In poetry I find peace
And a voice that roars

What am I still holding on to?
Why do I still seem to care so much for you?

You never really seem to care anymore anyway

When I reach out to you, you block me out
When I try to talk to you, you close yourself from me
Every word I say passes through your ears
Every smile I give leaves you emtionless
Everything I do goes by unnoticed
Brushed off by a mere swipe of a hand
Every poem I write and every song I sing, they're all for you
But you didn't even seem to care
Brick by brick, you've built a wall around yourself
A wall too high to climb
A wall too thick to push my way through
A wall too strong to for me take down
Forcing me to give all my effort
To take each and every brick in my grasp
And bring them down
One by one
Leaving my hands broken
tired
and bruised

Let's face it: We're drifting, and that *****
Our daily conversations have run dry
We used to talk about our dreams, our interests, our passions
Our plans for the world to see
People we want to be
Our pasts, our present and our futures
We used to talk about OURSELVES
But now I feel like you've run out of interest for me
And I feel like every word I say takes so much effort
Because I try so hard to keep the conversation alive
Even though deep down
I know it's slowly dying
Because I don't want to let it die
Because I don't ever wanna stop talking to you
Because I don't want to drift from the person I used to spend hours on end having endless chats with
Maybe we're just running out of things to talk about
And I don't really know why

Sometimes I feel that us drifting is one sided
Like I spend all this time thinking about you
When I wonder if you even realize that I still exist
I'm still here
I think about how long we haven't talked
I think about our last texts, our last messages
When you probably don't even remember the conversations we've had

So what the hell am I still holding on to?

I'm holding on to the memories we've made
I'm holding on the conversations we used to share
I'm holding on the the laughs, the smiles, the good times we've
had
I'm holding on to the poems
the letters
the songs
All written in your name
Hoping that someday you'll find the time
To read them
To remember and look back on what once was
But most of all, I'm holding on to those 3 words that you said
"I Love You!!!"

I miss you, I really do
I miss the old us
I miss our friendship

And it's sad to think that I'm still here
Holding on to all those things
All the things that we've been through
When you've already let go
A long time ago

Though there are
Nights in which
You and me sit
At a stifling distance
It is this darkness
By which I define us
Not you and me specifically
But rather the concept
The idea of a comprehensive
All inclusive
Sense of us
That though we distance ourselves
We are never separate
There is no distance we could run
Which would tear us from this existential thought
That we are one and should treat others as such
That service to others is service to oneself
That even in this, the darkest of nights,
In which the treacherous and the heartbroken
Walk the same sidewalks
That we belong to the same heart
And when one bleeds, it starves us all.

I get frustrated when people make assumptions about poets
They're sad
They're mad
They're all the same
Arn't we all poets? In one way or another?
Or couldn't we be?
Poetry is everywhere, in everything.
They're not "just words" and I don't think poets are one specific select group of people.
Everyone could be a poet, in one way or another.
Some just use different mediums: a poet of paint on canvas arranging it in a certain way to invoke a certain feeling of sorts.
A poet of body movement set to music.
A poet in there head thinking up combinations of words but deciding there best left unsaid, undocumented.
There can't truely be a poet stereotype... Because we're all poets... Or could be..In one way or another.