A foot-note writer
even that I aspire not
I fall far behind
the superior lot

thousands, hundreds of thousand
out there with stunning brilliancy and lofty thought
sadly they have been left out
such posthumously time forgot

only the moment I clung to
I stopped short to write on the spot
the fluff had been cast away
when the poem had been wrought

scarcely could I comprehend
the words that inspiration brought
a few lines here and there was all I penned
yet a foot-note writer I counted myself not.

read this slowly
in the intent to feel as though
your big toe stands on top of the highest peak
and attempt to spin
sweeping the air
and you are allowed to smile as wide as the sky above
and you may grasp the blades that make your shoulders
feeling safe,
you might feel alone.

i want you
in every way there is to want a person

from lazy rainy days
sitting around in underwear
wrapped up in the covers
enveloped in each other

to lustful late nights
high happy and in love
too absorbed with each other
to focus on anything else

i want you
and i see so much in you
that counting all your perfections
would be like counting the stars
there's too many to keep track of
and they just seem endless

i am utterly in love
with every inch of your being
every corner of your mind
and everything in between

i might not know what i believe
or where i'm going
or what i'm doing
but i do hope
you'll hold my hand
and wander blindly with me
because as long as i'm with you
i don't need a destination
you are the journey

i am simply enamored with your entity
captivated by your character
fascinated
infatuated
amorous
in love

My words now
Seem only
Adequate
But I cannot seem to adequately
Put into words
What I want to say.

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I suppose it's better that way.
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So I wouldn't try to say "Hey"
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A hole grows larger in my heart.
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This is absolutely tearing me apart.
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I'm sustained by the memories I keep.
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And by the dreams that haunt me in my sleep.
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I hope you're doing alright.
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And that someone is appreciating you, holding you tight.
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My gender
My ****** orientation
My disability
My problems
My colour of skin
My size
My voice
My place of origin
My clothes
My religion
My past
My mistakes
My label
Shouldn't be the determination of how you treat me

Does youth
more tears shed
than old age?
I scarcely know
whatever
life is much sorrow

should things be such
from where should we
knowledge borrow?

yet tears
of both ages
are not the same
( distanced by years)
as they in their own way
silently and painfully flow

and what they signify
is from their own hearts drawn
youth is the folly of experience
old age is contemplation without blame
the season that makes wisdom grow

in this the winter-depth
of my fast slipping-away days
tears have become weary
no longer are they keen
their past stories to tell
they have so little now to say
I am quiet , tranquil and at peace
oblivious to what would follow
upon the morrow.