when I see you
I look at your body,
because you used to be my sweater
When I see you
I look at your hands
because those used to be my mittens
When I see you I look at your chest
because that's where I felt safest
When I watch you walk away
I look your ***
because I refused to kiss it.

There is struggle in every beginning.
What to write in these blank pages?

We get stuck in every white space we see
We stop in every blank space
We stare
We try to start

Words don't come easy

We struggle for ideas
We fumble for words

The thought process stops.

Catharsis.

The ideas flood our brains
The ideas pour
The brain leaks of ideas
But we struggle for structure

For there is none in these blank pages, white spaces
There is none.

We try to achieve form and flow
But there are none
All we have are fragments
of thoughts
of words

It's a stacatto of ideas.

Without rhythm
Without melody
Without harmony
For there are none in these blank pages
There are none in these white spaces

The words
are just lines
are just dots
are just strokes
that will never make sense

In these white spaces
In these blank pages

This beautiful mess.

I would like
to write
a million poems
before I croak,
but given alcohol,
nicotine, the state
of my liver and
general bad luck,
I don't see it happening.

Don't mean a thing.

Ten or a million,
we do not sing to count,
we sing to sing.
  ~ mce

there was a time
when you were larger than life
you flew when you ran
and you were so beautiful
you were so great

now i see you
on that white bed
that matched your equally pale face
and i want to hate you
because how could you have been so dumb to become this weak

but i can't
and i just sigh
as i simply resign
myself
(from what, i wonder
for what, i wonder)

"Fly for me, sweetheart," you said
but how could i
when you were my wings

Why can I love two when
I may only have one?
Is the boy I am with
Just a flame that is done
Or the man I'll marry?

Is the man I have met
Just infatuation
Or is there so much more
To this situation?
These thoughts make me wary.

Out of sight, out of mind;
I am happy with both
Until I am alone
Caught between bliss and oath.
Why must it be scary?

This is not fair to me
Or to either of them;
Why can't it be simple?
My heart is split even.
Love is arbitrary.

I was extremely flammable
and you loved to play with fire.
You said you’d never hurt me,
but you lit a match and left me burning.