.
She came for a visit,
In brightest winter sun,
Old trees in garden long bare,
Now laden with light as I opened
Door to greet her, a melted kiss
Of delight and to cook with me—
Her special dish, one of many,
Brought her own spices, for us
And carefully showed how,
For when she was gone,
I could make it just like her,
Simple recipe we made together,
New joys to share in kitchen,
The sound of more than one plate,
How we touched each other—
Tasting herbs and spoonfuls of sauce
And wine we spilled into glass and ***,
With candles we dined glowing by a window,
In no time at all, she left.  
                                         Later with care,
Cutting the proper ingredients for one,
I reconstruct each step all alone,
Dish never tastes the same—
House never warm enough.

She came for a visit,
And to cook with me—
Her special dish, one of many,
Brought her own spices, for me
And carefully showed how,
For when she was gone,
I could make it just like her,
Simple recipe we made together,
In no time at all, she left, then with care,
Cutting the proper ingredients for one,
I reconstruct each step all alone,
Dish never tastes the same—
House never warm enough.

We found ourselves,
put out in the world, alone.
Minds made of burnished iron,
Our souls made of crashing waves
echoing through lava tunnels
trying to burrow up into the soft soil.
The ocean tearing Pangea apart
until it was dissected, piece by piece,
like a neglected puzzle.
But we cannot forget what was real
and we cannot lose our past
like a dog starved and beaten
it will hunt us with no remorse.

For years I have had poetry misconstrued
Thinking about what it was technically
Instead of thinking about what it was actually
Because technically poetry is nothing more than words on a sheet of paper
It has just been arranged in a certain way to tell a story

I remember my first days of writing poetry
Personally I thought that it was gay
And because I knew how to write it so well I questioned my sexuality
It bothered me so much in fact, there came a time I attempted to hide the forbidden skill
Ha,that didn't last very long

My first poem dates back to the year 2006,when I was in third grade.
It was ,"simply amazing", according to my teacher
I can recall because I ripped it up hoping to never see a poem again
I hated poetry with a passion due to the fact it coarsed through my veins
I didn't see another poem until the six grade

It was then I met this girl named Deja,a fanominal poet
She would always brag in our second period literature class how she was just the best
I slick had a crush on her but I'd never tell her that
She claimed I was nothing compared to her
So I laughed and wrote the poem, "Different I May Be,"

Never once other then that moment did I get her to hush
She actually began to blush a little though we pretended that never happened
Her eyes were both just wow
They spoke fierce yet sweet
I really was falling deeply for her

That day I finally opened my eyes beginning to think that poetry really wasn't gay
That it was actually a beautiful thing
Though I didn't start actually writing poetry until the end of that year,
After I read the poem,I know why the caged bird sings",by Maya Angelou
I kind of owe this rediscovery of my lost talent to Deja,again I will never admit that to her

She made me realize what poetry was actually
That it is a collaboration of both heart and soul
Using words to express emotions that were seen as taboo at a time
So Deja if by some miraculous chance you see this
I would like to say thank you for opening my eyes to the world of poetry

We never was and I don't want to start now
Knowing you are fine is more than enough for me
Please stay behind closed doors,
the safe zone that I know...

I wish you well but i'm not ready to begin,--
I will never be ready...

She called me up and said you want to say hi
I said okay but deep down I didn't
Now it's a week over and I'm in that time,
when I seem to meet you everywhere,
...a familiar face

It's just a time I know it will through
But I do wonder,...
do you still remember me so?  ...

Time has changed,
your endeavours went well
As it has always been,...
And me here,
stay sitting on the fence,
overlooking your grass...

one, two, three, four...

oops.

already ran out of sheep.