I used to write sad poetry
For all the love I couldn't see.

Ink kissed freckles on my skin
where lover's fingers never been.

And cursive letters that I wrote
He never said, I couldn't quote.

And when I laid my poem's bare
Only stranger's eyes laid there.

I tore them up and let them die
I've no words left, my pen's run dry.

Fix your ink upon my brow
Maybe I am nothing now
Your signature upon my curves
Please give to me what I deserve
Give to me with messy hand
All the words that you have planned
Please tell to me precisely how
You'll make me more than nothing now

I want the scars
deep and true,
I want no questions
from you.

Tell me how you'll
kiss the lines
that I have sliced
a hundred times,

Open yourself,
let me see
and you'll have no questions
from me.

I want you to unfold me.
You look like you know how.
If you plead to tear my seams
There's much I would allow.

I want you to unzip me,
To part the shackled teeth.
Please rip me where the fabric's thin
and kiss what lies beneath.

I think I need to fall in love
with a poet.
So that maybe all the words
and all the hurt won’t always be mine.
I need to fall in love with a poet
so that he will whisper words
that sound better than stories and
don’t need to last as long.
I want to be the one to fall in love
with a poet.
He can make me feel something
so that all the love and the futures
won’t always come from another. And I
will write stories about us
in another world with better lives
where poetry will be sung from
the love, which dies so poetically
and I will know that I loved
a poet.

It's hard to be quiet with music in my ears
and it's difficult to fall asleep with your memory so near
There's no kind of silence and not a thing is clear
it's difficult to fall asleep because I know that you're not here.

All the stars in the sky are not wanted,
the injunction refuses that ending.
Follow forever, remain undaunted
and your heart very soon will need mending.
The sequence will be always ascending,
though a conclusion is constantly sought.
Patterns in one who is ever-pretending
endure unto the moment she is caught.
Plans of pursuit and that 'hunt-the-doe' plot
will motivate a determinant run.
With efforts that will be spent all for naught,
and so that cowardly deer, she has won.
Whoso shall enlist to hunt this one yet?
Not death she fears, but the life of a pet.