You are such a waste of poetry

I'm fine. I promise. Please don't worry about me.

My poetry gets really dark when I'm hurting.
My poetry gets bubbly when my love-life starts to pick up.
My poetry gets short when I am broken.
My poetry gets weird when I am tired. Like, REALLY weird...
My poetry gets violent when I am angry. As in FREAKING violent.
My poetry gets dumb when I am bored.
but all of the words I write are made of genuine feelings

Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.

Your "I love you's" are like a blanket
They keep me safe and warm
No matter how many words I stitch
I know it will someday be old and worn

Preparing for hibernation
When it's only just now spring
I cherish the birds each day
Every time they open up and sing

Because I can foresee the leaves falling
I know our love is finite
Because even while looking forward
I'm stuck in the hindsight

So as the first snow falls
I'll enjoy our remaining time
And prepare myself for the day your "I love you's"
Will no longer be mine

That boy is warm freshly printed papers
Stuffed in his overflowing binder
That boy is the leaves being painted
In early November

That boy is Pokémon cards skewed all over the floor
Who never signed up for this 'growing up' thing
That boy is a huge stuffed frog on Valentine's
Lessening the winter's violent sting

That boy is obscure facts of the arcane
A curiosity never satisfied  
That boy has an ever expanding brain
And long hands that reek of formaldehyde

That boy is beautiful freckles
"Splotches of melanin" as he puts it
That boy is compliments I don't deserve
And a love I just can't quit

That boy is a long way down
A relationship that's nowhere close to flawless
That boy is worth the fall because that boy
Is my dear Nicholas

Excuses, excuses-
They run through my mind
The circumstances aren't right
I'll do it next time

The time was running low
The sand slipping away
So I told you I loved you
In the last days of May

You told me you felt the same
Though it didn't show
The entire summer you left me
Feeling weary and hallow

I waited for you
To sit down and stay
Tomorrow, tomorrow
But never today

Secrets spill from your lips
In hiccuped slurry speech
That night you learned the most important lessons
Teachers never teach

You're on the fence
But you always tumble in an empty bottle
Trapped on all four sides
Looking up at the light, legs weak and wobbly

And those lines you stood by
Those boundaries began to blur
All that you believed in
Every bridge you charred and burned

Did you find the answers
Laced within those pills?
This self medication will make you numb
To what you must rebuild

I sit in a flimsy plastic chair that squeaks at the slightest movement,
Ana stands because it burns more calories and says I should do the same
My arms are folded over my chest, slouching and brooding
The bracelet Ana bought me sounds like shackles when I move
The wedding band on my finger weights more than I do
"Why are you here today?" Our therapist asks
"She's been cheating on me with that **** Mia!" Ana yells
"I already told you it didn't mean anything. We were broken up then."
My explanation makes her angrier though and she snaps,
"You just can't handle commitment!"
I've heard her use this voice multiple times and a list of all the insult circumnavigates my brain
Stupid
Ugly
Worthless
Never good enough
Unlovable
Pathetic
Fat
Fat
FAT
"You call this uncommitted?" I point to my stomach which growls on cue
Our therapist asks how long we've been together
I say over 2 years
Ana says we've been together my whole life
I tell him she's abusive
"It doesn't look like she's done that much damage" He notes
When the hours up Ana walks to the door
I tell her I just need a minute
I turn to our therapist who's already packing up
"Please help me. I need to get our of this relationship now!"
He ***** his head up as if it's the simplest answer in the world,
"Then why don't you just eat?"

I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on a
train and that they never were recovered.
I can't match the agony of this
but the other night I wrote a 3-page poem
upon this computer
and through my lack of diligence and
practice
and by playing around with commands
on the menu
I somehow managed to erase the poem
forever.
believe me, such a thing is difficult to do
even for a novice
but I somehow managed to do
it.

now I don't think this 3-pager was immor-
tal
but there were some crazy wild lines,
now gone forever.
it bothers more than a touch, it's some-
thing like knocking over a good bottle of
wine.

and writing about it hardly makes a good
poem.
still, I thought somehow you'd like to
know?

if not, at least you've read this far
and there could be better work
down the line.

let's hope so, for your sake
and
mine.