i was a slave
a slave for love
a slave slash poet

a poet
who writes none
none but love

a poet who loves
a lover who writes
writes poem full of love

full of love in the past
nothing in the present, but past
in the present full of nothing

nothing but sadness
sad poems
a sad poet

Being a poet
Changes everything
The way you look and experience
It turns pain into beauty
It breaks down time

It speaks for you when you don't know what to say
It comes at times you can't sit down and write it out
It can keep you awake at night
It may offer you a smile when no one is there to see

Poetry is my outlet
It connects me with others that understand
I have made friends from other lands

When you need someone to talk to
And no one is there
The paper will listen to your pen
And suddenly, you know you aren't that alone again

Poetry has saved me from myself
And it's helped me save others from themselves
It has taught me to take time to really see things
For the truth
To notice the little things that actually matter

Writing poetry is therapy with no judgement
I am writing this to say *thank you

And maybe we could forgive
the days
we wasted away from each other,
longing to be
surrounded by each other's arms.

Oh and perhaps we could
start again
all over
like a newborn cloud
in the empty blue
of a sky

Yes. I'd like that.
I'd make it possible any day,
if it was up to me.

Renewal.

Darling, the road was
full
with other places to go to,
and as you know
sometimes we lose the track of time
and the track itself
becomes another road.

I'm sick of conquering the world
with art
and my eloquent speech that never
left the paper,
where it was carefully crafted
and refined.

I need nothing. I am what I am
and I conquer a part of reality
with that that I am.

If you love me now
drop a letter.
This is the real me. Feel it.
A weird beauty of being alive
by your side.

If you love me as I am now,
you are a fool,

because the real me
is out there, somewhere,
waiting to be reinvented
by endless roads.

I only ask you
to be a part of those endless roads,
and forget the first and the last kiss,
and love me in between.

how many sunrises is a lifetime worth?

Your bitter words make me
want to burn my tongue with tar.
It won't be these cigarettes that **** me-
but my family's words.

With your breath heavy from whiskey
you were never good after drinking a bottle.
Hot tears fall as you tell me to grow up.
I can't.

I keep
crushing my sunflowers in my palm.
Bleeding yellow and green earth
through white knuckles.
A gold that once littered our bedroom floor
between the articles of clothing.

I keep
praying for rain to quench the soil
but there's only deathly heat.
Apologies to the gods go unheard.

No one wants to listen to a girl crying
that her flowers are dead from the doing of her own hands.

if you can keep up with my mind games
then maybe we can do the love game

remember that night you told me
that you loved me
and I said "prove it,"
so you took the cigarette off my lips
and said "I'm the only vice you need."