I burnt down the metal cage
that confined me

I have broken up with God
and I am blossoming

without his hand pushing
my head down

I eat blackberries straight from
the bush

tasting the dirt where they grew
the tightest bud bursting

into fruit that nurtures me
that sustains me

I am Godless and cageless
I am a woman of

flames, starting fires
wherever I go

burning, burning, turning
into ash

into the very dirt I courted
with my purple stained

lips

I've been scared of saying "I love you"
Despite the feelings inside
Searching deep for words to define, but
Nothing rings quite as true as...

Spending our time on brews, and screws
Your movements are divine
Moments build and fall in line, but
Life has twisted me in two, like

A pair a wings that streak across blue
Or the sun and moon that shine,
Like a pair of shoes out on a hike, though
Rough terrain may hurt sometimes...
Through love we'll make it through.

In my mind it was good
It was a captivating piece

The story grew with flashbacks
violin and piano
to enhance intensity
and enticement

I wanted you to feel my emotions
Live those moments with me
become entwined with the story


I hope words won't fail me
I gave it my all
I tried

you came to me,
and told a poem
you've wrote for me

i didn't like it
for it lacked
some kind of wit
that i was finding

another fellow came to me
and wrote the same kind of
poetry

i loved it, not because
it's lovely
but because his looks
were charming

i brushed you off
not knowing why
for maybe i was being
sly

i got too busy looking
at facades to later
then be filled with awes
when i should be looking
at the innermost that i
could live to be engrossed

to see you now
writing poems, which are good
to read utmost
but those words that are written
aren't for me no more

my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.