You catch your flight tomorrow.
Wow.
That week flew by.
Where did the time go?
I'm not ready to say goodbye.
A year.
A year till you're back.
*******.
So much can happen in a year.
So much happened in a week.
So it's been 2 days.
Then 6 weeks.
Then 8 days.
One whole year.
This heartache is gonna linger for a long long time.
Breathing my air through you has been the most amazing experience.
Rooftop kisses.
And other things.
Intertwined in each other.
Cool September air.
Our skin.
God.
I'm gonna miss you

613

They shut me up in Prose—
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet—
Because they liked me “still”—

Still! Could themself have peeped—
And seen my Brain—go round—
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason—in the Pound—

Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Abolish his Captivity—
And laugh—No more have I—

it was late one winter night
when I first realized
I was fighting a war I would never win
a fight that was fought within my own skin
skin that I realized
I would never feel comfortable in
now
I look at freckles like name tags
scars like reminders
and bruises as memories
that I wish I did not remember
I've since become accustomed to
long sleeves and blue jeans
and people asking things
like "how did you get that one?"
"oh, the door," I would quietly say,
never to tell that the door
had a name.

Do you suppose the essence of humanity tastes like cinnamon?
Does ecstasy destroy anticipation?
Have we ever lived?
Does the hurt fool reflect by drinking and shooting his gun?

I enjoy laughing at my missing lack of wealth....or was it health?
I definitely kept steady figures, in either case

This makes no sense, but at least it kept you entertained for a few minutes.

That was rude.

With a quill over paper
For muse, we are excavators
We pour out our hearts
So joy, love, peace to impart
To hold a torch over emotional darkness
To fill each others hollowness
Its for the love we write

When we write
We are called poets
A name fitting and right
But your theft just says you are mentally poor
Reducing you further to a mere thief
And nothing close to a P
Not to talk of a poet.

The moon is not a thing you can steal
Trust me its pure folly
That's a dumb idea to conceive
Posting others' poems
Posting like a poet?
Like seriously
How does that sound to 'your' hearing?
DUMB
Even so, to even dare, you must be too dumb to realize its dumb

To acknowledge is not so hard
Its just adding one more line on your pad
I want to deceive myself that you are not too dumb to know that
If you didn't know, now you do.

PS: You could post my poem
That does not make you a poet
It just makes you a thief
Suffice it to say, the worst kind
Without robbing me of the fact that I'm a POET