i skim over each line my shaky hands form
each letter so distinguished from the last
i like to see what i create
but with you
your eyes meet mine
you've read each thought I had
i wonder do you understand
and then the room is silent
everyone is gone
your ready to leave
each twitch of the finger
i know you want to go
but you stay
and all you create is a enigma in my mind
each passing of the sunset clock
i watch the crevices in your gentle silhouette
and wonder
what it would take for your soul to truly meet mine

to the guy who stole everything
for quite some time I watched the people
the places around me
always was I quick to hide
but now
I'm learning how to drive
apply pressure to the gas
leaves everything behind
press lightly on the brake
so you don't crash into the boulder blocking the path
hold on tight to the steering wheel
you don't want what you have to disappear

to the guy who stole my everything
i guess you never learned how to drive
or maybe somewhere along the way
you let your hands leave the steering wheel
or maybe your foot slipped off the brakes

to the guy who stole my everything
i hope by the end
maybe just maybe
you'll remember the day you were taught to drive

it was pitch black
i was young and small
perched on your lap
your rough hands trailing mine
i was safe
you set me down
told me you would never abandon me

it was bright
i was confused and sullen
on the coarse cobblestone I sat alone
rays of light skimmed my flesh
i was a fish far from the sea
lying down i remembered your gentle words
your soothing eyes

how the time escaped us
how the unexpected broke our promise
how I wish i was in your embrace

but I can't do nothing
but see your face
your hands
your eyes
your lips
all behind the eyelids at my weakest time

I've been to tired to speak
whats the sense
when all you do is judge me
I've been to tired to meet your cerulean eyes
for one look
and I'll be wishing you wanted me
I've been to tired to follow you
your musky scent so strong
but it's all wrong
you'll only leave me with grief

i thought i knew
for the depths of solitude i traveled
sharpened my eyes
trapped my heart
tainted my very spirit
but now I see you
crimson red
fiery hot touch
there may as well be horns sprouting from your head
oh
your the animosity I wish I never had

In class we talked about writing poetry
poets are outstanding
they connect two separate things
use similes and metaphors
think everywhere
and than within
skill, talent, expertise are needed
my heart skipped a beat
are my poems a mockery?
but then I read those cries for help written in the dark at 3 am
I realized
poetry can only come from the mind
and most importantly
a juvenile one like mine

what more to the world is there then tear stained cheeks and crumpled papers with words no one dares to speak?