I spend too many nights thinking
Wondering, writing, dreaming
Of someone who doesn't even think of me

You can always tell a self destructive writer
By their poetry

Because sometimes they are redundant
And other times they are expressing pain

But they always tell a story of being hurt
And locked into their own head

But this my dear, is why they write
Because the person in their head is trying to get out

Self destructive writers
Are usually dark

But when they are light
They tell you how perfect you are

So that you don't do the same thing
That they did to themselves

Self destructive writers
Don't want you to make their scars
On your arms

Never fall in love with a poet.
They will break you apart
like stanzas.
You are a metaphor,
a simile, an oxy-
*****.
Never fall in love with a poet.
They will tear you apart
like a rough draft,
burn you, and then
call it art.

© A. Leigh

I'm here sitting
alone,
the smell of coffee runs through
my veins,
some music i probably will forget
in a few years arguing with
the thought of you,

But I'm here,
I'm here,
writing about what's happening

pretty boring huh?

i call myself a poet
but i can't use high metaphors,

i call myself a poet
but i can't describe fully
how you make me feel

i call myself a poet

but what am i?

I'm just a kid
scared of life
finding new ways to cope
searching for someone to love,
desperate,
not holding unto my dreams
how can i choose with my mind
what's right for the heart to choose.

and you see?
don't you see?

don't worry i can't either

i can't see how great i am
i can't see how other people see me
i wish i could.

i want to believe this was a dream
or
a nightmare at that.

But at last.
I'm here wishing that in another life
i could be with you,
or
maybe in other deaths,

i crave your touch,
i crave you..
with coffee waking up my senses
like a kid in summer waking up early
to go play with his friends.

i wish things were different,
so i wouldn't have to wish.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.