I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

It had been a long time
Since I seen his face
The demon inside
The climatic mistake

Automatic
The angry response
Behind my eyes I play along
Where am I when I let him drive?
Scared little child hiding inside!

To the surface I’m climbing faster
Now I must answer for my *******!

I miss not missing you
I miss not thinking of you
Go back where you belong,
Anywhere but my thoughts

If life's in motion
It'd be swinging
With my shifting devotion

I'd love to be on
A merry-go-round
Coming back full circle

The merry go-round and swings
All bring gentle minds to the same song

I sit on our recliner,
Luna bar wrapper on the floor.
My robe is cinched
too tight, a reminder--
your fingers should meet
around my waist, but my ****
and *** should spill out of your palms
because defined curves and wiles
are the definition of a divine
woman worthy of insta-fame,
tumblr posts, and right
swipes.

I'll twist and turn and pose
in front of any mirror, desperate
for a flat-planed stomach and fuller
cleavage, the whole time
wondering if you look at me bent
over the bathroom counter, fixing my eyeliner,
and think that I'm a dime disguised
in a size 0 dress.

If my sides could shrink as fast
as my self-esteem, I'd never crunch
my abs into idealistic numbers again.