These stains will never wash out,
Of a carpet you never liked,
Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide,
With a worn and rusted bike,

Maybe the spot where I killed myself,
3 lonely years ago,
I drowned in the shallow waters,
Though it barely reached my toes,

I can't stand to do this to you,
I can see you in my room,
Crying into my old clothes,
Saying "why'd you leave so soon?",

The sunlight washed over my wooden floor,
It's been years since you last came,
I barely cross your mind these days,
Things carried on the same.

I thought i could save you
but i forgot i'm just as mortal
as you.

I'm so glad you love me
                                                                        for who I am

                                  no make up

                                                          hair a mess
                         & freshly awake


                                              and you still find
                                                        the words I've always
                                             wanted to hear..

                                      "You're still beautiful to me"

For such a basic desire


                                                                           is not found so simply

We met
           under a shower
of bird-notes.
           Fifty years passed,
love's moment
           in a world in
servitude to time.
           She was young;
I kissed with my eyes
           closed and opened
them on her wrinkles.
           'Come,' said death,
choosing her as his
            partner for
the last dance, And she,
            who in life
had done everything
            with a bird's grace,
opened her bill now
            for the shedding
of one sigh no
            heavier than a feather.

When I say
I love you
Don't picture my cheeks
Bright red
Or my palms sweaty

When I say I love you
Something breaks inside of me
The walls I worked so hard
To construct all around my heart
They are now teared apart

When I say I love you
I do not say it
To the boy standing in front of me
I profess it to the person you are
Late at night
When your thoughts are blurry
And your eyes are dark.

i think i started five poems just now
trying to find the right words
some days they flow with ease
some days they sound
strained
the backspace button shows
the most wear on my keyboard;
i wish there was a
backspace
for life...
i stared at the screen too long
and it went black
tired of waiting for me to
think of some clever combination of words;
i never set a screensaver
there's something weird about those.
i read a poem the other day
by a poet telling us
what it takes to be
a poet
but i think anyone can be
whatever they want;
who are we to judge
when we are always writing
about those who
judge us?
our species is endangered
in this age of mindlessness
we are the catalyst
for creativity
the embers of the fire
started by the great minds
of ancient times...
will we let it die completely
or will we succeed
at rekindling its
greatness?