how can you stand there
and say these words
that cut like the razorblade
you hold to my throat
and whisper in my ear
"it’s not real, it never was real."

when all i felt was
love than spanned cities and state lines
that could take away the slightest bit of pain
like the kind when you left me
at the side of the road
with no one else to lean on.

I shouldn't be thinking of all the
what-ifs and should haves
but sometimes I can't help but
feel as if there could have been
more if we had just asked.

There is a point to
all that I am doing and
it's always for you.

It takes time to learn
how to be alone
because being alone
means dealing with the silence
and sleeping through the lonely nights
and having to go day in and day out
having only yourself to lean on.

I still feel the pains of missing you
when I sleep,
when I wake,
when I look at myself in my lonely mirror.
All I feel is that it’s helplessly my fault.

I need to stop writing about you. My god, I sound pathetic.

If only you'd bless me with your company,
a soft touch of my hair, maybe
or even just a glance into those forgiving eyes,
I know we did things we don't want to think about
but can't we just keep the past at bay?
I hope you can understand that I would give anything
just to have you in my life once more.

Love can no longer be my muse because how can you use such a foreign thing to write such meaningful words?

To write poetry
is to shatter the heart and
choose only one piece.

I've been trying to come to terms
with the way life is --
its ups and downs
twists and turns
and all the spaces in between
that I can't control --
and I have no idea whether to
accept that this is the way
life is or find a way to
change me.

I need to stop.