The only true Mistakes are those you repeat.

O Darling,
I try
& I try
& I try
& I cry
& I cry.

O Sugar,
I can't kiss you with just words,
I can't stroke you with my pen
or make real love to you
with my passionate-verse.

O Sweet Baby,
the best I can ever do
will never be good enough
& sadly,
eventually,
leave both of us
crying
alone.

i have racked my mind
trying to figure this whole thing out
the staying, the going
the threads we claim hold us here
& the people who've stopped to play a tune on them
i sometimes relate it
to waking up in waist deep snow
in our former selves
the us we wish we could give one another
the children we've sat on the shelves
trapped, like the looks
we leave behind in snow globes
i sometimes imagine ships
dragging the bottom to the sea of "me"
for sleep & pieces of my old self
to sell to the new one
like history doesn't repeat itself
it gets me wondering
if you too want an apology from the rain
or if you dream of burning family photo albums
and wearing the ashes like perfume
if you're anything like me
how i hope god chokes
on memories of me blowing out candles as a child
i know i shouldn't reference my reader  
but don't you know, the only difference
between alone & lonely is you?
that if my hands could talk
the only thing they'd be able to say
is "dear god we've missed you"
and how can you tell me it isn't love
when even the rain refuses to fall
in places where i've kissed you
i remember the day
you found my smile at a yard sale
it reminds me of how you'll leave
i wonder if when you go
you'll tell yourself
the person in the rear view mirror
is closer than they appear

Anyone who disses you for your style
is merely too ashamed of themselves
to allow their own style to shine through.

If it makes you happy
and it doesn't hurt others,
then do it without shame,
for it is only because others have done the same
that any established style exists at all.

I
have
written
one
hundred
twenty-
seven
poems
about
you.
Please
­let
me
go.