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.

Her eyes were fiery
While her lips peeled away
Her sun was setting
But her colors never fade
When she bites she is bitter
But when she smiles she is sweet
Like a nectarine emblem
She’s the fruit of life’s tree.

She keeps her feelings tucked away,
Like her hair, behind her ear, before a kiss,
It sometimes comes undone, but it only makes her more beautiful,
As if such a thing was even possible .
Nothing is more reassuring than her presence,
Nothing more rewarding than her smile,
She smells like the earth after rain,
Ironic, her eyes gleam like lightning in a quiet storm.
She is all that is good in this world,
She soothes your soul with just one word,
Like a cool autumn breeze she relaxes you,
Her hugs, the definition of kindness, the embrace of an angel.
Her raven color hair absorbs all light,
That then shines from her heart,
She lives within your dreams,
Because that’s the only place you’re not alone.

the traffic in your mind must have been so busy lately,
i couldn't even cross it and still can't.

Loneliness
it eats you alive
even when you feel you truly have someone you don't
And when you feel like you can trust you can't
Why must this world have such a dark turn
When all you want is someone by your side
A friend,
Lover,
Or just longing to love yourself.
So much crime but yet others feel safe
I wish I could.
No feeling of mine is worthy enough to tell others
I have tried,
But at this point I want to stop
Why can't this world show more love?

it is not just pink for girls
and blue for boys
or laundry for moms
and desk jobs for dads.

it is self confidence plummeting
because your nine year old legs
look different than the others

girls aren’t supposed to be hairy.

it is watching the cheerleading team
through the windows of the gymnasium
hoping the other kids don’t see you

boys are supposed to play basketball.

it is being called bossy
for voicing your ideas
to say what you believe in

girls are supposed to be quiet.

it is a lack of empathy
from years of quieting
your emotions

boys aren’t supposed to cry.

it is being placed in a box
that is too small and
being told to cut off your legs
so you can fit inside it

we are not contortionists.