All poems are love poetry.
Love of language and wordplay;
Love of order and rhyme;
Love of lines and rhythms
     (yes, and capitals and punctuation);
Love of insight;
Love of sharing;
Love of caring;
Love of instruction;
Love of day and night;
Love of stars and moon;
Love of reading and writing.
Yes, even hate poems
Are Love Poems.

We draw them in sand,
On sidewalks and crime scenes;
We adore them on Granny,
Abhor them on maps.
On chalkboards, I will not...
In Clubs, Don't I know you...
In poems we can hear them
Playing songs of I love you...
A line is infinite,
Yet begins with a dot;
Those lines run right through us,
Like it or not.

My
         WEAKNESS
                             Has
                                       DIED....

It
        Has
                         REINCARNATED
                                                   
                                              Into
  
  
                                                    **STRENGTH

I remember
When I wanted the world in the palm of my hands.
When I crave for adventure
When I was hungry for experiences.
I remember
When I stood up for what I loved
When I push my body to the extreme
When I said no to the sad life.
But now I feel
Emptiness,
Useless,
colorless,
Now I want death on the palm of my hands
I don't no longer know who I am..

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Sugar is sweet,
And so are you.



But the roses have wilted,
And the violets are dead,
The sugar bowl is empty,
And my wrist are stained red.