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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.