you write beautiful words

you always amaze

the way your mind
forms each intricate phrase
to put on paper
for my eyes to gaze

some of your poems
are well thought out
others are thrown together
simply, without any doubt

you write beautiful words
they expose you
every little detail
exposes the reader too

you write differently
than I ever could
you speak honestly in I way
that I never would

your words are as beautiful as your mind

I don’t know what I’m doing wrong
I read this poem to my mom
and you know how she chose to respond?
with a soft grunt that was truly withdrawn

she doesn’t seem to have a care
for what I might choose to share
I used to leave my soul out bare
but now I voice my thoughts elsewhere

you always were my muse
for good times
and for bad times
I always had you

I wrote poems filled with anger
others filled with lust
some with loving phrases
some with hateful verses

you were always my muse
when I was struggling
I had you to write about
everyday there was something new

maybe that was part
of our day to day battle
fighting for something
while fighting over nothing

fighting to feel anything
fighting about dumb things
up and down
back and forth

you always were my muse
and this poem proves
that without my consent
I guess you still are

I have pictures hanging on my wall
inside the thin black frames
are portraits of flowers
to which I don’t know the names

some may call them boring
maybe even too plain
but to me they are perfect
they make me feel more sane

the light blue flowers
on the stark white canvas
lighten the room
and suppress my madness

as I memorize them
every night before bed
I’m overwhelmed by their beauty
and it begins to clear my head

when I close my eyes
I can see those flowers
as I remember every detail
I stay calm for hours

people come and go
leave a mark
on my fragile heart
a meaningful stamp

brief interactions
I'll remember for a while
returning a small smile
being in my life

curious, humans
change all the time
leaving isn't a crime
I understand that