I do not write because my poems are good
Nor do  write to truly feel
I merely write because I have worth
In these words that are so real

I don’t consider myself a great writer
And I don’t write as a simple pass time
I write because I define myself
In every syllable and every rhyme

I write because I live in words
And breathe in each sentence
And honestly it brings me peace
To write of my repentance

I think that pain is easier to speak of
When I don’t have to use actual words
And people listen a lot better
And my statements don’t go unheard.

Writing my only escape
From the sadness I always dwell
And writing my happiness
The only way to reverse this spell.

I write because its right
I do it because I know I was meant to
I write so my brokenness isn't forgotten
I truthfully write for you.

"Do you...?"
The elder asked in late September,
It wasn't difficult, I knew the answer,
But still I paused, briefly undisturbed
And every detail, I suddenly remembered:

Glancing look
Batting eye
Short of breath
Long sigh.

Chest pocket
Slightly pounds,
Deep breath...
"Nice to meet you"

Charming smile,
Class Monday,
First touch,
Dinner Friday?  

Silent pause,
Checks calender
"That'll work!"
Phone number.

Sweating palms
Nerves swell
Deep breath...
Doorbell.

Dad's request,
Home at eight,
"Movie premier?"
Second date.

Hand in mine,
Afraid to miss,
Eyes close,
First kiss.

Throat tightens
Tears form
First fight
Cheeks warm.

Things I said,
Were never true,
You see... Because..
Well... "I love you."

Bended knee
Golden band
White box
Take my hand?

Five maids
Five men
White dress
Violin.

Chest pocket,
Slightly pounds.
Sweating palms,
Nerves swell.
Throat tightens,
Tears form;
"Do you..?"

The elder asked in late September,
It wasn't difficult, I knew the answer.

Maybe I'm the person who backs away from compliments
Who sits on the sideline to watch the nights events
The one who doesn't like the spotlight on her
Who has a feeling she's got the answer but isn't sure..

Maybe I'm the person who sits on her hands in class
You know, that person who always avoids the mass
The one who doesn't do well with the crowded halls
Who always looks away from the teacher when she calls

Maybe I'm the person who hides behind book covers
Because the books tell of dragons, fairies and lovers
Worlds where she's the princess, soon to be queen
Or a kickass ninja fighting robot machine

Maybe my imagination takes me to far away places
Maybe I imagine the friendliest faces
Maybe that's because no one in reality was friendly
Maybe you should look at me and see me differently.

- E.A.F

Well i've been driving on my own
i've been stuck on rocky time
and i've been praying for a signal
I've been begging for a sign

...from Colorado
maybe that's where i'll go

She's been flowing over passes
She's been moving through the trees
and I can hear her on the wind
oh I can feel her in the breeze

...Colorado
maybe thats where she'd go.

i don't write
to please anyone
i don't write
for attention
i don't write
for compliments
i don't write
to make anyone fall in love with me

i write
because i feel
i write
because i need to
i write
because my mind is too loud
i write
because my mouth is too quiet