and even if a thousand people read my poems and said that they were beautiful, i still would not feel peace

and the knight drank and drank from the well
for that was what he read in his books
but he felt no great strength course through him
nor any great swiftness nor new knowledge
he was still just a small man
in a tin suit
and he cursed the world
and the world said
a promise never made is a promise never broken

suburban tears
followed me here
tropical days
cloudy grey haze
hot summer breeze
take this heart please

warm soft hugs
like gold hued ships
bathed in the setting sun

arms restrict
like drowning dark ships
the panic has just begun

i have many saved drafts
my fellow poets
and i believe you may have some too
at least
if you are a poet like me
there are many kinds of poets
for we seem to be incapable
of staying in a box
but if you are a poet like me
you have more drafts than published works
and your drafts are alive
and breathing
shaky breaths
in and out
trying to keep their heart beating
to stay written for a few moments longer
before their maker
presses delete

my poems call me cruel
and i know i am
poems are not meant to hide in the dark
even if they are cheesy and childish and revolting
an infestation of misplaced and uncertain words

even then
poems should be heard

sometimes i wish i was a different kind of poet
sometimes i wish i wasn't cruel
sometimes i wish i was kind
to my poems
and perhaps to myself

and the waves pulled back
and so the sand could finally breathe
and it filled itself with sweet drug-like air
and smiled at the sun
before it all returned
and the drowning began again