I remember the “reset” button
on my Sega Genesis
and my N64 as a child.
With a quick **** of my hand,
all my mistakes, and problems
could be solved.
I’d get a fresh start,
a new chance to win what I lost.
Almost every single day
I wish for a “reset” button on life.
Instead, I’ll have to settle
for an incomplete game
with achievements unlocked,
with no extra content,
and the lowest of low scores.

Sometimes I wonder if
I’m the only one who sees my gift
as a curse,
and my curse as a gift.

Please tell me all your secrets,
I’ll listen so very intensely,
I know I could never beat this;
intrigue consumes me so immensely.
Tell me all your little stories
from your birth until today,
I swear there’s so much there for me,
not one is boring regardless of what you say.

I’m an aspiring archeologist
wishing to discover your bones
I’ll take detailed notes in a list,
from the gravel to the stones.
I’ll dig as deep as you permit,
carefully brushing away the dust,
gently admiring bit by bit,
proving I’m someone you can trust.

Please tell me all the thoughts in your head,
the ones before you sleep and while awake.
A novel that’s new each time I’ve read,
each detail I’ll comb and rake.
Speak every word that comes to mind,
I crave to step inside your brain,
I know there’s hidden corners for me to find,
and so much understanding left to gain.

I’m an aspiring architect
wishing to build you to the sky,
every support beam I’ll personally inspect,
protecting any damage low or high.
I’ll construct only to your designs
ensuring you’ll never break and never bust,
producing the math and drawing the lines,
to prove you’ll be the only thing to never rust.

Please tell me all your deepest fears
so I can prepare myself to stand toe to toe,
the ones that cause sleepless nights and tears,
those are my one and only foe.
Tell me about the world you see,
how it looks through your bright eyes,
so I can express it creatively,
and paint you the perfect skies.

I’m an aspiring starving artist
wishing to illustrate every aspect of you,
you can criticize and say I’m blinded by the mist,
but every poem and portrait will be true.
There’s no explaining this pure bliss,
but I’ll make up new words and colours if I must,
as you’re the only thing that I ever miss,
proving this is love not just lust.

I am unsure what is worse;
seeing you in my dreams,
or not at all.
Each way provides
hurt and sadness,
and the realization that you’re gone and never coming back.

Today I realized I’m responsible
for the destructive crash
that brought me to where I am.
There were quite a few red lights,
but I ignored them completely.
After all, it’s the green lights
that always look so beautiful
when you are out at night.

I’m being wished
a “happy world poetry day”
and I just wish to
correct the calendar.
As Poetry day is your birthday,
it’s Valentines Day,
it’s the day you came into my life.
Darling,
I’ve been a writer my whole life,
but you,
you made me a poet.

I would kiss a million girls
just so I could taste your lip gloss,
knowing it would never
taste as sweet on another’s lips.