i have been tucked
away
in the words
"i love you,"
hidden
in the corners and
curves of the
three.

I must cry
Because
No one will do it for me.
Because when I shed these tears
I am reminded
Of how insignificant
The problem is -
I will cry
Because,
Even though the answer is simple,
I will not see it
Unless I see it with these blurry eyes.
Only then will I listen,
Only then will I open my heart
And say "that was the reason."
I must cry,
Because
No one must shed these tears
But me.

The best poems are the honest poems, not because they’re good (necessarily), but because of the relief as you read them. There is nothing to hide in the in-betweens of poetry because everything you say is carried on by the words that are in it, there is nothing you couldn't say because they were written within the boundaries of writing (and no one ever wanted to read it anyway). Except somebody will read them, and they will want to know more details so they will kept reading once you’re done writing, and they will fix themselves pretending they weren't reading and then re-reading because it would be crazy to be writing about them reading a poem. And those are the best poems because this is that poem.

The winter night
Has taken over my body
From the tip of my fingers
All the way to the rough of my heels.
I am numb from the face
And my shiver is strange,
My jaw will not sit still.

An artist
A guitarist
A pianist
A mechanic
A photographer
A writer
A cook
A model
A director
A producer
A mathematician
A football fanatic

I want to do this
And anything else that'll make a woman happy.