Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
...No

No.

At least let me be
the girl who doodles on her arm
because she's scared to get a real tattoo,
and the girl whose freckles bloom
like little daisies on her cheeks
to match her middle name,
the girl who leans out the window of the car,
to feel the wind kiss her face, her soul,
and the girl who sneaks out early
to write poetry in a French town,
who wears silver rings, not gold,
and sometimes laughs too much,
or too little, because,
this is also the girl
who breaks her own heart too often
because she believes that it's better
to regret what you've said
than what you haven't,
let me be her, because,
without her, I only exist.

The light from the hallway filters into the room,
and all I can think of is always you.
The light to my dark, you could light up the sky,
your beauty which has no reason or rhyme.

"I love you too.  I'll miss you.  We'll talk soon."

My sleepy eyes search for hers,
as my arm reaches across the empty bed
and I find the pillow still indented from her pretty head.

A hollowness instantly makes my stomach tight,
afraid she's gone without any goodbye,
without her cuddles, I would die.

In this moment I hate the white of the sheets
no longer stained with shadows of her bodies curve,
the sun even shining displays its nerve.

Footsteps in the hall give my heart a start,
the door swings slowly open and a smile forms
as her lips part.

My arms reach out, my lips don't move,
from her throat soft giggles rise
and I feel her light touch my sleepy eyes.

The crisp air sends goosebumps to cover my body,
as she pulls off the blanket to get back into bed,
I pull her in close and turn blue into red.

The third and last Thanksgiving poem

they went round the table
asking what are you thankful for,
arrived my turn,
all the easy ones already taken,
family food etc.

so they said give us a poem,
and I replied:

I am thankful for the
light at the end of the tunnel,
the eyes to see it,
the patience to wait for it,
and the words to describe it.