Before I met you
I thought that
poetry was just
a collection of words,
that music was just
a collection of sounds,
that art was just
a collection of
shapes, colours and stokes
that life was just
a series of
years, breaths and steps
Indeed, I see things differently now
Through you, I am reborn

there's so many beautiful things in the world
works of art in fact
yet with all of that stuff out there
i think i'd just rather look at you

Feel the moment pass.

Feel the air settle.

Soak it in

Like paper in a pool.

This is so much bigger

Than you.

Do not think now.

Do not let your mind

Be your universe,

Though there is life in it.

Feel,

But do not perceive.

For, this moment

Is

And has always been

Connected

To both the past

And the future.

Thus in some form,

You always have been,

And you always will

Be.

My imagination feels
stifled,
and offers me
neither plot
nor character
from
which
to
b
u
i
l
d
a new
story.
No creative scenarios
or
lines of witty dialogue
pop
into my head.

But
this is my own doing;
this
is what I
requested-
begged for,
even-
without
realizing
the
consequences.

Regret pools in me,
but
I know of
no
way
to reverse it.
I'm sorry
that I shut
my imagination
up,
but it
wouldn't
shut up
about
you.

The world
sparkles
like quartz,
a layer
of snowy white
reflecting
the
winter sunlight.
Festivity permeates the
air,
and all
of creation limns
Christmas.

You cannot tell her she's beautiful,
You cannot tell her you love her,
You cannot tell her she's your world
When she's at her best moments.

You may only tell her those things,
If you're ready for her to have those off days,
If you're ready for her to not always wear makeup,
If you're ready to deal with her mood swings,
If you're ready for her to be clingey some days and distant others,

You cannot tell her any of the pretty little comments,
Unless you can handle her
Alone at two A.M.
As she's struggling with life,
And wondering why

She is not enough to win her own internal battles