It's funny how people tell me I'm strong, tough
Independent
But some things make me so weak
My will breaks easily and I fall
I'm not talking about physical weakness
Nor any type of physiological frailty
My mind and heart are the problem
And sometimes I wonder
Were the tinman and scarecrow wrong?
True, there is benefit in having a heart
And yes, a mind has much to offer
But the heart remembers you
The mind aches with pain
And I'm tired of being broken
I know I can be sweet
Kindness is little problem
But does one need a heart to be kind?
Perhaps its absence would suit me better
And if I think, I think so often of the past
What could have been, what might have been
And I think(hah think) that maybe
Losing my mind wouldn't be so bad
So tell me heart, and you also mind
What is your great redeeming quality?
I'm dying to know

Peek through the bushes
Look through the vines
What lies there in the clearing?
Bleached white and draped in green strands
A mouse climbs over
Worms squirm under
A fox pup comes along and sniffs around
Nudging a white bowl in curiosity
But look! now the bleached object moves
A few pale digits twitch
The bowl rolls over and its plain to see
This is no jumble of old dry sticks
This is not a set of hoops and a ball
It's a sleeping skellington
No, don't worry; it's not dead
It's a living skellington, Daddy!

I'm sitting here
Reading these words you wrote for me
It wasn't really that long ago
But it seems like ages
And now I'm thinking about you and me
I'm not the same person you wrote to
I don't feel the same either
And what about you?
You said 'I love you'
Even wrote this poem to say it
But now we're a bit estranged
I know I can get on without you
And even though it hurts, I'm fine
So what about you?
What are you feeling now?
What are you thinking?
And I have to wonder
Are you ever curious about me?

Here, hold out your hands
Don't drop what I give you
Please don't be repelled
See? It's not so bad
Mucous and slime won't hurt
Blood and water won't burn
Do you feel it beating?
Can you sense its pulse of life?
It's living because of you
It feeds off of your emotion
But don't worry, it replenishes
What it takes, and more
What you give it will take
And what you take it will give
It will not strike out and
Will not harm you
You are in complete control
If you so deign to **** it
Then do it and swiftly
It will follow you and be yours
Forever and always
So as you receive my gift,
I ask you, please be nice
After all, it is my heart you play with

I wish for one thing only: wings
Why wings, you ask?
Well, they've so much to offer
I wish for wings to fly
To soar through the clouds
To dance circles around you
To fly closer to you
I wish for wings to embrace
To shelter myself when I'm lonely
To hold you closer when we hug
To shield our kisses from prying eyes
I wish for wings to love
To caress your cheeks with wingtips
To tickle friends with feather touches
To brush snow and leaves from your grave
I wish for wings to be strong
To help me flee those who hurt
To comfort myself with their presence
To remind people that angels do exist

I don't really know what to write anymore
I've got bits and bobs and puzzling pieces of poems
Floating through my mind
But I can't put them to paper
I know what to say and how and why
But cannot
I could write about love and life,
But I'm tired of that
I can write about butterflies and doodles of
Flying cheesy donuts or a land whale
But nope. That's too boring for me for now
Lethargy and apathy are taking over for now
So my inspiration tree is a little wilted.
So here's to another lack-of-inspiration poem
And another ode to boredom.

I think that if you were to look at my heart,
Not my mass of blood-pumping tissues and arteries,
But my real heart, the metaphorical, emotional one,
I believe you'd find a glass bowl
Delicate, thin, transparent and fragile
Carefully pumping not blood, but emotion
And as bowls and vases do, it would have an orifice on top
Into the hole are thrown little pebbles, bit stones, junk, debris
All the metaphorical cast-offs from real injuries
Cruel words and nasty deeds
Enter through the eyes and ears
And along the way from some sort of unwanted material
The larger the crime, the more serious the harm, the larger the stone
Thus it falls into my glass heart
Perhaps chipping an edge or cracking against the sides
And the added weight is a strain on the silicate walls
More and more pile in until it cracks
Let's out a squeal of shattering protest, and out pours
The hurt, the pain, the angst
Unless, some kind and gentle words,
The warmth of an embrace, a kiss, a murmur
Or strokes of encouragement and love come along
Patching up the little nicks and scratches
Pulling out a few of the stones, some new, some old,
And healing the scars that can't be seen