They wave, "Hello" at the slightest breeze,
they are the wild flowers
of the valley, oh the tease,
they have minor powers,
like they are able to please and bring smiles,
to an empty face whose heart has a need,
to know there is something more fragile,
willing to brighten a day
with a splash of this colour
or a spritz of that shade, something
that only a flower has...
a place where love stems from,
a place to hold budding emotions,
and a place at the center of attention,
like your needs, your wants, your heart,
and my sacrifice to be surety forever in
a greeting, in the first meeting, then falling
for you.

©DWE112013

It took her
17 years to
realize that
monsters don’t
live under her bed,
but instead
within her.

It took over
Her mind.
It took over
Her body.
It was destroying her.

The pain of getting out
Of bed each and everyday
Was pushing intolerable.
It felt like she was
Shackled to the bedpost.

She felt heavy,
As if boulders were
Toppling over her.

They were the voices
In her head.
She fought the urge
To take the blade,
But eventually gave in.

She was screaming for help,
But her desperate screams were
Muffled and masked by
A forced smile and an ‘im fine’.
She was struggling to keep
Her head above the water,
But everyone was blind.

She fought the monsters,
Fought and fought,
And

Gave up.

From the moment I met you, I’ve craved you.
I have hungered for your touch, for
your tender kiss, the fire of your
hands on my skin. For the taste of
you, your scent on my hands
your warmth on my cheeks. I have
felt you around me, heard your sweet
whisper. You are so real in these
moments, but as untouchable as a ghost.

As the weather changes
So does my mind state
The colder it gets
The more I feel great

Fall is upon us
Winter is soon to follow
And during these months
I feel less hollow

Bundling up
And drinking hot tea
Makes for a calming day to day
Always feeling free

Scarf around my neck
Hoodie over my head
Nothing to do
Except cuddle in bed

Weather is powerful
It can change moods
I let it work its magic
Only hope it alludes

It's the time to reflect
During this time of year
On all we've been blessed with
With that, our purpose becomes clear

Only love, laughter, and joy
Cancel out the negative
Appreciate what surrounds you
And everything is positive

I can't quite express
What weather does
But it changes something in me
And I'm filled with love

Nature is a beautiful thing
Insanely under appreciated
But it's something I cherish
Because my peace it created

you told me you'd do everything in your power to not hurt me
you promised things that i thought would go threw
you told me you loved me and im a stupid girl who believed it so easily

your lies flowed out of your mouth so easily  
it was like you singing a song

you promised you'd stick with me
but now your intertwining your fingers with someone and kissing them softly like it was me.

you knew my face like the back of your hand
when i was upset you wouldnt let it go

you promised you'd do a lot of things

and those promises are still stuck to me
because all im doing is waiting for them to happen

and i'll never realize when they will because
your not mine, your hers now.

the poet in me is quiet now
no longer does he sing words
of love and whisper songs of
passion, no longer does the
drive to create pull at my feet
and walk me into the pit of
fresh reality, no longer does
the relief come when the word
emerges on the page, instead
there is only dissatisfaction and
sadness.

the poet in me must have left
no longer friends with the beat
of my heart, no longer in tune
with the secret channels my mind
broadcasts, no longer demanding
me to feel that which I refuse to
even acknowledge, no longer
there reminding me that I am
more than a body of flesh and
blood.

the poet in me is dead or gone
no longer putting up a fight with
the destructive order of my soul,
no longer bringing out the human
side of my heart, no longer engaging
all of my brain, no longer pushing me
to be more than I am expected to,
no longer making me sing and
talk and believe in myself, no
he is too good for that now.

the poet in me is quiet now
and all we have left is his pen
and our memory.