I was going to write about the moon tonight,
but between Vanilla scented candles
and multicolored Christmas lights
I daresay I lost track
of time.
Stuck somewhere between
heavenly and surreal
I was reminded why so many people simply
don't open their eyes.
Existence such as this
doesn't happen everyday
and it seems we get caught
chasing the moon.
Desperate for a sip
of her honeycomb,
thinking we're too far to reach,
not knowing all the world's
a stage
and the moon's
the
only
one
watching.

I am no more a poet than anyone.

2. For years I never wrote a single pork about myself. I didn't think my life worthy of pen & paper.

3. I can't remember how it feels to be in love, but I dream of it as the sun dreams of meeting the moon.

4. I've flown back and forth to the same three airports for four years and I haven't met one person twice yet.

5. If I'm awake into the night 7.9 out of 8 times I'm fearful of ending up on a street corner begging for money I know I never earned.

6. I am skilled and will never end up on the street except by my own choosing.

7. If I am awake into the night, 7.9 out of 8 times I'm fearful of my own choosing.

8. For the past three years all I've seen is walls crumbling by the cries of the people I love falling apart around me.

I haven't fallen apart yet.

9. On the first day of the new year I pledged never to lose sight of the ones that I love.
The next day I found myself waving goodbye to the people I care for the most.

10. I did not break my resolution.

Doll’s boy ’s asleep
under a stile
he sees eight and twenty
ladies in a line

the first lady
says to nine ladies
his lips drink water
but his heart drinks wine

the tenth lady
says to nine ladies
they must chain his foot
for his wrist ’s too fine

the nineteenth
says to nine ladies
you take his mouth
for his eyes are mine.

Doll’s boy ’s asleep
under the stile
for every mile the feet go
the heart goes nine

I love you.
But not in the cliche way of loving you.
I love you by your voice
By your hugs
By your smell
By your presence
By your constant care
By being you.
I love you,
But it's not cliche at all.

The quintessence of my loneliness can be summed up in the number of romantic comedies and books of poetry I own.

I've been trying to look at life through a stained glass window, but so far it's just blinding my vision.

The pottery scattered on my kitchen floor is more like bits of my heart
and less like art.

People have been spending their lives leaving footprints laced in my mind, but every time I turn my head trying to find some form of beauty in all of this, no one seems to notice I'm not looking.

I grew up with people insisting everyone would want to be my best friend because I'm kind and I would have so many boy problems because I'm pretty,
but so far I can count encounters like that on my left hand.

And I've been spending my whole life trying to find someone who thinks I'm worth understanding, but so far every time I think words aren't needed, when I finally do speak
there's no one there.
Every time I think the poetry lies not in words but in eyes, I sound
Too sad
Too mad
Too happy
I think too much
I talk too much
I don't talk enough
I need more flavor
I need less flavor
Too poised
Too craze
Am I the only one who's tired of being too much or not being enough?

What ever happened to being just right?

In a world tipped, on a scale that's out of proportion anyway I think
there's too much room for heartache and not enough room to learn how to spell it.
Too many mountain peaks,
and not enough tools to get there.
Too many girls taught how to be lonely,
and not enough lessons on how not to be afraid of the dark.

So from here on out I won't be saying "I'm sorry"
for trying to understand how the moon slips into the pavement like it's finally found something worth resting in.
From here on out any time I turn my head trying to find beauty's final resting place,
I promise
I won't be looking back.