I sometimes get a message,
especially from your name.

I often read it several times,
and contemplate as to why.

Why do you keep sending?
Why can't I let go?
Why do I still keep them?
Why do you mean so very much to me?
And why do I still try?

All these questions I can never speak aloud,
bet secretly,
very deep down,
I know the answer to them all,
It's because,
from the very first word you had me completely enthralled.

I never want to stop talking to you,
but I suppose that's the only way,
for us to become better people,
we will have to separate.

You know so much about me,
all my hopes and wistful dreams,
the truth is I must release,
before you grow tired of me.

I lust for you so much,
And I know that I always have,
the times I've slept thinking of you,
are some of the most wonderful ones I've had.

I said I'd never write sad poetry,
or at least not about you,
but I have only just noticed,
how hard this is for me to do.

So goodbye my darling,
I assure that you're the love of my life,
but times have changed,
and with that I've grown certain that you no longer want me as your wife.

My brain will be the death of me,
I realised late one night,
everything that goes on inside leads to my own fight.

It makes me want to explode,
I wish I didn't over think,
I'm forever getting pushed to my absolute brink.

Some times I want to silence it,
no kind words will make this stop,
I often feel as though my skull is just about to pop.

The problems will still flow,
But life continues to progress,
but one day I will discover how to banish all this stress.

some people like to say,
'a poem's not a poem until you make it rhyme'
in some respect I guess that's true,
but the most important thing is
getting your thoughts out on every line.

some people like to say,
'you aren't a writer if your work's not published'
but in truth that's not the case,
as long as you enjoy yourself,
you can jot until contented.

some people say
'you can't write about that'
but truthfully there are no boundaries,
just do what comes easy,
let your mind go on journeys.

so when a person tells you you're no good
or enforces you to stop,
let them know you're a jotter,
a scrawler,
a hoper,
a dreamer,
and none of their words let you drop.

I write about you,
I wonder if you've guessed.

My pen hits paper,
and my fingers tap the keys,
each time revealing,
a small portion of me.

My life and my troubles,
all on one page.

The feelings you give,
it's here I reflect,
on all of the worries I have,
a way in which I can recollect.

these aren't just words,
they are scribbles of me.

it's as if a ghost,
wondering, no way to go.

hovering the same as incense,
it's own luminous light as a guide.

no eyes to see,
just trust and hope.

you can look right through,
not even slightly opaque.

This freedom it has,
drifting through large expanse.

It's a beat that flows in my blood,
a complex tune in my soul,
a hum that leads to flood,
a rhythm that can't grow old.

It's a thing I can't shake away,
these feelings that rush through me,
the moment I press play.