In your city
I called you home,
a place where I decided to stay longer.
In your city
I was in love.

i'm not in love.
not in love with the way
your eyes follow
my every move.
not in love with the way
you run your fingertips
across my skin,
memorizing every detail.
not in love with the way
you make me smile.
not in love with the way
you make the overwhelming
noise of life quiet,
even if it's just for a moment.
i'm not in love,
but so what if i was?

Now that
                  I
                     Know
                                You
Exist
How
Do
I not
         Love
                    You

i write
but not really

i'm a poet
but not really

somewhere between broken hearts
and putting them back together
i forgot how to pick up the pen

i was so busy piecing myself back together that
i forgot how to put pieces of a sentence together

it doesn't hurt to write and
i want to scream but
there is a calm dull throbbing silence

i write
but not really

i'm a poet
but not really

i think you have to bleed to write
i stopped bleeding when i ran out of blood
i think you have to cry to write
i stopped crying when i ran out of tears

sometimes i wish i was broken again
because this silence isn't much better and
screaming felt good and
not having the words feels worse.

you have to be in touch with your emotions to write poetry
i am not in touch with my emotions

i write
but not really

i'm a poet
but not really

Someone asked me to draw
Draw what heartbreak looks like
I finally got tired of drawing a broken heart
And I started drawing you

Don't look into the eyes of the monster,
You won't like your reflection in them.

The kinetic energy
contained in this resting pencil
will soon be let out
in accelerated shouts and whispers
and the odd word of wisdom.
Just wait.
You'll see.

"It is never too late to be
what you might have been."