The brevity of your words is a gift for me
You painted my whole world of what I need to see
There's the sun and the moon, as day and night
Your words always shine on me, my forever light

Poetry is a mask in reverse
created from just a mere spark
bringing to light
who we really are
out of the depths of the dark
       Despite ourselves      
we try to hide
in the realms of our daily lives
and then poetry's
visceral therapy
weaves magic spells
from our fingers
     right out
                 of our minds
Suddenly, there is no choice
but to allow those masks
to be dropped
like a sudden change of fancy
at a medieval ball:
Naked eyes for coverings
are swapped
Yes…the command is given
ornate masks slip
with a splat upon
the floor
Suddenly, all dancers look
upon each other's faces
discovering treasures
they knew not before
Pregnant silence reigns
and only then
does the true dance begin
in bransles' or corantos' countered moves,
a new quiet
drowns out the din
Let it commence!
in festive air,
all attempts to hide
are in vain
Subtextual glances
and heady music
create sensual tension
profane
      The wine is flowing
smiles glowing
and soon release will
bear fruit
as the dance is danced
without inhibition
and all pretenses
start to uproot
And so it is
in poetry…
All those masks
are thrown down
the words just
                        trip
                              from beyond our lips
making magic
from adjectives and nouns
Now, our words drip upon the paper
revealing the secrets divine
our souls are coaxed out from the layers
melting your
sparkling poets' hearts
into mine

A woman is
Not just some
House-slave-house-
Maid-property.
We are house-of-
God's beauty,
Shrine's not
For ruin.

I wish I was sad because then I can be happy again.  Unlike depression where you hurt yourself so much the previous night and put on a phasade the following day laughing with your friends.  Ive lost myself alive. Depression,  my favourite nightmare to be lucid in. I die in it and I feel myself sinking into a void.

I love black and people ask me why I respond and say that's my soul.  I am forever thinking about our conversations, thinking  of the almost I love you at the back of my heart.  Too often,  I love you blindly.  I fear that once you see who and what iam will have you crippled.  I want to open the doors that will lead you to my soul.

you may not accept my demons of the secret place and I do not want to chase you away. Every compliment you throw at me takes a piece of my soul. I want to submit to your love.

too often, I love you silently, too often I go on about how it doesn't last long. I put such little effort in trying to be happy and when I see you, so much comes out even though I may not show it. The ink, it runs out.  You are poetry to me and your name is by far my favourite metaphor.  You have left a fingerprint on my soul and it will forever stay there regardless of when you leave. Maybe, I like or love you too brutally? I forbid you to have anymore involvement in me.  You are going to leave anyway in the winter.  You are going to claim to be hurt when you leave but I am going to stay here bleeding.

I will let it be and let you go.
Till whenever.  Goodbye.
I am angry, sad but whatever.
I hate that you know how I feel.