I struggle to make sense of it
but the only reason I can see
is that I was there to give you strength
that helped you to set you free

You left a life of comfort
but with no spirit and no soul
for a life with many challenges
perhaps to make you whole

But first one thing then another
made our future hard to see
and after one too many battles
you walked away from me

So tell me whats the lesson here?
What am I learn from this?
That I'm destined to come second?
That I'll never top the list?

Because trust me I know heartbreak,
I've learned that one many times.
But I thought this time was different,
thought I'd read between the lines.

Now all I feel is guilty,
that our crossing paths just made yours worse,
to me you were a blessing.
Was I to you a curse?

You'll never get rich as a poet,
its not that you're not any good,
but your words get given away to the poor,
like you're a lyrical Robin of Hood.

Your words will serve as a comfort,
to women and children and men,
but your time and emotions flow freely,
like the ink from your fountain pen.

But lets be honest about one thing,
we don't do what we do for the cash.
Words are like itches we can't quite scratch,
and our poems the resulting rash.

So you'll never get rich as a poet,
at least not in a monetary sense,
but you'll have lived your life in the trenches,
and not watched it pass by from the fence.

The uncomfortable smile
that you wear on your face
Your self confessed klutzness
and perceived lack of grace

The things that you say
and the things that you do
are just some of the things
I like about you

Like the stillest of waters
you run so deep
and the words that you share
are the treasures I'll keep

You're honest and modest
and fragile yet strong
and yet so uncertain
of where you belong

Let go of your past
leave your baggage behind
and trust in your heart
and just see what you find

You may be surprised
at how good things can be
If you let yourself go
let yourself become free

I miss the simplicity of a shared blanket, the intimacy of a shared pillow.
Moments of pure connection passed in dreams punctuated by waking, seeing you there and once again holding you close, but never close enough.
I miss your touch, the sound of your voice, the sight of your words.
I miss so many things about you its hard to explain that you're still here.
Not metaphorically but actually.
Is this how it ends?
Is this how we know its not going to work anymore?
Two people inches apart but a thousand miles away from each other?
I used to be able to tell the very moment you fell asleep, we were that in tune with one another.
Now I don't even know what time you wake up.
Before, before every change in your breathing would be enough to wake me. Not wake me to the point of consciousness but enough that I would be aware if it stayed changed or went back to normal.
Normal.
That's something that seems a long way off now.
I don't know if we'll ever see normal again and sometimes, just sometimes I'm not even sure I want to.
But then other times I feel like I would give anything to go back to normal, back to normal with you.
Normal.
Maybe for me, this is normal?
Who the **** knows anymore?
I'm just so tired.

Each of us has been granted an amazing gift
Most of us don't see it yet but as the years pass we will come to cherish it.
And with any luck we will get the chance at some point to pass it on.
You will abuse it.
You will neglect it.
You will most likely take it for granted.
And on those darkest of days you may even consider yourself unworthy of having it.
But you are wrong!
If you were unworthy, you wouldn't have been given it in the first place.
I only hope each of you realize just how fortunate YOU are to have it and in doing so promise yourselves never to waste another minute of it.

Every night when I turn over, before I fall asleep, I wait for you to ask why.
I wait for you to ask why so that I can explain.
I can explain that if I turn over I can't see you. If I turn over and I wake up in the night, which is seem to do every night I stay here, at least two or three times, then all I see in the moonlight is the attic door, the vague outline of a bedside table, the soft pulsing glow of a charging cellphone.
Because if I can't see you then I can convince myself I won't feel the need to touch you.
Because if I don't touch you, I don't have to deal with the way it feels when you pull away.
So I turn over every night before I go to sleep and wait for you to ask.
But you never do.

The dreams I dreamt,
The tears I spent,
The sorrows I have,
The love I gave,
It was all meant for him.

His love,
His hate,
His laughter,
His sorrow,
I wish I could accept it all.

Our time,
Our thought,
Our laugh,
Our smile,
It’s now in the past.

My wishes,
My dreams,
My kisses,
My gleams,
I give it all to him.

they say we make our own choices,
that we choose our own paths.
we only have ourselves to blame,
if we ever fail.

but we,
we are all bound
by the same chains,
threads,
and webs
of the inevitable.

we meet new people,
and from thereon,
they have affected us
and,
we have affected their futures.

we spit out words--
words that may not hold meaning to us--
but influence others
so, so much
(in all kinds of ways--the good, the bad, and the in-between).

remember this:
we should not be pulled down by our past.

rather:
it is because we only have one past,
but we have infinite futures.

The last leaves succumb.
Floating like feathers of gold.
Inevitable.