Pens clash with keypads
and papers duel with screens,
Time fights for its life
and the past re-surges to haunt me
While I cower behind fear
hiding from
the *future.

Common *** for common man
Leave passion for the poet

Our lips touched,
And we burned.
    I was consumed by a passion so intense,
    So fervid, The stars scorched.
You are my only Salvation,
But Salvation is not what I seek.
Not from this glorious lust of insanity.
     *Not now,
       Not ever.

My parents always warn me about drugs
And places
And weapons
And sketchy people
But never about the normal people
To ones that can hold you
And make you feel special
But later can tear you to shreds
And leave you abandoned
And alone

My parents always warn me to stay away from trouble
But never the ones who can truly hurt me
So I go to these people
Trust them with my secrets
My whole life

I think they care
And maybe they do
But only for a few minutes
Then they use it all against me
Ruin my whole life

And my parents say they warned me
But they never truly did...

Spring is an awkward age –
she is transition, change,
the taste of heat but the smell of rain.

She is braces, bunches, tiny daisies
freckling a face.
She is the puzzle-pieced laugh
through a gap-toothed smile,
the hands that touch
through a broken space.

Winter has taught her
not to fear the dark,
but she still remembers
what it is
to be lost;
hence, she is little flowers
peeking shyly
at the frost.