Perhaps I was just,
Another notch on your belt,
Of the 84 women you've ever dated.

I like to think,
What we had was far deeper,
For it lasted four times longer,
Than any of your others.

But you moved right on,
As if we had been nothing,
But a gust of wind in the summer:
Beautiful, but fleeting

I am a poet
and my words bleed my blood
they say what I feel
and breath through my lungs

Here I am sitting on a park bench
thinking about you

Yes, I miss you wildly
No, I will not crawl back

Being without you has made me tougher
I no longer rely on you and your quick, witty humor to get me through the day

So, as the sun falls,
and a new day begins,
I don't need you
The world is calling my name
for better things
that you may not be a part of


But, then again,
I wouldn't mind if you came along

Time,
Where I used to find my rhymes with relative ease,
But lately there's been something haunting me,
Making me blind to the pictures plastered on the inside of my eyelids
It wasn't always like this
The words used to overflow from the tight confines of my mind
And now they're getting hard to find,
The length of time between each coherent rhyme has steadily multiplied until now where I can only truly define one singe line at a time,
People keep asking me, "Why don't you write more?"
Because honestly writing has become a chore, until now
Because instead of searching the insides of my eyelids I'm going to pry them open,
Because love is a gift, love is a token
The beauty of her eyes, the beauty of her mind,
They might as well write their own lines
Poetry is inherently the language of emotion,
Anger, anguish, lust and beauty
But you can see none of these if you don't open your eyes,
Experience
Life
And write down every word you find