Green grass along a cerulean sky
            Sought I
                         To write:
                                      The perfect prose.
Thoroughly I searched,
             Yet my pad remained plain and pure
         And quite unquenched.
I strolled stolidly and walked wearily
     To the water’s unexpected whims.
                          Amusing as it were, well…
               With its lacking of lapping—
                                        Just somewhat lazy:
                          For the wind blew blessedly refreshingly,
          Yet the waves seemed scared to surface—
                Somewhat suspiciously.
Then my ears caught quite a commotion
     Coming from behind me:
                          Chuckling and chasing squirrels
                Pounced past perched pigeons
                As if to bother the birds
                Because of blatant boredom.
Deafeningly distracted became I
       When all of a sudden
           A fickle photographer focused her
           Large lens
                Dangerously daringly in my direction.
        Vainly I ventured to assume,
           Yet I assuaged,
                And I moved
                      Maturely… (as anyone should).  
         Pointed and positioned to the person of peace
                            Placed in the park;
         She snapped, and she snipped a picture or two
            Inevitably to post on a wasted wall space.
As the sun set,
         To be clearly cliché,
         I wrapped up my writings
            On my once plain and pure pad.
         Had it had eyes,
             It would have gawked and glanced
                For my gaze in return:
             “You call that a creation? Corny it is,
                Not at all concise.”
              Carelessly content, I closed the cover
                Leaving my pad
                      Quite unquenched.

Green grass along a cerulean sky
                Sought I
                                To write:
                                                The perfect prose.
Thoroughly I searched,
                Yet my pad remained plain and pure
                And quite unquenched.
I strolled stolidly and walked wearily
        To the water’s unexpected whims.
                                Amusing as it were, well…
                        With its lacking of lapping—
                                                 just somewhat lazy:
                                For the wind blew blessedly refreshingly,
                Yet the waves seemed scared to surface—
                        Somewhat suspiciously.
Then my ears caught quite a commotion
        Coming from behind me:
                                Chuckling and chasing squirrels
                        Pounced past perched pigeons
                        As if to bother the birds
                        Because of blatant boredom.
Deafeningly distracted became I
        When all of a sudden
                A fickle photographer focused her
                Large lens
                        Dangerously, daringly in my direction.
        Vainly I ventured to assume,
                Yet I assuaged,
                        And I moved
                                Maturely… (as anyone should).  
        Pointed and positioned to the person of peace
                                placed in the park,
        She snapped, and she snipped a picture or two
                Inevitably to post on a wasted wall space.
As the sun set,
        To be clearly cliché,
        I wrapped up my writings
                On my once plain and pure pad.
        Had it had eyes,
                It would have gawked and glanced
                        For my gaze in return:
“You call that a creation? Corny it is,
        Not at all concise.”
Carelessly content, I closed the cover
        Leaving my pad
                Quite unquenched.

We live two lives, you and I
That yield similar results ironically enough.
You see, I crave attention from men:
          Scholars, athletes, wealthy, and always the attractive ones.
My heart spots one that it wants and goes for him subtly.
The nights end or begin--whichever--with entangled limbs, sweat-beaded foreheads, and then
          departure.
As for you, You crave attention from men:
          Scholars, athletes, wealthy, and always the attractive ones.
Your heart spots one that it wants and goes for him subtly.
The nights end or begin--whichever--with entangled limbs, sweat-beaded foreheads, and then
          departure.
You may ask what our differences would be.
I crave attention because I'm not used to it.
You crave attention because it's all you've ever head.
Sadly, it seems, that we are both empty as the sky on a dry September afternoon

I'm tired.
My eyes' lids droop,
And a blink lasts longer than a split second.
My feet are exhausted,
And my ankles crack with a subtle twist.
My skin feels *****,
And my fingers notice a peculiar layer of film.
My brain is slow,
And it's difficult to ponder and write.
My body has been worked,
And it sighs to accompany a restless yawn.

Scream for me. Want me to be okay.
Love me like your best with heart in chest
And mind in hand,
Sing to me a gracious cry of pity.
Long for me to be by your side.
Notice I'm gone.
Call me your own.
Be captivated by me.

Hold my heart. Love me like your own.
Call my name and hold me tight.
I just want Security and Clarity:
Define them both just for me.
Make me see that what I need is what you heed.
There is Agony spending time with Longing:
Forbearing each other within my soul
                with desperate whispers for more.
Hope expands me as a well under earth
Yearning to burst forth as a spring.

I thought my affection was this, but it's just that.
That's all.
I tried to make this affection into something more, but it was in vain.
I told myself, "I want that," but after the fact, I didn't.
I wanted this.

Poetry exceeds me and my wildest dreams.
Ink and tree meet, but my mind missed the means:
Fantasy traps my heart;
Conviction steers the same
Leaving its direction pathless as a gale-less helm.
Sensibility's fervor is strict,
And Leniency's apathy is an empty promise.
What have I done?!
Why would I have listened to this flesh?
Only to destroy it.
I must wait.