The stakes are high
when words are at stake
It’s an open hand
we give
we take
waging with words
a gamble for me
playing a fine line
with cliche
or corny
no matter the draw
poker face
or story
that rhyme you find
too profound
too bally
I deal this poem
I roll
you read
double or nothing
a hit or miss
is always
guaranteed

Looking back it’s funny that we never took many photos together.
A few goofy ones & ugly selfies.
But never posed ones for social media.
I guess it was because for the first time I didn’t feel the need to look good in a relationship.
I knew we were good.
No proof needed.

every time my heart aches
i will say a little prayer for you

Poetry has no
ability to judge me
so I open up

¡uʍop ǝpᴉsdn s,ʇᴉ ʍoN
punoɹƃ ǝɥʇ ssoɹɔɐ pǝlloɹ ʇᴉ ʇɐɥ┴
punoɹ os s,nʞᴉɐɥ ʎW


      nʞᴉɐɥ    
  nʞᴉɐɥnʞᴉɐɥ
nʞᴉɐɥ   nʞᴉɐɥ
  nʞᴉɐɥnʞᴉɐɥ
      nʞᴉɐɥ .....................

This is to the
rest of me
not you since
let me restate that
you and your crowd
are welcome to watch

This is to the rest of me
most of me
all the me beneath me
as if I were a bird
soaring of course
over my own landscape

that seems to not perturb
well me
that this writer is okay
with being seen
as a gull perhaps
working wind

the speech I want to give
to me
is too mundane to write
it's ok to be alone
or is that
just me

that being a crowd
which is ok now
look it up
ikr
what does this make
of alone

other at my highest level
requires letting go of us
do you see the level of kidding
of myself is going on here
to disguise clumsy being
hurt while looking out

Scribble,
Scribble.
The etchings,
of a dreamer.

Who's quill he,
quibbles with.

Grasping at an idea,
that he hydrates
with ink.

In wrathful vengeance,
he abuses parchment,
with a sharpened wood spear.

Drinking his creation,
tweaking the taste,
that's almost bitter.

Slash, ****,
cross out.
He is vexed,
about the ending…