You look like:
a storm;
About to hit.

Come here...

as a child
my parents
kept me

well mannered
well traveled
they have given me
an abundance
of materialistic
objects

but

that is all
anything
ever was
an object

maybe
that is why
i cannot
connect to people

because we are

all just objects

My pen dried from the ink
so did my eyes from all the tears
but i still have words to speak
and more wailing to weep
.
Im all torn apart
laying face down on the ground
a lifeless corps down earth
whilst a mind is roaming among the stars
somewhere i could meet you or even see you from afar.
.
   I wonder when all of this will face an end ,
" one day " as one said
truth, untold
words, unspoken
promises were broken
Eyes that lost the spark , waited in the dark.
but what if it was true, that only me and you
                                                          will last .
                       will you come searching for me ?
                                                 cause im long lost .

underappreciated-
most do not see her beauty -
their dreams pull them away.
some eyes burn from the midnight oil -
to them, she may seem like a hallucination.
others run too quickly to start a conversation.
a rare few wait for her -
they appreciate her beauty,
continuing the conversation in awe.
she does not live for the people of this earth,
but she provides for them no matter what.

Well beneath my sarcasm
My hatred for the world

There is a different story waiting
Waiting to be told

For I am made of poetry
Of sunsets
And the moon

Of summer rain
And chocolate smell
And nights that end too soon

It's hidden well
It's out of sight
It's on you to find the key

For my fragile little world,
My dear,
Is not for everyone, you see?