I'm a thinker; master over my own mind.

Engaged in the intricate way words spindle together
through my ever racing mind.
The room is beautifully silent but in that created a scene so loud
it was unexpectedly ear shattering;
maddening it was.

Now I'm no longer in control of my thoughts
but instead a slave to the voice that no one else hears.

she leaves
everything
on a page,
all her sorrow,
her love
and her rage,
and I truly believe
she will write
herself free
of the jailers
who fastened
her cage.

She fell in love with an astronaut,
their distance lightyears away.
She believes that he fell in love with her, too.
“For the galaxies are beside me, and a vast of possibilities laying
outside the metal surrounding me,
i kept falling back into your pull of gravity.”
And she still does, when she grows old every day, waiting
he stays the same, feels the same, thinks the same.

But she fell in love with an astronaut,
their distance lightyears away.
Everything under her feet moves faster,
And in space - time slows down, Relativity kicks in.
And every day she wishes, that the Earth would stop revolving
the years stop counting, and
she would stay the same, feel the same, think the same.
She hoped, she dreamed, she failed.

She fell in love with an astronaut.
Her nights linger on tinkering on stars
and planets, and space. She wanted to wait,
she grows old, he slows it down, she couldn’t.
He is lightyears away, and time is running out.
She was in love with an astronaut,
and he was meant to be there, not with her,
not ever.

if you have no one to write about
then how could you write about something
if you've never been in love
then how could you write about loving
has it ever been mutual?
if you have nothing to cry about
then how could you smile for something
cause after the rain comes the sun
but it's not shining or warming
what does this do to you?
I thought the wonders were beautiful
until I wander to you wonder if you even think that you're beautiful
these poems are nothing to you
but I keep on writing cause it's the only way to get through to you
I think I'm starting to hate writing poetry
I'm just sick of this poetr--
if you have someone to write about
you will always find them in something
if you have someone to dream about
maybe you'll dream of the wonders
has the view ever been so beautiful?
if you cry with tears of joy
will you smile with your heart too
cause when the sun isn't present
can stars and the moon make you beautiful
look inside and see star of the north
I've been guided straight to you
The nights I spend alone and I cannot find you, the sky is too polluted
The last time I saw you I wandered to a wonder and was amazed by the view
now I just wonder if you ever wander making it harder to find you
I hope that I'll find you