if my life was a novel
i would always revel
in reading the chapter
where our love felt like forever.

i'd bookmark the pages
where fondness is ageless,
and so i'll always remember
how great were the days
when we were together
in the most wonderful ways.

We've never met, but can I hold your hand?
Can our fingers intertwine? Can we place our toes in the sand?
Can I strum my guitar as you smile and listen?
Can I look into your eyes, see your heart with my vision?
Can I kiss you slow? As we both get lifted into space?
Can I tickle your forearm slowly as your hand gently touches my face?
Create a first date..the burn from the candle lights as desire starts to dim
As I hear her pretty voice, as I feel her passion from within
We've never met, but the idea of love seems to linger
The potential of my imagination..the thought of a ring on her finger.
We've never met, but I think about watching you leave and me starting to miss you
When you start to cry, my sleeves are your tissue,
Help you feel real affection
Help me get through all I've been through.
We've never met. We've never gave it a try
Why do I still want to meet you than?
Why do I feel these feelings?
We've never met, so why do I feel like our possibilities died? Why?
(I hope to see you soon.)

i hope that when i meet forever,
it looks like you.

there are so many of you
that i would love to sit down with;
maybe over a milkshake and a plate of fries;
and just talk.
i want to ask you about the boy that hurt you,
about the anger you feel deep inside
over a father who said he’d come back...
and then didn’t.
i want to run with you through pages of words and say
“oh that’s right, what a lovely metaphor.”
i want to see all your smiling faces and
thank each and every one of you for showing me kindness,
for saving my life.
i want to collaborate on novels of poetry
and laugh with you through the tears of our pasts.
so until we sip those milkshakes and eat those fries...
thank you, to
some of the most beautiful people i have never met.

I cannot compose brilliant poems, sonnets, or verses,

and I cannot speak to you in Latin or Greek;

I cannot move you with any language made up by man.

Love is the only only language I could touch you with

If you only knew how much I could love you.

If you knew I love you;

If I were brave enough to tell you at all.

Roses want blood,
delicacy, and
grace.

Flowers want life,
Love, and
care.

Doomed are those
who treat their roses
as if flowers
bleeding
until drought

Long live those
who treat their flowers
as if roses
giving
until downpour

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

i still
do not know
the poem i've been trying to write
and maybe
that's because
i haven't been
writing one at all
or maybe it's because
the poem i've been trying to write
is not ready for paper
and maybe
i'm the paper
that's not ready for it