You have my heart,
in the fragile palm of your hand.

My love for you,
runs deeper than the ocean.

It beats with a purpose,
and that purpose is you.

Stars shine in your eyes,
magnitudes of watercolors dance.

In pools of flowery light,
your spirit of gentleness roams.

Like a gentle lamb,
you love the meadows of gold.

Jumps higher than the sequoias,
you leap with the hope of a child.

What a commotion!
My talent needs promotion!

I can't seem to write.
I really want to fight
whatever's stopping my fingers
because now they over-linger
on the keyboard.

Agh! I really want to write!
But quit I just might!
The words in my head
just want to go to bed,
but I don't want to let them!

Grr, writer's block is frustrating.
I have ideas, I'm ready to verbal *****,
but the something that stops me
I'm really really hating!

It's like there's a transparent wall
between my motivation
and my story ideas.
I can see them,
but I can't use them at all.

Help! I need a bulldozer!
I can't break this wall down!
Ugh, my head hurts from being overused.
I can feel my brain frown.
Come on, dude!

Writer's block, go away,
don't ever come again
another day!

PBTHHH I can't think.
Maybe I can use a hammer
to pound ideas and motivation
into my head.

Okay I'm done.

I still hate writer's block.

Can a broken heart,
be compared to a lily field,
where every stem a sword it wields,
their smiles sweet, their words bitter?

Can aching feet,
be compared to footprints in the sand,
from days of old and days of man,
where journeys traveled over yonder?

Can a hoarse voice,
be compared to howls of dark wolves,
cinnamon tasteless and not of cloves,
when taste buds are uselessly used?

Can red dry eyes,
be compared to blazing suns,
ones that do not walk, but do not run,
and never fly faster than the wind?

Can a senseless poem,
be compared to fickle hearts,
where it depends on a person's part
in their imagination?

they scream in terror and oppress
they know not how much a mess
feeling cold and frightened only with
a purple charcoaled hyacinth

they burned in fires far away
they waste tomorrow and today
with nothing more than ugly tales
of tears of blood and starving wails

they poured salt upon the wounds
of bleeding mothers and their wombs
with a childish knife of rusty black
they stole their lifeblood like a snack

they, vampiric victimed selves,
could not climb off of their shelves
of fear and hatred reigning high
like the quivering leaves of Apenine

if you feel insecure
let me hold you tight
i will love you
when you can't love yourself.

if you start to fall
let me be your wings
i won't let you hit the ground
or at least let me hit it first

when you're in pain
i can try and be your medicine
but i know i can't cure you
unless you let yourself be

don't destroy yourself
i can't keep putting you back together
eventually i'll run out of thread
and my needle is wearing thin

please don't leave because i stayed
don't break me when i'm already so
stop blaming me for hurting you
when i'm the one with the bandaid
and you're the one with the blade.

dear serendipity,

i met you under a lilac sky
with herons flying by
just watching cherry clouds blossom
into the horizon beyond
i remember asking you,
'why do i get to keep you?
why are you here with me?'
and you, with blue eyes,
the color of oceans deep
with a hint of green
and joy unbounded
with sorrow wounded
the eyes of stars above
capture your ability to love,
you replied in a voice mellow
the color of sunset yellow,
you said, 'i am your serendipity,
and that's all it'll ever be.'

i still love you
and you're still my serendipity

love,
me

throw
me
away

let
me
waste
away

tell
me
i'm
okay

that
i'll
live
another
day

with
sand
in between
my
toes

and
fireflies
dancing
in
the
sky

throw
me
away
but
do
it
gently