she wallows in confusion
when she can't express her pain
and every day she can't talk
literally drives her insane
she holds onto her panic
hiding inside her insanity
but every now and then
she decides to break free
She spreads her wings
and calls one number
She know her wings will be tucked
beneath a heart that does not slumber
Where she can rest her head
upon a regular heartbeat
and rest her heart
where it's safe to weep
A nest of Hope
A nest of Peace
A comfortable place
for tired wings to Sleep

To my unfinished poems,
the ones that will never see the light of day.
The ones that sit and pray
To be more than just a fantasy.

I need you to know that I’m sorry.
Sorry for not being brave enough to show you off to the world,
Sorry for not having enough strength to sew you up and make you perfect,
Sorry for not being able to give you enough so you could be just right,
Sorry that I didn’t have the strength to write.

To my unfinished poems,
The smell of coffee and stains of tears
Will always remain on your tattered pages.
The wails in the middle of the night
Of all the strife and plight
That I had to witness with my innocent little eyes.

To my unfinished poems,
Dry up your little eyes,
I know it’s hard to only see the night sky,
To never know the glimmer of light,
To be an incomplete work of art,
But darlings,
Don’t you see,
How even when you’re incomplete,
You’re still so very special to me.