If he really loved you...
If he really loved me, what?
I suffer from Fernweh constantly,
Which horribly translates to wanderlust in English
Read the irony;
Still, I am traveling.
His blue eyes gallivant for a split second,
Sensible to where his mind escapes to,
I let him.
I go fetch him water
He sneaks up from behind
Never turning around,
He sees my soul full frontal.
If he really loved you...
If I really loved him, I know
What works

He is foreign land,
And I do not own a map.

Half a life
Half a love
Undivided submission;

Half-hearted
I am utterly devoted
To lesser moments.

Between the sheets
The mind drifts
In search of atonement;

Part-time wrong
Entirely yours
An inevitable outcome.

It is living half a life
Accepting half love
Full-time;

My light,
Take me out of the dark

The courage within to say goodbye.

I will **** you with a metaphor
My feelings censored
Behind beautiful words.

I dare not say it to your face
The euphemism
When I am burning with anger.

Toying with the void
Here I concoct
The right expression;

My sweet weapon
Retort with an oxymoron.

Then nothing; no paradox or pun
I am even at a loss for a rhyme.

For when our eyes meet
It is poetry I read,
Without a word
We say it all.

I'm fine
When I am
I'm fine
When I am not
I'm fine
Whenever I am asked.

I am tormented
On the brink of madness
If I go through
Yet another sleepless night
Whenever I am asked,
I'm fine.

We talk more
Smile and joke
They are
The wrong words.

I am worried
Ashamed of breaking
I am crying for help
I will say
I'm fine
Instead.

I'm fine
When I am
I'm fine
When I am not
I'm fine
When I am everything but.

The biggest lie
The truth behind
Listen,
I am not.

What is the sound of love
But sweet nothings
I whisper to myself

The sound of heartbreak
But your silence
When I say them.

When is the time right
To float on cloud nine

When it is time
To fall flat-faced on the ground.

It stings
To have a wrong fixed

To be set free
A pillow wet with tears.

What is heartbreak
But sweet everythings
I whisper in your ear

The sound of love
But my words pounding
Through your heart.

Is it nostalgia,
Habit or that little culprit

The awakening
Once more
The heart dropped
As if you were never gone

We ignore the signs
That tear us apart
Though history taught us
We are not enough

Love with you,
In perpetuity, and never sure
I can without
But I would rather not.

She lives the poetry she cannot write
Not her words,
A life that became hers.
She has written fiction,
Dreams and speculations;
Until all turned into a tale
She did not long to put on paper.

She writes the poetry she cannot live
Her words,
Gives life when it is not hers.
She has had desires,
Loss and tantrums;
Turned nightmares into tales
On any piece of paper.

She lives the poetry she cannot write
Not her words,
A love that finally became hers.
She has written fiction,
Heartache and expectations;
That embrace in her coffee place
He took away her pen.