My brain is a middle school notebook
Every day I write your name inside
With random sketches the cover holds in
For emotions I can’t easily hide

My heart is a jelly pen
A schoolyard craze, of that there’s no doubt
It pins my last name to you in my middle school notebook
And as costly as it is, I pray it won’t run out

I keep a notebook,
For when I have ideas,
Someday I’ll write them.

Bring the buried flower,
Bring the burned out candle.
Bring the closed notebook,
Bring the ended hour.
Dig up the flower,
Strike the match,
Open the notebook,
Begin a new hour.
Bring the writing you’re afraid of
And regenerate it, and
Make it speak.
Scatter your poems left and right,
Because the world can’t wait to hear
Your words.

I lost my notebook the other day
It didn’t quite look like something
I had made.
It looked too pristine, too manicured.
I wrote on its pages with all my heart,
I could have no way of knowing it wasn’t messy enough.

It had a grey cover.
My last name written on the inside.
It wasn’t exactly filled yet…
But the words inside tumbled out like
I’d never intended them to.

It’s long gone.
Probably left in my classroom…
Maybe on the floor of my car.
Who knows!
I don’t quite have the energy to look right now.
Not enough energy until it’s too late to look.

I spent six dollars on it.
Down at the local craft store.
Its’ cover design fades from white to black,
Very different from the contrast of my pen.
I only ever used black ink.
Maybe it’s because, that’s what color pen was closest.

I lost my notebook the other day.
Hopefully someone will find it.
I guess they’ll probably read my name on the cover,
God help me if they read anything but my name.
They might think
I’m sad.
I guess they’d be right.

I will speak for you
If you ask me to.
If we try,
There's no dark inside.

But to gain the view
That you want, anew,
You must lay
All your fears aside.

All the worlds you're through,
All the lies so true,
All that's left
Is the great divide.

I bought a brand new notebook.
With floral print and purple lines,
For the brand new school year,
To show them how I shine

But now it’s half way through the school year,
And my notebook has lost its glow,
It’s like as if my floral notebook,
Somehow really knows,

My mood and all my feelings,
And as I begin to age,
Like my floral notebook,
I seem tattered at every page.

When I reach the end of my notebook,
I fear what the story will hold,
Stripped of the words on the pages,
My heart soon growing cold.

I remember all the lessons,
And hope one day I understand,
That the stories in this notebook,
Are worth all the ink marks on my hand.

I flip through my notebook
of empty pages,
and I can imagine
the way they would
full of color
my color,
but I am afraid to ruin one page.
So I just flip through my notebook
of empty pages.

You were the missing part
In my lonely heart
When I touch your skin with my pen
My blood would rush through my veins
When you hold my hand
I would write a love poem
On your delicate body.