do this they will instruct,
and you probably will.
do that they will drill into
the marrow of your bones.
get in line, stop fooling around.

and you probably will.

soon enough you’ll stand
up straight all by yourself.
worse still – spend your whole life
a puppet.

the moment you say, "**** it,
i’m reclaiming my soul.
i give myself permission
to do what I want, on my terms,"

that is the day you will
truly be free, and know how
good it feels to walk the earth,

no strings attached.

She rifled through me like a set of old drawers,
clothes strewn all over the bed and floor.
My eyes gouged and thrown there,
my ears pulled off and tossed there,
my skin peeled and slung there,
my head decapitated and kicked there,
my mind bent and twisted right here,
but my heart surgically removed and dumped over there,
at the foot of the door, all alone.
She stomped on it as she walked out.
It bled all over the carpet
and never looked like stopping..
------------------------------------------------------­----------
That was then.
I’ve a new set of drawers now,
beautifully laid out and boy has
she’s got killer green eyes, and the
kind of love that put me back together.

I will whisper words in the wind
And pray that they are carried to you on the backs of autumn leaves.
I will whisper words in the wind
And pray that you'd be reminded of me whenever you see these dying trees.

Two things can become one to create a whole so vastly beautiful it's almost beyond comprehension.
To me
That's you and poetry.
Simply so extravagant and lovely that all things pale in comparison.
You are poetry
Skin like gossamer
Eyes like sapphires
Lips like autumn roses refusing to wilt and bend to winters will.
Each part of you is a word compiled to create the perfect poem.  
With you my writers heart is home.

she was woven from silks
           of the finest farms

           her core was tonic
           her facade angelic

         her style was majestic
           her name rhythmic


    she was written with inks
            of velvety fluids

             poetic was she
             logical was she

              bold was she
             tender was she


      you see, she was perfect
          but living is acidic


      so i built her a sanctuary
          in verses and lyrics

The sun rose
Flickering on the pink flamingos
Being graceful
By the gold-glimmerish riverside
How has it become that,
My fantasies have become my days
I hope this happiness
Don't get washed away
by the waves

Someone once told me
that butterflies only live for a year
so could you tell the ones you left in my stomach
that they've overstayed their welcome?

After you left, I catch myself running my fingers
over the things you touched the most.
I just want to feel the warmth of your fingertips.
I just want to know if the sound of my heartbeat
still sounds like windchimes to you.
—J.N