Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.

They loved each other so deeply,
They never resurfaced

You try to tell me what I am,
using "friend" over and over

But I know what  I am

I am the rugburn on your forearm that you cover with your sleeve
       the sweat on the back of your neck
        and the tightness of your jeans
I am the look back from that night as you drove away
       the text message you sent, asking to "hang out" again the next day
I am the tightness in your chest at night
         the forbidden fantasy during the day
         the secret from your parents
         the story to your friends
But I am not something to be controlled or domineered
So that's why now
**I am the one who walked away.

Two entities, the ***** and the harlot, have a conversation in my mind:

Harlot, you can't go running after every guy that smiles at you
Yes *****, but you can't go frowning at them every time they look at you either
There's nothing wrong with playing hard to get
The way you play makes them think there's nothing worth getting
Listen Harlot, if it wasn't for me, every man you met would have gotten some
But you need me, *****. You let your head and heart get filled with all these silly romantic dreams, and then there's no one around to love you. If it wasn't for me, you'd be a lonely soul
Maybe you haven't noticed, but I am lonely. Every time you let a man in, I have to push him out

Maybe if you cut loose once in a while you wouldn't be so alone
And maybe if you tightened up you wouldn't have such a friendly reputation following you around. I know you think its fun when you're stretched out in their arms, but we both know that they always leave, and I come out and put my arms around you. I'm the one to fix the hurt, mend the wounds, and field the emotions
**...That may be true, but if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't know what love is, wouldn't know what its like to hear someone whisper your name. You say you hate me, but I know its stuffy holdin' those clothes on so tight.  
So you may be ashamed of me,  you may clean up my mess, but the reality is, *****, you need my past. You need my confidence, and you need to learn that I may be quiet, but I can not go away.
I will be your shadow, I'm the darkest part of you, and even when the lights are on, I've done things we can't undo.
So let's make a deal, a pact, to coincide in peace. I'll be on my best behavior if you'll take care of me

Autism prays for...
Chuck E. Cheese
Maya and Miguel
Huey, Dewey, and Louie
Mom and Dad
Pizza rolls
Subway sandwiches
Grannie
Greeney phantom
dogs,
the Brady Bunch
His greatness
His provision
and comedy cartoons
to watch all day.
**Amen

What do you say
when someone asks you to love them forever
and your answer is no?

He is the juxtaposition of
harmony and the silence between each note.
He thinks in staffs and scales,
breathes out melodies.
He is the song I sing in the quiet,
a song with no words
no limitations.

Let your beauty shine
through this earth-worn shell.

Show your love to all
with this dirt-***** body.

Point others to you with
these ****** hands and
whisper words of comfort
through these cursing lips.

We want to help the broken
and the hurt but
our cold hearts won't melt.

These clouded eyes can't see
past their own sorrows.

You bring the widows and orphans
and watch us stumble past them.

How lost,
how defiled are we,

*Your chosen people.

My skin is blank sheet music,
and you begin to craft a
song with me.
We write an entire
symphony upon each other,
practicing arpeggios and scales
until each one is
perfectly blended into the next,
one movement cannot be distinguished
from the other.
You begin your overture,
striking chords along
my collar bone and ribs,
each tone lovingly clear.
You are the real composer,
the maestro,
the cellist.
I am simply your muse,
your baton,
your bow.
The reprise begins to fade,
our breath comes back to us,
and we treasure the invisible
notes, rests, and tempos
that played across our skin.

Things are slipping,
sliding,
careening,
inevitably out of my control.
When did the ropes I tied so carefully
begin to
fray?
When did the hands that held everything
begin to
fatigue?
Were there hints;
subtle looks and comments that
shot past my naive senses?
There must have been.
Because now he's slipping,
sliding,
walking
out of my grasp.
Leaving.
The unspoken reality that pierces a
hole in me no amount of
faked enthusiasm can repair.
Intentions are good,
minds are innocent,
but tensions are high.
I want the best for both,
but only think of one.
It's rough.
Like the proverbial sand I'm
trying to stop from escaping
my grip,
but not as rough as realizing
*there's nothing I can do

The very day Creativity slipped a ring
on her finger,
they were wed.
Bound together by a compelling
need and desire
to be together,
to stay together, and
inspire together.
He let her run free,
knowing she would always
come back to his embrace,
for she craved the solace only he provided,
the expressions he alone understood.
They were beautiful,
and the ideas they lovingly crafted together
were beautiful,
if only to them.

She loved him because he was always there
when she needed him,
yet he was his own entity,
independent,
and could not be forced or coerced
into making something out of thin air.
He loved her because she tested his limits
cautiously.
She pushed him farther than he
thought possible,
but her results were mesmerizing.
They loved and created together
in a relationship that is
unique
to every pair of eyes that sees them.

Sometimes he will leave her
briefly,
to love another.
She refuses to be bitter because
she knows she is
guilty
of the same act,
sometimes choosing
Reality or
Selfishness
over her dear creative love.
The time apart makes
their reunion sweeter,
more memorable,
and more forgiving.
Some who know them both
will say there's never been a more
full and fragile marriage than the one
between
Creativity and a Free Spirit.

I'm found wanting the lion's share
of life,
often reaching for the stars and
taking the moon as well.
Youth courses through my veins
like gemstones as
blind ambition promises the world to me,
served on a platter forged of wanderlust and
childlike curiosity,
as a dowry.
He pecks my cheek and speaks of
what's to come,
of our progeny-
every wish that's made on a falling star and
every innocent kiss between lovers.
These and more I'm to have-
nights spent under foreign skies,
sincere love notes that were never delivered,
and cherished songs who lost their lyrics but
are still hummed to little ones.
Because of him,
these are to be my gifts,
they are to be my children,
they are to be my legacy.

Romanced by beautiful words
that carry me to another time,
I let myself be dressed in a flowing gown,
stitched together with the delicate
memories and intentions of the
master craftsman.
He makes it possible to live in a
brilliant haze of nouns, verbs and
extravagant adjectives.
My mind is full of wonder
and my heart is full of longing
as the dress is stripped off and
folded away.
I'm ****** into my street clothes,
into my daily drudge,
but I know my escape will be made again,
thanks to Mr.Fitzgerald.

Happy New Year!
Reflection
"He made the team!"
Lots of basketball
Back to school
Time to decide on a college
"Hey, you want to join Speech and Debate?"
Instant best friends
Lots of practice time after school
"And 2nd place goes to..."
"Hi, my name is Max"
Lots of foreign kisses and adventures
Time to apply for college
Mom, I got a scholarship!
Prom is just around the corner
Would you go to the prom with me?
Graduation is just around the corner
No tears, I'll see you soon
Job interview
"We'd love to have you"
Difficult work days
"One of you kids is throwing up in the bathroom..."
Tears
I can't do this
Smiles
"Sit by me!"
Saying Goodbye
"You made my trip to America. I can't forget you"
Buying textbooks
It's how much??
First day of college
"We're in this together"
Several coffee dates later
I'd punch myself in the face if you weren't here
Feeling disconnected
"Welcome to the BSU"
Finals week
Ingest coffee. Cry
The pay-off
4.0
"Let's go to a theme park!"
Park closed until Wednesday
Let's hang out!
"I'm in Denver..."
"Let's hang out!"
I'm on my way
I missed you.
"We'll hang out before I go back"
"I miss you!"
You'll be back soon, love!
Happy New Year!
*Reflection

In the night
I could love you.
I could send sweet words to you
on the stars
that darkness pulled from my heart.
Words that I didn't know were on my lips
until you were on my mind.
In the night,
dreams bring me longing,
brief moments without reality
taunting me with what I know
I will not have.
Not during the day.
When the sun is shining
I am yours
whenever you need me.
But in the night,
you are unknowingly loved,
unknowingly mine.
I, myself, did not even know
until darkness fell.
Until it was night.
When I knew I was unconsciously
loving you.

If I danced with the sun,
would you curse my shade,
or take care of my shadow?
Let lost things
be rediscovered,
give in to wishing with me.
Taste the height of our adventures as
we race towards heaven
darling.
Learn to love Life,
who has always loved you,
who might love me

Pull back the layers,
more and more,
dance freely as they
flutter
    to
       the
          floor.
The tender skin that starts
to show,
(just like confidence)
it
  grows
    and
       grows
Feel the passion exuded,
taste your life in the air
through your own lungs.
Exceed limits and
build your own box to think
outside of.
Create your own undefinable dreams
through words and thoughts unknown.
The world spins faster as you slow down,
reach out and kiss it lightly.
Be the lover that's different.
Romance generations instead of
ideas.
Cast off the layers that
smother and hide,
be the brave soul that dances
the
    dance
        of the
            free

The subtle glowing cave,
Walls humming softly with the energy
of ideas waiting to be born.
Whispers wafting from
space to paradoxical space,
drifting peaceably and holding
the awaiting moment by the hand.
This quiet dance soothes the soul,
calms the senses,
and restores the heart.
The gentleness of this equilibrium is
so delicate,
so fragile,
that it is often overlooked...
Until in a flash, a boom, a blink-
The offspring of the mind races forth
and disrupts the movement.
The translucent child
runs to and fro,
playing joyously amid the
vast expanse of matter
and exploring all of its wonderland.
It cries out in a loud voice,
for no other reason than to hear itself.
And runs, just to feel itself running.
If the child is noticed,
if the space gives it room to run and yell,
to be and to play,
then it grows.
It grows and forms.
It becomes complex and
more alive,
gaining depth and body
along with age and possibility.
The no-longer child
becomes full and real over time.
Gratefully accepting the space it has been given
and boldly asking for more
until it innocently consumes all.
Then,
Its impossible to ignore.
The cave becomes too small,
and the no-longer child must be let free.
It must be spoken of,
acted on, and lived out.
It must be accepted into other caves,
being reborn in the same manner as before,
but quicker, with more intensity,
it begins to spread.
It must.
It must be loved by some, and hated by few.
It must  challenge traditions with the desire to recreate.
It must.

Now shattered and broken,
fallen pieces on the floor.
Stepping lightly,
hearing bits begin to crack,
shuddering at the pain
that laces
bare feet.
Words flying and cutting
deeper and more
harshly than the glass.
Tears falling
just as bright and
broken as the hearts who
shed them.
Questions cloud the
mind as anger
whispers in the ear,
Daring.
Taunting.
Tempting the feet
to stomp,
to destroy,
to injure so
irrevocably.
Just like they did.

Neurons crackling,
sparks dancing
from white to gray matter.
Shadows begin to form,
becoming words as the light of
ingenuity shines
fully on them.
Synapses light up,
down to the fingers,
who are itching to transport
ideas onto pages.
Delicately they balance on the
tightrope line
across the parchment,
waiting for the
world to watch
their spectacle.
They can move hearts,
change minds and
start revolutions
by simply existing.
How tantalizing is the
wonder of
words.

Falling through graceful realms,
I am unafraid.
Tucked safely in my mind
behind closed eyelids,
I am subjected to the
parade of my subconscious.
Before my ethereal self
the fancies of my foolish
heart dance to the
lively circadian rhythm
with lavish costumes and tricks,
disguising themselves as a
bizarre and random
dream