In all honesty I've never been good with words. I never knew what to respond after the doctor would ask me what hurt, or what to tell my mother after I saw her cry when my dad left. Poetry is placing words in all the wrong places in order to build something right. Poetry is taking apart the puzzle and forcing the pieces into spaces they don't fit. I tried to write you a letter to tell you that I miss you, the problem with poetry is that there's no metaphor that makes this emptiness inside my chest any more beautiful. There's no personification real enough to make my sheets feel like you're laying in them. There's no simile literal enough to make my heart feel as though its healing. I wish I could place these words on my tongue and roll them out for you to hear, but since I've last kissed you I can't even find the motivation to part my lips. I always find myself questioning why I keep writing; because the problem with my poems is that you're never the one reading them.

I know darling, I gave you an ocean of words
when all you needed were a few drops of rain.

She was beautiful, so blissfully ignorant to the turmoil in the world. She encapsulated all the beauty of the earth. Looking at her was like the first time experiencing what love was. The first sun rise, the first rose, the first ***** cat. Her clothes danced around her never really touching her; as if afraid the slightest brush against her tanned skin might alter it in some way. Nature knew.