Everyday, for a long time.
Good mornings and goodnights.
Time zones and distance.
Terrible connection and difficult schedules.

Haven't talked in two days,
Feel like I lost a part of my soul.
Especially when I need you the most.
I need you...

*CGMW

The last text I sent you was on Friday.
You still haven't replied.
"I'm head over heels falling for you. That's the problem. And it hurts me both mentally and emotionally."
That was the text.
And when I saw you today,
I wanted to curl up in to a ball and die.
I'm avoiding you,
And it hurts.

There are times, like now where I think to myself, why can't I feel like this all the time.
I'm with friends who actually care, but I only see them once a week on Sunday...
I'm so lost in this world full of souls who are just like me.
I want to be noticed.
I want to be loved.
**Can't anyone see that?

I am wearing a floor length white gown.
It seems to be made of the finest materials.
I am walking, down a path which has no end.
I see people around me and I realize that this pathway is my life,
I intersect paths with many and vice versa.
Although I look down and notice that the bottom of my dress is covered in dirt.
Oh well I thought, It happens.
I came across certain people in my life, They threw red mud and dirt at me, staining my beautiful white dress.
These people were supposed to be friends, mentors, people I could count on.
I guess not, I tried to wipe the mud and dirt off, but it just made it worse.
Oh well, It happens.
I continued on in my journey,
And I met the most wonderful person,
He took my dirt and my mud away, and made me feel whole again,
I twirled in my now restored dress, and felt beautiful.
He and I walked together for sometime, but for some reason,
I walked ahead of him, I still knew he was there, however.
And as I walked on in my adventure,
I met more people and these people didn't throw mud at me,
they instead gave me flowers and words of wisdom.
Yet somewhere on my path, I made a wrong turn a wrong choice.
I began to collect dust and dirt, had people throw mud at me,
I even began to think that I wasn't worthy of this white dress and began to purposely run into people who would throw mud and dirt at me.
By the end of what seemed like my road, I collapsed,
from pain, guilt, worry, and tones of other things.
I glanced down at my white dress, the one that was fit for a bride, was now covered in dirt and mud, so much that you couldn't even tell that it was white originally.
He walked toward me and I cowered,
"No" I said. "Don't come closer, You shouldn't see me like this, I'm not worthy."
He laughed, "Caitlin, I've been with you since the beginning, I've seen you at your best and at your worst. Don't fear what I think of you. To me you will always be beautiful. No matter what."
I still wasn't sure, yet as he reached he hand out to me, I grasped it and he pulled me to my feet.
He said "You accepted my help, that's the first step."
And at his words, my white dress was restored yet again.
"But it will just get ***** again" I stated, somewhat confused.
He shook his head, "Now you need to believe in me. That's step two."
"Believe? What you mean?"
"Believe. That's all you have to do. Open your heart and let me in."
I closed my eyes, Opened my heart, and smiled.
"I believe."
We started our journey after that.
He always walked beside me, I never ran ahead.
The best part?
No dirt caught on my dress, no mud either.

I didn't hate you.
I didn't agree with you on everything, however.
I wish that I had spoken up.
I hope that you are living a good life.
I wish that we were closer friends instead of enemies.
I wish you gave me a second chance.
I wish that you encouraged me more.
I wish that you at least told me something more than the one worded answers to all of my questions.
I wish……

Things I have learned since I've been away from Poetry.

1. Sometime it's ok, if you don't write for a while. It still flows in your blood.
2. You see words everywhere, people's smiles, laughter and tears.
3. Not all poems are fueled by drama or fear or confusion.
4. Poetry is beautiful, even more so than it was before.
5. Even though I am not that good of a writer, I write, and will continue to, until the end of time.

It's actually not hard to do.
You grin at the way her hands are shaking to get tot a pen and paper.
You think is adorable how she only uses one certain type of pen, and only pen- no pencil for this writer.
You hate to see her at a loss for words because she always has words, even when everything else fails her.
You want to be the only one to leave her speechless
and the only one to make her write like mad.
You stick around long enough and you notice that she writes in the same pen that she uses to write poem, she uses to write on herself, different word and phrases she wants to remember.
You love the way her eyes light up when she comes up with the perfect ten words to describe something.
You think that she is the one who dreams and writes all that she remembers.

A warning for you, if you do fall in love wit a poet,
Remember that she is human, just like you.
Remember that she is writing for a reason.
Remember that if you break her heart,
You could, possibly break the very part of her that writes and it could Be days or weeks or months before she starts to write again.
And she will write only love and heartbreak poems,
Not the ones you remember about the trees or clouds or how your eyes get a gleam in them when you smile.

Just don't break her heart.

I feel as if this is a tug of war,
Back and forth
Forth and back.
Some giving it all, some letting others do all the work.
Sometimes I want to give up
Stop pursuing this goal.
Then you go and confuse me.
It leaves me wondering if this is worth it.
What should I do??