we see eachother in our reflections
but we're just looking at broken mirrors
thinking we're a perfect match.

we're two fools dancing around eachother like
we own the grandest castle
thinking that nothing can touch us.

we flash images at eachother like
broken television boxes
thinking we know eachother's story.

we burn holes in eachother like
cigarettes on old parchment
thinking that we're helping.

we sit and cry under the covers
like two children with broken toys
hoping we still love eathother.

we dream of eachother like
the living mourning over the dead
thinking that the other is gone.

we're connected to eachother like
two sewn pieces of cloth
thinking we're a million miles apart.

we want to forget eachother like
a bad dream
thinking we were nothing but evil.

we make eachother bleed like
fresh purple hearted war veterans
thinking that we can rip the thread of the past.

we're distant to each other like
two strangers on a crowded street
hoping the scars don't show.

Poetry is the art,
Of word selection.
It is the beautiful combination
Of syllables, rhymes, colors, and images.
A place where a description
Consists of few words.

In that sense,
I hope that one day,
The art of poetry that will depict me will be
Indescribable.
I wish for one day, to not be called
Beautiful
Pretty
Adorable or
Kind.
But, instead, I want to be
Indescribable.
"No one adjective can describe you, so you're
Indescribable.
You're everything: from beauty to fierce, and yet,
That doesn't seem enough. You are, love,
Indescribable."

I've lost myself in the woods ---
Again.
But, don't worry, I have a lantern.
The Light is weak, broken, and shaken
against the four walls of
Darkness that claws at me.

There's a voice on my left,
sweet as syrup and smooth as silk,
it says things I've longed to hear.
But, at the same time,
There's a voice on my right,
painful as a potent poison and raw as rigid razors,
it says things I don't want to hear.
But is it the angel that whispers
sweet nothings
or is it the devil?
Should I layer myself like a grain of sand in an oyster
or should I dive, head first, into the cold water?

One of the voices whispers of a path:
A nice one full of warmth and love.
I turn to look, but before I can see,
I'm pulled down this path, struggling to breath
and trying to break away from needy hands.
In the struggle, I've dropped the lantern.
But, that's okay.
It's warm here, I guess.
But, it's becoming too much.
Wait, what's that? My lantern.
Small rays of light fight against claws to find me.
It's harder than I thought, picking the lantern up again ---
and finally seeing again.
This isn't what I was told.
This isn't what I wanted.
There isn't love here, only lies.

And now, another voice whispers to me,
sweet and angelic.
It must be an angel, to be so kind and gentle.
My right shoulder is in pain, a horde of
screaming people, calling me to reality.
But, I've wanted this path for so long,
dreamed of this way before I even knew it.
How can I turn that away when it is teasing at my
fingertips?
Tell me.
Please, I want to know.
Are you the devil in disguise
Or an angel undercover?
If I reach out, will I be burned?

The lantern is gone now, dropped during the struggle.
I think I know where I'm going, but without light,
I'm ignorant.
I will trip in these woods, this I'm sure of.
I've been caught on branches, and cut by thorns.
I've run from wolves, and have been bitted by bears.
I want to find my way.
I want to find the light, in the ever changing world of dark.

We all travel paths, alone, until we are intersected.
Some paths are wide enough for several people to follow,
Others are a tightrope that you have to balance.
There are roads that loop in circles, never seeming to end,
But a number of trails do not divulge from forward.
And every time a path is crossed, you meet someone new.
And, like every thing, you have a choice.

It's customary to give a piece of yourself away.
It's just a small piece, a very very small cut from your cake,
What difference will it make?
So what if all you say is:
"I love you."
Or you even give away a kiss, or something greater?
What difference will it make?

Every time you give a piece away,
That's a little less of you left for someone more important.
(That's the difference it makes.)
Someone more important than that ex-boyfriend or lost friend,
Or maybe not? Their importance in your life is up to you.
That makes this your choice.
It's up to you whether they are worthy.
This is your soul you're giving away.

Your path will continue, even if they don't choose to follow.
It goes on, sunrise to set, and throughout the night.
Mornings with cotton candy skies, and avian lullabies.
Evenings with fire clouds.
Nights with diamonds.
Don't give yourself all away at once: you'll never see what comes next.
Your path will continue, continue to be interrupted by people.
Good people with good intentions;
Devils with Angelic facades.
How much you give them is up to you,
This is your path, and your choice.

One Rose.
One Rose is beautiful, special, unique.

One bouquet.
One bouquet is overwhelming, unoriginal, common.

One Rose.
One Rose that has been nursed from a seed, watched grow, and given at the perfect time.

One bouquet.
One bouquet that was hastily picked, paid for, and given out of fit.

One Rose.
One Rose is all a person truly needs.

One bouquet.
One bouquet if you haven't found your Rose just yet.