I don't really miss you
And the times that I kissed you
Or how good it felt to have you in my arms

If you don't believe me
You can come over and see me
I don't see how that could do any harm

Would you mind wearing that red dress
The one that I like best
Give me a call, I'm here all the time

I could make dinner if you like
And we could discuss it all night
Then you will clearly see that I'm not lying

When I say I don't miss you
And the times that I kissed you
Or how good it felt to have you in my arms

And if you still don't believe me
I'll let you kiss me then you'll see
After all what could be the harm

Fear...
Does is it make us weak because we fear
Fear of failing
Fear of dying
Fear of fear
When afraid we become morons in a way
Doing stupid things that we would have not done on our own
Ruining relationships,
Friends or significant others
Causing chaos where none should exist
But does that really make us weak
No, it makes us human
It only makes us weak when don't face our fears
Constantly running away like a coward
Becoming schizophrenic as we attempt to rescue ourselves
Adding on another type of fear
Fear of forgetting who we are
Forcing us in this endless loop
Eventually we'd  end up alone in a dark place
Not even attempting to escape because we feel as if we belong here
Where ever "here" may ever be
All because we were too afriad to face a simple fear
Allowing ourselves to just shrink until there is nothing left but the dust of own remains
So don't be weak and overwhelmed by fear
Be strong and overcome the overwhelming

Poem to no one

I remember
I remember when I saw her for the very first time
The way she walked was so exquisite
Her lips were so plump and juicy
She was just a fine specimen
I remember wanting to run after her so bad
But in my mind I thought she was just too good for me
I mean look at me
I'm just a mere mortal born in the wrong place at the wrong time
While she, she was clearly an angel that fell from heaven
Everything about her was just perfect
Her eyes were like precious jewels that shimmered under any and every light
Her voice was so sweet yet had a certain essence of power behind it that could not be described
I remember my heart racing at the speed of light
Pounding so hard that I began to think that it would fall out
My eyes were beginning to dry because I couldn't find the strength to close them as she walked by
My speech became jumbled as if I was never taught how to speak in the first place
I'd curse myself because I feared that if I didn't say something soon another man would swoop her away
I mean she was just that beautiful
Too beautiful for me to muscle of the strength I clearly did not have
So I just wrote this poem titling it to "no one"
Because to her the girl I let get away I am no one

What determines a man's strength
Is it his mental or physical endurance
Maybe it's the size of his muscle that counts
Or maybe it's all about the size of his little man down below
Is it determined by how fast he can run
How brave he fights
Determined by how quick he reacts to a particular situation
The real question is how do you judge a man
Is not every man different
So by logic must you know what real man looks like
But every being has their own taste
Their own opinion about what a real man is
So how do judge something that everyone views differently
The answer is you don't
Every man is equally as strong
It just depends on who he has by his side
Which is why I'm glad I have you
One who I cherish so
Who I so desperately strive to protect
Who gives me purpose in life
Who gives me the strength to continue forward
Instead of being paralysed unable to take another step
This is why I love you
You gave strength that I could not have imagine to obtain on my own
So I hope that you see that what I feel is true
That all I really want is to be with you

Poetry is art
      Poetry is visual

Poets can see the words

The way a play write
Can see the actors on stage
       with every line he writes

The way a musician
Can see the notes dance on air
       with every key she plays

The way a sculptor
Can see the final sculpture
       with every cut of their knife

The way a painter
Can see the waves of the ocean
        with every stroke of blue
                  on a blank canvas

Poetry is visual
      Poetry is art
            Poets are artists
       They write **from the heart