the lowly branches give a creek
as they bend to earth to give a greet
i pat my horse to soothe its whine
as we duck another twisted vine
deeper into the forest we go
as we hear the water flow
body positioned; ready for flight
as we follow the second star to the right
we walk along the trodden trail
our puffs of breath, both heavy and frail
we walk until we can’t anymore
my heart skips a beat, then two, then four
we settle under a tree for the night
the branches impede our source of light
we knot ourselves and drift off to sleep
hoping we won’t miss Peter Pan creep
for he’s the one we’ve followed so far
withstanding the blood, the bruise, the scar
so that when he sees us, he won’t run or hide
instead, he’ll look upon us with pride
he’ll break into a grin,
he’ll hold out a hand
and with a little bit of pixie dust
we’ll fly to Neverland.

How is it not obvious,
The way I feel?
It seems to be written
On my face,
Spoken by my movements.
How can you not tell,
The way I feel?
The other girl you hold
In your arms,
She is my resentment.
I feel as though you
Are ignoring me,
I feel as though my
Emotions are written
Clear on my face.
I feel rejected.
That glorious day
When we first met,
That glorious day
When I fell in love.
Have you forgotten?
I feel like you have.

i wrote a poem.
it was like our time, short, sweet
but now its over.

Just breathe
If you can't do anything else
Just breathe
Even if I have to do it for you
Just breathe

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f