I write because I feel,
and I feel so very deeply that
it seems to well within me and
often can not be submerged.
Repeatedly I seek to purge
through putting pen to paper
or placing fingertip to keyboard tile
and pouring out the tense and vile,
or the timid and tumultuous
confessions and insecurities that I
can’t in good conscience plead ignorance to
but fail to find confidence enough to trust
out loud to other people.
Sometimes I feel I can not even
trust them out loud to myself.
When I write it all out it makes things real
and I can give a voice to the things I feel
without shaking the silent, quivering
(in)stability of my insecure self confidence.

I'm putting pen to paper but unable to find the words ,
A buzz in my mind writing is my cure,
I could stay up all night just to find the one simple phrase,
The ones I thought before,all a haze.

I think it through& through again,
But still only holding in my hand the pen,
My hand is shaking , tapping as thinking ,
As I slowly can feel my heart sinking ,
I think of the past words I have written ,
All of the topics I was mistakenly hitting.

But tonight nothing coming to mind,
The words inside unwilling to subside,
Collision with heart& mind and soul,
This pen& paper beginning to grow old.

My mind for awhile has been empty,
Don't get me wrong words have been pleanty,
But nothing like poetry to clear my mind,
Not the easiest of things I could find,
Perhaps this is a good thing & it is starting to sink in,
My happiest days are waiting to begin.

I'm sorry I could not love you
through all of your endless metaphors
or in all the ways you handed me words
of what your heart had in store.

I'm sorry I could not love you
when you loved me with so much magic.
I'm sorry somehow I made you realize
that fairy tales did not happen.

I'm sorry I could not love you
for your hands or for your eyes,
for the way you kept me laughing
or for the way you loved my smile.

I'm sorry I could not love you
and you decided to say goodbye.
But now here I sit and write
remembering your lullabies.

I'm sorry now for telling the truth-
but this has become a tragedy.
I'm sorry I only learned to love you
when you had stopped loving me.

The rain pours heavily
Drowning out all sound
Except your heartbeat
In my memories.

Innocence is the days when
I thought that monsters
lived under the bed rather
than slept right beside me.

It was the times I feared
heights almost as much as
I now fear brooding stares.

Back when I thought
passionate love was the
only kind worth having
— that I now wish for a
lover who loves quietly.

Innocence was thinking
danger was an ill-advised
adventure, not a man.

It was admiring a tornado
heart and not realizing the
damage it would cause.

If you weren't here to hold my hand
If you weren't around to help me understand
I'd wander, an empty vessel, through this so-called equilibrium
I would know this place as dark and lifeless
Where is beauty without you to name it?
Without us there, side by side, to claim it?
I can't find the limit if you're not on my wavelength
I just can't dare myself to dare
Without my soul.

I need you to know
Before you enter this strange, new section
They have built for you
That I am at your feet, far below your calves,
Licking the ground
You stand on.
Always
Worshiping you
(Especially from a far).

Although I would sell my cells to be closer
I must remain within the clouds
Until next Spring.
And it is there, we will finally blossom, again and again.

Until they force us to return to our caves
Until we must go back, my friend.