There's a blockage in my creativity pipe.
There's some potential I haven't tapped into yet,
I read old pieces and wonder
where is that inspiration?
I'd hate to think it's because I'm over the fact you left.
Why am I only able to create when my heart
doesn't function how it should?
The words are falling out of my head
I wish they would fall onto the page.
I used to be all the 3 "I's" in imagination
Originality ran through my blood
I could mold my pain into something so delicate.
I touched people's soul with a simple sentence.
And now I can't even create something I'm mildly okay with.
There's no endearment to kiss on letters.
Nothing to set my eyes on.
I guess alterations had to be made.
There's a blockage somewhere inside of me.
A change is coming.
This is more than a simple poem.
When you feel this lost, you are bound to find
what your soul is searching for.

Who        
         Are
                You?

If I'm honest I don't really know, I think I'm me but I could be you just as well as you could be me and I could be someone else entirely.
All I've got to do is take off this mask but what if I do and nobody is
There, Their, Theirs, Where?

An
c
u
r
StateMent                 H
e       a                 Making
d       r           T    e     s
         Through    a     t
         y        Melancholy
         r            s    s     r
         i            e           You'Re
         z                                i
         e                                s
         d                               k
                                           i       R
                                        Another
                                           g      a
                                                   d
Of.

You!?.*

WanT
        o         P
                   a   My
                   i                                          Well two bad,
                   n   Portrait                         I'm not real,
                   t                                           I am a Chemical
                                                        ­                    a
                                           ­                                 o        Fee(l) you seem
                                                            ­                t         To like to Get
                                                             ­               i                           o  
                                                                ­            c                          ThoUght
                  ­                                                                 ­                            p
im nobody who is you im a piece of glass in the ocean an unexpected regret you didnt want but now you have im the kind of thing you get in a goodie bag from a party you didnt want to go to but you still did an embodiment of every reason you doubt yourself on a daily basses im the one whom sits behind the screen not watching but watchin you thats the scary part of me that you arent quite ready to leave because who will watch you if im gone

I count my steps
So I won’t bleed out
And so you won’t start to hate me

I count them
So the world will stop
And all that’s left is me

I count them
Because I breath in colors
But colors don’t know how to speak

I count my steps
Because it’s not quite as lonely
When colors are walking beside me

I count them
Like it's the only thing
That's ever been important to me

I count them
As if it'll shield their eyes
24 hours 7 days a week

"I oddly miss you",
words
slipped off her
tongue
like a waterslide  


That's when the heart
goes
"*** did I just feel?"

Love will write poems,
Long cold fall, poet days.
Remember publisher?
Find things, turn music,
Work years, empty morning, keep winter Christmas light(s).
Poets' song told,
Tonight, bed black walk(s) poetry.
Sea winds missing,
Men hurt, dark hold, coming hand(s).
Someday stopped walking, "Friends mind Mexico,"
Listen, staring, wonder, wait.
Silent waves, "Guess sad friend," asked Boy,
"Sand Lake."
"Save ocean sing?"
"Sing, slip, wishing diamonds shine! Silver Green tells, "Care   forever, pretty face."
Alas wind fingers,
Salty message!
Memories spite,
"Learn, Angel, young children fade."

Single sentences happen.

I f I c o u l d c a p t u r e
A l l o f y o u r b e a u t y
A n d f r e e z e i t i n t i m e
I c o u l d b e h a p p y
F o r e v e r