what an artist you are
your touch is like poetry,
your caress like a brushstroke,
as if my skin was a canvas
and you were so inspired
you couldn’t keep your hands tied

always afraid
she kept looking for
monsters
under her bed
without realizing
the real monster
was sleeping
next to
her

most of my feelings go unsaid,
my truth remains unspoken

keeping secrets under my skin
feels like healing what is broken

this love feels
like the oldest tree,
that has lived many lives
and still has many more to live;
that looses its leaves at fall
but revives at spring;
that you could try to explain with poetry
but you never actually will

I read the poetry I can’t feel
And write the stories I cannot live

You say that I’m too good
and you don’t want to hurt me
But honey, don’t you see?
You can’t hurt a hurting soul,
nor can you break a broken heart

i fell for you
i trusted you
i cried for you
i begged for you

you broke me
you lied to me
you wrecked me
you laughed at me

i got fixed
i learned
i grew
i left.

when i see the moon
it reminds me of your eyes
and the sun at rise
reminds me of your touch;
the sky is my dream
and it reminds me of you
so please, do not
take it away
from me
no matter what you do

we are a waste
of love;
of moments;
of joy;
of beauty,
but never
of time.