I did not want to write.

Maybe because I didn’t know
If it were right for me
To ache with such feelings:
To feel the abandonment of,
And feel the longing for
The arms that always seemed to be there to catch me,
But never there to hold me for long.
To hear the voice
That had always calmed my raging thoughts.
But never in those moments
Have I ever heard it with my own ears.

I did not want to write.

Maybe because I didn’t know
If I even deserved
To feel this sad, and so alone
When all I’ve never done
Was to make you feel the opposite
Of what I’m feeling right now.
To feel like I have lost
A love
That I never even gave a chance to begin with.

I did not want to write.**

But I guess,
There’s nothing else I could do
To hoard and keep-
Or maybe to squander and let go
Of the suffering
That may not even be love
But just a blind infatuation.

I've been wanting to cry,

Not for any one particular reason,
I don't really know if it's because I'm happy
Or sad.
My life is great,
My family and friends are beautiful people,
But I feel out of place.

I'm here,
But I'd rather be elsewhere,
I am satisfied
But I'd rather be overflowing with joy.
Everything I eat
Had never tasted so bane,
Every color had never been color-less.
I'm am grateful
For what I have,
But there is something else
I haven't felt,
Not in a while.

I think it's Love.

Love that's not earned,
Love that isn't a word,
Love that doesn't want more,
Love that is grateful,
Love that is genuine,
The kind of Love
That hugs you so tight
You cry because you are reminded

That you are not alone.

tell them i was the
warmest place you knew
and that



you turned me cold

I wonder how many books you've read on creativity.
Have they made nearly as much sense as your writing does to me?
(In that case, it's probably not very many.)
I often wonder what it is that makes one poet better than another at poetry.
Is it something in the ability to let go?
To feel free to type wildly regardless of judgement/ego/typos?

I doubt it.

Falling for you was never part of the plan
What started off as a harmless game turned into something I had to win

I was settled on the fact that we would be nothing more than just toys to each other
But when you kissed me in that closet and touched me in a way that was unfamiliar to me I knew I was *******
The constant denial that I felt any sort of attraction to you was failing

Suddenly endless texting turned into long sleepless nights, talking about our feelings and our past
Confessions came out and new experiences caught my attention

I found myself breaking all my rules for you and not regretting a single one
Rules that were put up for my own protection
Rules that would prevent me from feeling heartbreak ever again

But now here I am, falling deeper and deeper into something I have no idea as to where it will lead me
But as long as it's by you, I'm okay with whatever hurt I may have to face

do you think you'll ever lay her to rest?
allow her to sleep?
she's stayed awake for months on end
and every time she tried to close her eyes
you shook her awake
again

telling just one more tale
one more tall story
one more lie
that we must all
simply listen to

listen to this little ditty
i'm sure you'll recall it
once i'm done
do you remember the time we...?
no.. not really..

without sleep
all she sees are hallucinations
disjointed recollections
of the tissue paper life
that blows..

in the breeze

did you know
sleep deprivation
is a form of torture?

and you have kept her up
long enough

and she's tired of being worn
like an overcoat
as your splendid outer garment
in all it's melancholy finery
passersby remark
on how well you wear her
and you have the audacity to say
'Oh this old thing'

she's wearing thin and eventually
she'll disappear
altogether

she's becoming threadbare in places
and no matter how tightly
you wrap yourself up in her
she won't keep you warm

but that's only because
you don't want her to get warm
or let her go to sleep
you just won't let her rest in peace
will you