She was here
Again last night,
She shows up
In my dreams;
She slipped her arm
In mine, held tight,
And called me
By my name.
I can't say for sure,
You know what dreams are like,
But I felt her here,
As if awake,
How I love the night.

its been long enough
that the memories
are starting to fade
from the glare
of reality.
but the one moment
i still feel
as vividly now
as i did then
is when he stared into
my deepest parts and whispered
this? this right here? its real.

the only thing i feel
more vividly than that
is the hurt from realizing
**it wasn't true

Writing my lines
With my infant ties
Blessed with treasures
Of Muse profusions
Canned in tin
Of seizure of ink

I cling to my sheet
Narrating my hit
In me,
Millennia thirst
Broken by mercy
Given by poetry
But not by poets

I read their lines
Recite them like mine
Inspiring me
To Take bback my jagon
And shading me
From being myself.

I see myself
As a shining star
Glittering from far
Scared of war
Between the sun
and moon

I saw the moon
Flashing the land
With marvelous musings
Guiding my pen
But I suffer from
Seizure of ink

Poetry:
For me it used to be the release of all the things I was holding inside, but now I see it was really just a way for me to hide.
Hide from you, or him, or maybe even myself: put some words on some pages to silence the growing cries for help
I saw that you were beautiful, and I held on.
Maybe I tried to push you away, maybe I knew you wouldn’t stay,
Maybe it was me creating my own self destruction or maybe it was the way you craved my construction
My construction of you from the pieces I found, the pieces I found that had been laying on the ground

But maybe you were just beyond fixing and maybe I should have never picked up tools in the first place.