I don't want to be just another notification.
Just another bland "like" on your poem,
followed up by yet  another generic comment.

I want to stand out in my attempt to show you how much the words you wrote meant to me.
I want you to understand how close you've come to understanding something deeper -
Something inside of me.

But maybe that's just the thing:
We're all trying so desperately to be understood.
A handful of anonymous clicks hardly does us any good.

Just another means to a fix -
Another indulgence of an insatiable addict.

I'd quit if I could.

One thousand large books
a painting never finished
a song never heard

You'll never know who
closed the door-
when you were
never awake to begin
with. Laying alone, cold...
you find comfort in the heat
of Others, but
in the heat of
others you find tension
teeth clenching, tight
being exaggerated and
intensified to the
point
where you'd concentrate
so hard into concentration
you'd die to be falling safely
from the reel of images leading
into static Sanctuary

Every child is born
With a puzzle to do
Some smaller than others
But same in point of view

As you live your life
You search for every piece
You find them in the people you meet
Or in places you find peace

Sometimes your pieces
Don't fit like they should
So you take them out
And find a place they could

Some people are so desperate
To find the right part
That they'll force them in places
That ruins the art

When a piece doesn't fit
Then you set it aside
It will be important later
It will have to be applied

But those people that are desperate
May take those away
They'll find a place that it fits
Along with the price to pay

Puzzles are made
With similar design
So they can get away
With taking what was mine

Too many people
Took what were important to me
So my puzzle is left unfinished
And I can't see what it would be

I can't finish my puzzle
And show my work of art
I can't get a new puzzle
And go back to the start

Selfish people have ruined
The only thing I had
I can't find my pieces
I have nothing more to add

So I throw away my puzzle
Since there is nothing more to do
I walk through the door
This is all because of you

In my mind, he is the color green.

Have you ever looked around and seen
Just how much of life is green?
And I'm not talking nature,
Any introvert can close the blinds,
And forget leaves in winter
And grass under snow.
But he's the green of a start button
Of the t-shirt you forgot to throw into last week's wash
Of the tiles in the bathroom
And the leggings on a stranger.
He's the green that means "go"
And it makes me... stop.
Reverse.
Climb inside where the air is clear
and smells of rain
and everything is Blue.

But my girl, she was Red.
The sort that bleeds
Into ink black or blue

I want to tell you I miss you, but my words are caught in my throat and I'm not obligated to breath for lies that are attached to memories that are now vague to my own sense of comfort.

fingers of paper
hair made of lace
mouth closed with safety pins
all a closed space
eyes made of copper
to see only clear

you're an artist, truly you are.
you took my body and made it your canvas,
smoothed my wrinkles and unfolded my ends,
you painted and painted, stroke upon stroke
poured love and tender care into each flick of your wrist.
till one day, you stopped.
artists block, you called it.
no inspiration, my fault.
your smooth strokes turned to angry screams
crumpling and ripping each page of me,
stabbing my canvas, torn with headaches
so yes, you are an artist.
and now I know why I can no longer draw.

I keep our memories
Locked in a box,
Hidden in my mind.

Like you keep
Your love for me,
Hidden in your heart.

She's not me,
But neither am I
Without the piece
You took from me.

We never fished
Our puzzle;

We never finished
Our story.

Our love ended;
It was tragic,
It was a blessing.