The water in your body is just visiting

Its making it's way through

And leaking out the eyes

I swear by it it's all true

The breath you take stays

But not for long

It leaves with each laugh and sigh

It's hard to love it wrong

Sound bounces in and out

Remember takes effort or less

And the sounds echoes the skies

And the sound never leaves a mess

I don't know how to be alone with myself
Which is funny because I'm always alone

The snow falls ya mom calls and you bury the bone
While I cry in the mirror because I hate my face

I'm driving there's curves she says slow the pace
Still tractions just fine so I guess we see the next day

The rhyme fails the flows crap and I forgot how to pray
Still I write poetry and hope you'll read it anyways

The concept of sin
Breathes knives down my back

The ice melts in the distant sun
Make-up begins to run
Sweat sticks heavy to the skin

The moon freezes each bone
The wind picks up a new tone
The ice is still to thin

The eraser leaves a trace
Irons never pick up every crease
Bleach can't pick up every stain

Colors meld back together
The lines are as faint as a feather
Canvases left too plain

Wells run dry in vain
Deserts forget the taste of rain
The grass slowly dies

Dam walls break
Waves make cities quiver and quake
Showers keep away the flies

Light ruins the perfect takes
Sunshine illuminates mistakes
Blinding the soul

Night revels in fears
The shadows reach always nears
The dark takes its toll

Still forgiveness reaches through
God heals all wounds

Snowing
Winter glowing
Through the breeze

Steps
Two quips
Through my ear

Singing
Echoes beaming
In the night

Silently
Smiling gently
At the future

He told me he loved how
I could put my reality into words
and now
they're all about him

He told me he wanted to be a romantic
have words flow out of him like birds
instead of caged and frantic
little did he know that's all they ever are

Someone asked
for a poem
about flowers
in your hair

Two weeks ago I would write it about daisies
peonies
and sunflowers that seem to match your style

A week ago I would write about the thorns from roses
the way it decomposes
when you leave them sit for a long while

Today I stare at the dried flowers on my wall
wishing you'd call
making a flower crown from dried flowers that made me smile