Isn't it lovely
When pervy men
Pop up in your DM box
And try to make you feel
That you are a failure

Hmm
Someone's pen
Is thicker than his ****

The only part of my day
That I look forward to
Is when I go to bed
And lay there making up scenarios
In my head.

I think of comebacks
To 8th grade bullies.
I think of witty retorts
To my mother's snide comments.
I think of intelligent things to add
To conversations I had months ago.

I think of all the things
I was too scared to say.

And in my mind
I say them.
And pretend how things would be different
If only I had the courage to speak.

You told me you
              Couldn't find your way
                                     In your darkest nights
So I left you a star
               A star in every poem
                               To find your way home

Sweeter than the song of a nightingale 
Gentler than the whisper of a spring wind
Quieter than the murmur of  summer  grass 
Softer than the symphony of hyacinths 

Hypnotic like the splash of blue seas
Tinkling like a stream that flows 
Mesmerizing like the cadence of rain 
Enchanting like the hush  of snow 

Like the faint breath of a scarlet dawn 
The rustle of clouds on a turquoise high 
A duet of  night and an ivory moon
A Capella of  stars in the sky

A hymn, a chant, a choir of angels 
Singing  on a rainbow of time 
Celestial is the serenade of love  
A tune and a note divine.

I.

No, don't go now. Please
don't go now; the fog is creating ghosts
out of people and we're breathing clouds out of our mouths.
Tell me about that time when you held your breath
under the lake for six years and still survived;
tell me how if I do that, it'll never work.
I'm not a sea God
any more.

II.

My knees tell better stories than my tongue
ever did, please don't; wretched hive harangues
the mind in a plague, can't you see I'm holding you down
and telling you you're all I ever wanted,
you're all I ever wanted; your head is the stuff of dreams
you're all I ever wanted; you can put your arm
right through me and only feel mist;
I am fog. I'm creating ghosts out of you.

III.

Make it up to me in a rainbow of hues of grey;
at the end of it I'm holding my ribs open. I've never
been more colourful and sad at the same time.
You're the mirrors to my house; stay
has always sounded better than don't go

yet neither seems to work anymore.