Sometimes I awaken at the edge of dawn
as the world is just turning
over in bed; so early that I forget the existence of people.
I forget their ways and patterns, as if I am not of them.
I forget what I might hear in place of the silence
and I follow no path
because they've all been erased by fresh snow over night,
still falling randomly from branches and other high places.
Directionless, I trod just within the gutter, through the puddles of
snow melting under the new warmth of morning.
I don't walk in the road
I don't want to forget completely,
but just for a little while, I walk alone
to see what it might be like to be the only one.

I'll *******,
If you want.
Cause I want it
Just as bad as you do.
But I also want to hear the rustle of the sheets
When you turn over in the middle of the night.
I want to feel your hot breath on my neck.
I want the stubble on your chin to graze my cheek
As you kiss me gently on the forehead.
And when I whisper "goodnight," you don't have to reply.
Just nudge me with your knee
Or poke me with your elbow.

Can the reader tell the difference
Between a poem that is
Forced, or
One that naturally flows
From mind, to pen, to paper.
A challenge to the reader,
Which is this?
A well constructed masterpiece,
Or a ****** attempt to get back
Into my lost craft?
For all you know
This is my third draft.
Writers are the clowns of the written word.
Can you assume everything that's written is true,
Or do you, the reader, need to be skeptical?
Where did all the trust go?
Was there any trust to begin with?
So reader,
Do you trust me?

There is a wall  
A wall that was built to protect from the harsh realities  
the pain that heart break can bring
judgement that comes with every movement.  

Beyond this wall  blooms a beautiful garden
where things grow wild and free,
innocent and untouched
separated from the evils that destroy.

Entry into this sacred place is not a matter of strength,
for this wall is stronger than steel.
Perseverance and patience,  
loving and tenderness  
are all that will open the gates--  
But none have gone the distance.  

This is where I am.
in my garden by the sea,
away and free.  
I hold the key,  
so none can break me.

The kind words make me cry
I remember the joy they used to bring me
When I hear his soft words
I just want to die
Please wake up the love within me.
If I said I didn’t love you
Would it be a lie
If I told you I hated you
Would it make you cry
If I said it was over
Would you put up a fight
If I said I'm not afraid to lose you
Would you believe I was right?

I have been here before,
     But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
     The sweet, keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,—
     How long ago I may not know:
But just when at the swallow’s soar
     Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall—I knew it all of yore.
Then, now,—perchance again!…
     O round mine eyes your tresses shake!
Shall we not lie as we have lain
     Thus for Love’s sake,
And sleep, and wake, yet never break the chain?