Some people are
the poets
who fall in love
with every shadow
on the wall
and every flicker
of a tiny
burning
flare

Some people are
the poets
who drink coffee
dark as pitch
and they press
their candied lips
against the
armor of a pen
who translates
tales

And some people are
the sparks
the light against
the ocean
the little bit of air
that blows the flame
into existence
when I blow it
out again
because I always
blow it out again
and need
the gesture
of
your soul
to light the
fire that
raves in
me.

He makes me feel
like a little girl.

You
make me feel like a woman.

Right now, I'm just not ready
to grow up.

Another day
spent
writing sad poetry
about
Y O U.

Mountain ranges and valleys,
two extremes,
yet it is easier to sink into one
than it is to climb up the other.
The distance you ran is so far away,
away from me.
But can't you see?
That wherever you went
you took me with you
and yet I can't find you
because I don't know where you've gone
and I don't  know where I have gone as well.
Did you take to the heights?
Or sink with the ground?
I feel like I might know.
Where are you?
Where am I?
Where is home?
Where are?
Where?
Where...

You are the only one for me.
I never knew love until I set my eyes upon thee.
Please, come and be with me.
I cannot stand to be alone anymore;
my daily life has become another dull chore,
forced to go along without the one that I adore.
When you loved me, the flowers bloomed,
and every winter seemed a June,
every lightbulb seemed a moon;
but now that you have left me deprived,
the lovely flowers have all died,
and nothing has anything mysterious or wonderful to hide.
It all makes sense when I'm without you,
and that is the problem.
Only you could make me think it's spring in the colder part of Autumn.

I am not
a damsel in distress.
I need no saving
from the tower that I built.