I don't write love poems anymore;
I sleep until noon and eat *** cakes for breakfast

I don't sing love songs anymore;
I cut off all my hair and dyed it a color he told me never to do

I don't read love stories anymore;
I pierced my nose and ate mushrooms underneith the stars

I don't write love notes anymore;
I read my books at diners in the middle of the night and paint just because I can

I live with tenacity and I haven't had a regret since I left


I'm glad I don't write love poems anymore

The hurt does not go away
it keeps me up at night
struggling still,have I done
all I've done for right.

You live inside my memory
torment my weary soul,
the tears I've shed
how blind you are,
you will never know.

The time goes by
a precious gift
that never will return,
I try to lay what has died to rest
but I just cant let go.

My soul lay torn in pieces
what will it take to mend,
I long to see the sun
and feel joy once again.

She said her thoughts
Swirled around
In her head
Like a merry go round
Children dead
Completely empty
But still going
Round and round
Without anyone knowing

I clasped upon you holding ever tighter,
Seizing the moment of heightened affection.
We enveloped ourselves in this instant
Caressing our hearts with this *embrace.

"I am, I am, I am."
  her words rest on the page
she wrote this at peaks of hopefulness,
     when courage wrapped around her
neck instead of a rope.

but for me the words keep beating
     through me, endlessly, with my heartbeat
            but I am not hopeful,
       nor being held by courage.

           What am I?
I am ... alone
     I am ... empty
            I am ... missing him

how cliche of me to say.


I think of him,
    I can't help it.
his scent washing over me,
     drowning in his cologne,
choking me.

    "I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart,
                           I am,
                                     I am,
                                               I am."