If every mile between us was a year,
we would be millennia apart.
If every lonely breath was a dying star,
the night sky would be black as ink.
If every tear was a page in a book,
between us, we could fill volumes.

If every bit of longing was a rubber band,
my heart would explode from pressure.
If every moment alone was a color lost,
my world would soon go dark.
If every day without you was a heap of gold,
I would sacrifice it in a heartbeat.

If only were together again,
the distance would close,
the sun would return,
the pages would burn.

If only I could see you again,
my heart would ease,
I’d regain my sight,
I would be alright.

i find myself writing slowly just to put off doing more work.
i get so tired that the world gets fuzzy and i can't focus on one thing
and the information goes in and out without me learning what
can actually help me when i get inside the exam hall.

happy, cheerful, nice to everyone,
but also a stinky, slobbering mess,
he greets everyone with a smile
and his tail beating against their shins.
whilst i watch on, unmoving, unsmiling,
waiting for him to finish his silent conversation
and move on,
to **** up the next lamp post.

my fear is not of death itself, but
of the pain of it.
because in the end, i will always
be a coward.

sadness is material.
the sobs my foundations for something stronger
the tears cement for my brick towers
the pain to remind me that this is real.
this is real.
i am a person and i am real.
i was born and one day i will die,
but this sadness, with its melancholy hope,
is the material to make my existence worthwhile.
i am sad, and one day i will not be sad.
but whilst i am sad i will create things so that
when i look back on my bad days
i will smile and understand that
it’s not all bad.
sadness is material,
there to prove me - and everyone else - wrong.

when she kissed him, she could taste
the coffee on his lips,
and the hints of nicotine on his tongue.
she could smell herself;
her perfume buried deep in the lines on his body,
reminding her where she'd been.
as they kissed she heard their breath
combine together in time, as one,
no longer separate. the same person.
behind her eyelids, stars collided
over and over again, psychedelic patterns
tracing themselves deep in her skin like scars.
and the butterflies in her stomach,
the tingling of her lips and his hands on her back
drew her back to reality - drew her back to him.

I'm pretty sure all poetry has left me.
As if it just packed up and hit the road.
Like my words no longer dance or sing.
Like they have forgotten all melodies.
Assimilated tone deafness.
Compound letdowns retract vulnerabilities.
Brick walls and leather skin replace possibilities.
Reckless love and whimsical fantasies,
Replaced by ***** diapers and piles of laundry.
Consonants and vowels blend to mush.
Aches and accomplishments are one in the same.
All of my agony has turned to apathy,
And I wonder.
How could I let poetry walk away from me?
How have I become so broken that I can no longer write?
Words have no ability to woe me.
Vocabulary is no longer my saving grace.
Void of creativity.
Like somehow life has gotten too messy for me to express.
Series of catastrophes and celebrations run together.
And I feel lost.
And I feel blessed.
But oh so empty.
Poetry come back to me.