She’s so beautiful
She’s a distinct petal out of a thousand roses
So bright and radiant, but feels out of touch
She feels dark, so out of love
One says she changed, but a million are blinded

She’s a philosopher
An artist with her words
One says sadness
While she writes a silent ocean
Her brush steals hearts

Summer will find us shortly
In the bristling but once-filled heaps of grass
through the wind, the howling of sorrow
May the sun find our chests and warm their holes
For the lovers in the past have torn us through

I hold their hand for them to stay
But they drift further away
Must be killed three times to hold
These poets' eyes are not foretold
Despite the words that pour from the soul
A field of roses will rot
If the gardener does not trim the grot

Poems are not toothpaste,
you cannot squeeze another from the tube at will,
bend the ends of words for one last drop,
inspiration comes in waves
and when it wants to do so, it will stop,
you cannot pick a constant crop,
there are times when the field lies fallow
hiding seeds which may or may not grow
if and when they flower
that is not for us to know,
poets feed on what they find
the harvest of a fertile mind

Blank as snow,
my mind has resigned—
Not from frail nerves,
but from the loss of momentum.

My fingers wrestle with the pen,
my hand clings to the laptop.
Open the tap—
Let even a drop fall.

Inspire me,
that I might inspire others.

Little by little,
a mighty ocean will stir,
erupting—
Breaking every bound.

Tap the keys, O hand.
Sketch the thoughts, dear fingers.
Just let the mind ignite—
Rome will be built, for sure.

Not unaliving,
but ensuering,
a cure will be found.

A full stop right there,
to that thought of happiness, which hurts
cause it's too pretty, too dreamy, too delicate
It almost feels like a myth
too many lenses, too many tales
some broken, some taped, some flawless

Well, it's in the vein of the sideral
a beauty too cruel to the blue-green marble
the witches mirror
I have no desire to enhance my beauty on
to bleed in a portal
glutted to blood fae and shadow reavers

Why is it?
that the most terrifying demons
Veil the utmost beautiful faces
like the forgotten slice of time
When I fell for the beautiful beige love,
only to unveil the demon inside

1.  Don't write when you're tired.
2. If you must, don't write things you'll regret.
3. Don't treat a serious feeling as a joke.
4. Think fourteen plus times before saying/doing anything.
5. Be available for anything.
6. Only risk what you're willing to lose.
7. Risk only to gain.
8. If you don't think it'll be enjoyed, don't do it at all.
9. Fix problems with more than, "I'm sorry."
10. Please don't write when your tired.

The forgotten book—
a dusty shelf, tucked away,
had so much to say.