i am starting to realize
that the more i write about you
the less and less i feel for you
drying you out, over and over
with each word and letter
and maybe this is my sense
of finding closure
because you would never give me any
and i feel my fingers
are done spilling over for you
perhaps not as frequently, but never again
and you can stop haunting me and making me feel bad
i think at last, you've become a stranger to me
and i could not be more happy at the thought
of you no longer plaguing my writing
(i learned to let you go
on my own)

you have to fight
and make friends
with your mind
if you want to survive
and truly enjoy
every second
of a life
that you want to create
don't desecrate
your head
own it,
your friend

My heart won't tell that
The time flee as I am with
You, something special
As the heat rises in funnel

My heart won't tell that
The most perfect person for me
Is you, something fulfilling
As the sound comes from the engine

My heart would jump in joy
As I spend every second
With all my slow breathe as toy
Clearing the mist as I jog

My heart would admire you ,
For you, the imperfection of all solids
With all my sorrows, ****** by you
Here I say, I love you!

I wanna fall in love
Like a drop of rain water into the sea
I wanna see nowhere
But just my own love to feel.

I want that love
Which will give peace
Warmth, like in those fairy tales
With me, nothing can be written called tales

Love always begins as a game.

A shy glance.
A careful touch.
A bit of teasing.
Nothing half and nothing whole.

But then it gets serious. From one second to another. If one of them is to decide.

Then love is not a game anymore. You shouldn't miss the moment, when you should stop playing.

Otherwise both lose.

a
poet
paints
a world
for
us
to know

Although I have no glass stilettoes
Have the height to reach with my toes.
Despite, I never did chores,
I am the lion, that roar at fears.

Although I wasn't cursed to sleep years
To have a king to kiss my curses away,
I want to be a rat at least,
Just like in the tales.

Although I don't have the beautiful body,
I want just one and nobody else
like I appear to be those elves
None can see, yet can feel.

giant silhouette patterns of
red-gray buzzards
stretch
their
elongated wingspan
and
hover effortlessly
above the
Cherokee white clouds
before
descending
and
dining
upon
the
bone-white carcass
souls of mankind