Let's make a deal
that the smoke scented
taste of your tongue
will never leave mine.

I wish I was the kind of person

That could write as beautifully

As the midnight sky

Or your eyes

Some days
I have so many ideas
I can write
and write

Till my pen runs out

Or my arm gets tired

Or I run out of paper

And start to write in books
I’ve read

Too many times

Then there are days when,

my mind is full

But there are no ideas.

No motivation

Just loud voices,

A mess of thoughts

Most of them aren’t even my own

(Maybe I shouldn’t say that

Someone might think I’m crazy)

Just because someone’s mind is

Thought ridden

Doesn’t mean they will turn it

Into art

I think if they did

Someone might get hurt

Writing

It’s dangerous

Not just to an author

But also to everyone else
around them

I think it's easier
To write with a broken heart.
I think it's easier
To write out of anger.
It seems like I
No longer have anything to write,
I am no longer angry
And I have a whole heart.

Sometimes I want to write.

To slave away at words and rhyme
Is not a curse or plague.
It is a skill that can be taught,
Though the lessons rather vague.