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.

Fingertips have memories
Mine can't forget you
The curve of your spine
The freckles across your nose
The veins that run along your arms
The firm muscles of your legs
The strength behind your hands
The love inside your soul

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

you let me hold your hand,
and play with your fingers,
then you left to **** another girl,

and maybe you thought
i'd be fine with that

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.