It’s bad when I run
Out of titles for all my
Sad poems about you.

You cannot title her.
For she is not to be summed up.
She is to be unlimited and infinite.

There's a burning feeling in my gut,
A heavy feeling in my heart.

I have no title for these feelings.

I may just be hungry,
Or am aroused.

But I don't believe myself to be.

They say a heart's a heavy burden,
especially when you're in love.

I wonder if that is what I am experiencing?

Wait! Is that plagiarism? I need a new title.

I often see poems that go by "untitled".
Some may even refer their poems as "Untitled" with capitalized importance.
"Untitled" is not to be, nor should it be, mistaken for "unimportant".
The work is still in process.
It has importance.

I often write poems that go by titles.
Some may even say that my poems are "Unoriginal" with cliche names.
"Unoriginal" is not to be, nor should it be, mistaken for "unintentional".
The work went through the process.
It has intention.

I often read poems because of their titles.
Some may even claim that their poems are "Profound" with unlimited potential.
"Profound" is not to be, now should it be, mistaken for "invaluable".
The work is still processing.
Its value has yet to be seen.

Throwing silk sheets over a worn mattress
I cannot fathom the idea of you sleeping here
you accidentally pulling a corner off and seeing the stains beneath.
This hotel has been vacant for months.
But that doesn’t mean the guests before you
Were kind to it.
They said ‘**** it’
Left the mess for house keeping,
Blood stained walls
Feathers from ripped pillows
A maid sighs and shakes her head
Ten dollar tip for wasted effort
Have to put the pieces back together again
Vacancy sign illuminated again.
Do not do this to me again.
Cleaning supplies are expensive.
And this business has made me so poor