I know that my head is full of dreams
And i get lost in my own world.
But there i am happy.
I can't spend all my days living in a black And white world.
Never smiling being serous all the
Time hiding who i am.
I love to get lost in dreams and be in a
World of own.
I love being a poet and if that makes
Me a dreamer then call me a
Dreamer.

I wish the pain would stop hurting feeling more and more alone.
All that's left are memories of the way things were between us.
Half written poems we never finished
An old notebook full of our thoughts.
No more late night pillow talks.
Now there will always be apart of me
That is missing.
Now we are worlds apart don't you go
And forget about me.
You'll always be in my heart.

I am a poet who has known
Pain joy and sorrow.
Cried many times tried to write
The pain away.
My hand is always in the clouds
Escaping into daydreams.
Because it's the only place that i ever
Seem to be happy.
But we can't live in dreams so i write
Poetry instead.

I lay awake staring at moon counting
Stars until i fall asleep.
Tears in my eyes why did i let you in
When you were never mine to love.
Your touch your gentle kiss the way you stole my breathe.
I can't sleep in a bed thats burning feeling things i have no right to feel.
Craving the sound of crys cutting through the darkness of night.
You left with my heart in your jar.

Everything seems to catch me in
The darkness of the night.
Counting stars until i fall alseep
While my mind trys to stop.
Staring at the moon lost in a crowd
Of thoughts and feelings.
Night doesn't always bring me comfort or rest.

Not everything i write is good
I write for myself.
My poems come from heartache
Pain and sorrow.
Most of my time is spent trying
To keep everything together.
Poetry is my mediation and my
Freedom rolled in one.
When i start to write everything feels
Less painful.
Writing to some people is more  
than just therapy.

I stop and stare at what society has become fake faceless and hateful.
Everyone wants a short cut or a quick fix without the hard work.
Basic skills lost the art of conversion is dead, try talking to someone who is lost their phone.
Ipads read the bedtime storise more percious moments lost.
Alexa is used more and more.
Society has made us feel we can't reach out, until we have reached crisis point.
Why don't we do anything for ourselfs anymore?.
Why do we chase perfection when its not real?.
Whats wrong with taking thr mask off a d just being ourselfs.