It seems
That your call
is the only thing
That would dismantle
The anxious bomb
In my chest
That is my heart
And would keep it from exploding
From your silence

Emails from airlines tease me, then torture me.
"Make your daydreams a reality"
"Flights on sale!"
Don't taunt me.
I look away from email to the wall;
Smiles greet me. Memories follow.
I remember that smile. It was a smile from when I was with you.
My smiles don't look like that now.
I pull out your shirt - it doesn't smell like you anymore.
I hold it close for a moment anyway.
I curl up sitting on the floor, incapacitated, halted.
Pulled beneath the waves.
It passes. It always does. It has to.
Here I have a life that I have built that you have never been able to touch,
It goes on without you here.
And there's nothing I can do about that.
So I'll continue on, living off dreams and memories.
And the emails will still come.

You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.

I have a black look I do not
like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog
sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.

There is a good look that I wear
like a blood clot. I have
sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it
and I have placed you and your
child at its milk tip.

Oh the blackness is murderous
and the milk tip is brimming
and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when
I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.

Confusion
Heart Tearing
No Answer

Eyes Glaring
Heart Sinking
Mind Racing

Sheltered, Loved
Routine, Mundane
False Smile
False Tears
Desperate, Aching
Distraction

Always

Sun, Stars
Wholesome
Crisp Breathing

Never to meet
Guilt to have

Not one, but Many
Breath, Beat, Smile

Destiny

Incapable to Succeed

Determined to Breath

My poems have been read and reread. They have been responded to over 4000 times. Every poet on this forum or reader otherwise is thanked in this note for the support that they've been showing to me.

I am also gratuitous to the main source of inspiration for me, my life that brought me to this site for brushing up my poetry skills by reading and appreciating a fantastic class of poetry by people around the globe. A special mention of her style of writing is to be made here, romantic and cute it is. I must also mention Mr Timothy Bruffy and his family for having inspired me. Madam Hilda Bruffy has a very beautiful form of writing, Mr Bruffy has a style of writing that will be legendary and their daughter young Marian writes joyous poems which inspired me to be happy.

Each and every poet has their own way of writing poems, each one of them is unique. We find ourselves to be keen critics too. While some are outrightly rude and discouraging, others are friendly and encouraging as well.

i am not a poet.
poets are the sad ones awake at three a.m. mourning over the sad loss of their lover.
poets are the ones yearning to love, and to be loved the same.
poets are beautiful, dangerous and tragic. every word that they speak is a dagger in your side, the slow knife that cuts the deepest.
poets are the ones who realise the power of words, so they choose them carefully (they know they could be choosing their fate).
poets know that the absence of words is just as important as the presence.
poets are born, not crafted.
maybe i am a poet.

Dying with a winking eye
A smile so broad for death to see
Every tooth inside my ancient mouth
Expressing radiant love and empathy
My cheeks will swell with bulging cheer
Well-worn wrinkles form in the corners of grinning lids
A starry twinkle amongst exploding nebula iris
As silken lashes catch the days last wind

A hearty laugh makes a final human sound
The merry breath wheezing in and then forever out
of cavernous lungs
Rattling against homely walls

Kicking down the unlocked door, of which you have a key
The halls of Amenti are calling now
The shrouded veil surrounds the flaming flower
As the final grain spills to sandy bottom
And the thumping of the ticking heart
Stops in life’s twilight hour

And I hope you think of the good and 
not only the bad
And remember the perfect peices we had
Never not you will I ever forget
Your my first love, the one I'll never regret
I ache and I tremble when I look into your eyes
You can't see my true feelings I'm good at disguise 
Not a word do you hear leave my lips
But inside my  hearts screaming and having a fit
Now I know I did this to our love 
I was just scared and immature when push comes to shove 
I'll never have the guts to attempt it again
But somewhere in my soul I feel like it's not the end
It is easy to be mad
And I know it hurts to be sad 
Will we ever find peace
Will the bitterness decease
No not to eachother are we going to talk 
we'll wait until our souls form to rock
And then we won't  feel our feelings anymore
see right now they hurt too much for us to explore
I mean it when I say I just want you to be  happy
I'm not trying to being cliche or trying to be sappy
Please don't rub your next love in my face
Despite your anger, I pray you handle it with grace
I know It doesn't make sense to you how I am going on
But loves not concrete, there's no sure right or wrong

We should have went on that walk
In those shoes you were sure I wouldn't be comfortable walking in
So I could hear your voice cutting the stars and the white air
;stringing thoughts like constellations
So I could take you in like ocean waves
So I could feel your heart beat within my hands
So I could see your stars for eyes behind blinding lenses and in them the reflection of street lights...

But we wrapped up in each others skin instead and forgot the true meaning of letting new love in