about
anything.
but i stood still,
scared of the voices,
feeling like i didn't
fit in.

when he bent
down to kiss me,
i pulled back.
i felt bad but....
i just couldn't.

all i do is hurt people
and I'm so sick of it.
i cant even be happy
at my own homecoming
dance.

he told me to have
a good time because
everything gets better.
but they don't,
its only for a little
while that
they do.

Her face is like a poem
Her heart a willow tree
Bending softly in the moonglow
Beating always for me
She’s the bell in my distance
The hearth at home
With me everywhere
Even when I’m alone
In the desert she is water
She’s the forest and the trees
Everything she is to me
Everything