The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

Write from the heart
i've always  been told
someone someday
will find your words
precious as gold

Everyones a poet
words that changed my life forever
haikus and dodoitsu
sonnets and limericks
sestina and elegy
Poe and Frost
The boy one desk over
The **** across the table
Worlds of letters
Rhymes and rhythms
Made up floogles
They mean whatever you want
love and happiness
sadness and pain
beauty and hideousness
To write is to scream from the silence
To hear a rhythm in ones mind
To read and remember
To feel
That is poetry to me
What is poetry to you?

Addictions are like *******
Everyone has one, and they usually stink
Smoke
Shoot
Snort
whatever you need to get you through
but...
What about when its not drugs?
How does she disclose
When her scars itch
When she's twitching
Scratching
Looking for something
what is it
what is it
what is it
what is it
where is it
where where where....
Her mind races
Her scars burn hot
Hot enough to burn her shorts
Hotter than her tears
There
Under the board on her stand
Shiny and stolen
Mechanical pencils are better anyway
She mutters to herself
Up goes her shorts
Up goes her sleeves
1
2
3
4
5
Dont count, make them even
In a line
Not like that
Her sister gets clean
She's left in limbo
How could she justify
How could she seek help
When she does it to herself
When it wont make her *****
When it wont make her seize
Addictions, everyone has one
For her, there's a relapse on the way

If Id lived in 1933 who would i be?
If id been born a little to the left
Up one floor
6 decades before...
Would I be me?
Of course Id be me
How could I not be me?
But
Which me would I be?
Would I be the Jewish boy in a camp?
Would I have been a poor woman falling for a trap?
Perhaps in 1933 i would have been lucky
In 1933 would i recognize me?
If i went back and saw me
Would I be in bread lines?
Would I be on a boat?
Would I fear for my life?
Would I be a wife?
In 1933 what type of me would i be?