I am a poet
Who paints with words.
My words are my crayons
Your understanding is
Your new poem .
My poems are inspiring
To all artists
But not all poets .

There's freedom to-
and freedom from,
Freedom to run from anyone.
Free from the darkness; a schorching sun till
Freedom's light warms everyone.

Freedom from judgment, how endlessly unfair-
Free from the consciousness,
Blissfully unaware.
Freedom from judgment's unblinking glare & Free,
without expectation's care.

Free to do
And freely undone
Free to run from

She Comes.

By way of storm.

the waters winding
in a fury of death.

And She. is painting
the sky

Black.

For now.

What is sadder:
to forget or to remember?

I yearn for things
that I desire,
and to these thoughts
at the end of the night,
it forever keeps me up
beneath the clouded
and desolate sky

I can't help but,
to grasp
the glimmering
dewdrops of the sky

in the end,
we're all alone tonight

I wonder if I really am kind hearted.
Most people think it’s true,
But maybe I’m just afraid of being mean-
Maybe I’m afraid of being you.