I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

I'm a senior.

it hasn't hit me how little time I have left.
I can't imagine that after this year, I have to choose what to do with the rest of my life.
How do I determine how much I like something if I've never tried it?
I can't fathom that I have to try to meet new people after this, that I won't be surrounded by the same faces I've had for 13 years.
How am I a senior?
I feel like I'm still just starting middle school.
I'm a senior.
How?

You are possibly the greatest thing to happen to me in a while.
I have written about you before, but the longer I get to be yours, the longer I look forward to the future.
For the longest time, I felt as if I was unlovable.
That I was destined to be somebody's second choice,
their backup,
their least favorite.
But to you, I'm your's,
and you, luckily enough, are mine.
We're getting close to a year of you loving me,
and everything is completely polar to how it was back then.
I was alone, isolated in my room for none to see and none to want.
And then out of nowhere came you.
You filled my quarantined days with excitement,
with inside jokes,
with secret smiles,
with love.
My darling, you are possibly the greatest thing.

maybe i'm still longing and looking for the poem to end all poems.
i need them to mean something
to be great
to be moving
to be from me to you.
i want that recognition from poets
i don't want the attention, just to be told i'm good.
i love to write, and maybe
maybe
i'm still good enough right now