You were the most important poem I ever read.
I didn't have to pretend to understand you
like Emerson
But I memorized you all the same,
like Frost.

Writing poems about poetry
Is problematic, you see.

Poetry is subjective
Changes with every person

Poetry doesn't always stick with you
but sometimes you can't get it out of your head.

Sometimes you want nothing more than for the poem to end
to have never read it

Others you read and re-read and wish you could read it once more
for the first time.

You were the hardest poem I ever read.
I didn't pretend to like all of you
like Whitman
But I loved you all the same
like Dickinson.

You were my favorite poem I ever read.

K.A.

Is it more than I think?
No
Maybe
Yes
I hope not

there are no galaxies

underneath my skin.

i am not a collection

of stardust and

unbound potential.

i am brittle bones and

ugly bruises.

i am

a mess.

my ribs are bruised
from my heart pounding so hard
inside my chest
when I think about you

Do you love me
Or the fact I love you?
Do you want me
Or only my love?

Do you like how I make you feel
Or how you make me feel?

I wonder,
Will your love stop
After mine does
Or will it go on?

Is it something about me
Or is it all about you?

Just tell me baby,
Why do you love me?


F.Z.N

I’m not one for writing about things that are useful
Things that can shape the world
Things that can help someone get on by.

I’m not one for writing about things that are relevant
Because whenever I write
You seem to have that presence.
That kind of presence that tends to etch itself on to the letters written
That kind of presence that tends to draw itself on to paper whenever given
And I hate it.

Hate it because your existence is all I’ll ever think about
Whether I’m busy attending to my own needs
Alone with too many words screaming in my head
Or anywhere in between
Hate it because you are the only one that seems to make it right
That seems to quell the angriest of storms
That seems to bring out the sun when the clouds hide it away
That seems to continuously extend even when I’ve given up reaching
Hate it because I never loved the idea of love

You’d think with all the love poems I’ve written
About how lovely it would be to wake up to your horizon
About how lovely it would be to walk upon sandy material with sea breeze all around
About how lovely it would be with our fingers intertwined
Because we both know yours fits right in between mine
About how lovely it would be with just you and me
That I would somehow love being in love
That my heart grows fonder with every moment spent

But I don’t
Its reckless
Its Foolish
For even the wisest of people grew without a heart.
Because they knew in order to live without pain
They would wish the bonds untwine
For they do not want a “yours” and “mine”

Yet somehow in the midst of being a cold-hearted *****
You found a way to stay and not ditch.
I’m too afraid to admit how deeply in love I am
Because I’m too afraid of losing something I had no idea I had
So please,
Let me let you know,
That I’m not one to write about things that can throw a life line
About things that can get you to say “You’re mine.”
About things that can be of relevance at this time
I’m more about writing about how much of a useless romantic I’ve come to find

I am an architect of sorts
I create houses for people
houses that keep inside
all the things they wish they said
all the things they wish they didn’t
All the happily ever afters that never came to be
all the good bye and farewells that
were ever someones displeasure of letting out
I create houses
that hold all the possibilities
of tomorrow and yesterday and forever

I am an architect of sorts
but I don’t build houses for people to live in today
I build houses for people to live in yesterday
for people to live in tomorrow
I build houses that contain the moments
that never happened in each mind
the times that were wished to be gone
I create, with words for living moments,
pieces that immortalize memories and
experiences lasting for forever

the words I lay serve as the
foundations of humanity

I am an architect of sorts

ferret trapped in a humans body
sleeping 70% of the time being mischievous the other 30%
loneliness would **** me

I write about what i really want to see
THats you & me under a tree
Staring at the clouds with crowds of baby blue skies
I want to look in your eyes and see your inner beauty
Tango under the stars
Watch cars pass by while we're on a walk
I want to listen to you talk becuase i care
This is all i think about when i stare at you
Glare me back let me know it isnt going to happen