I am addicted to you
Every ounce of what I can find
In the depths of your soul
I hear you calling me
Keeping me up all hours of the night

The idea of being able to awake
With you by my side
Is enough to drive me mad
For hours, no, days on end

It’s a rare ten minutes
Where you don’t cross my mind
The sad part is
I can’t distance myself
From you

My subconscious
Is addicted as well
You have appeared
In countless dreams
The hero in my nightmares
I blink and see you

My body craves your heat
The curve of your spine
I long to memorize
Every outline
Of muscle and spot
Every blemish on your skin

If you dare ask
If I’m addicted to you
I will nod quietly
And beg you
Not to stage
An intervention

She was in a hurry,
A coffee to go
She began to worry
She was moving too slow

The coffee came
She paid quickly
He saw the dame
And acted swiftly

He ran to the door
A moment too soon
That young man, poor
Now he’s a goon

“Sorry Miss”
He said Sincere
I must confess
My mind is not clear

You are a beauty;
More than a dove
I am so clumsy,
I know I found love.

I walked in
all young and awkward and kindred spirit-less
with a name tag that read
in black marker with my bad penmanship
that only comes on your first day of a new place.

I walked in
and a nameless face greeted me
strange as he was
and asked if my name was Strawberry.
"It sure looks like it, doesn't it?"
I replied courteously.
And so they called me that.

I walked in
months later
to my first weekend with people like me.
and I liked it.
and they all called me Strawberry.

I walked in
on several different occasions
and I grew into my name
as a plant will grow to whatever container
you put it in.
and so people loved me.

I walked in
with an air of summer
an air of sweetness and bitterness and
****
but they still loved me
even more.

I don't know what I will do
when I walk in
my first day as an adult
and they ask me what my name is.
I could tell them "Strawberry,"
but they would laugh.

Adults do not understand
the sweetness and the bitterness
the ****
as only kindred spirits can.

Today, I must write a poem:

What this poem has to say
has yet to come to mind.
Has yet to ignite like a spark
on a cord
making its way
to an explosive source of ideas.

Such an amenity
so unlikely to be found
happening here.

I must again mine for thoughts.
So, along with my pickaxe,
I trek with good memories
to return me safely back
from the deepest recesses of my mind.

I hunt.

For idea. For inspiration,
For I cannot return
empty handed.

I dig. And I dig. And I dig.

It feels like forever,
as if there's nothing left,
as if the mountain of my mind
was tapped dry long ago.

I check every crevice,
every corner, and nook,
now ridden with old
and reused ideas.

And then I find it:

The first flower of spring;
the cloud in clear sky;
the single rock of inspiration;
possibly the last chunk of idea
for years to come
simply sitting there,
lighting up
the dark caverns of my mind,
waiting to take shape.

As I begin to mold
As I begin to sculpt
"It" is no longer an it.
Ideally, it's an idea
that has succumbed to the darkest,
most vile parts of my mind.
Yet, despite,
has been brought out the depths of
being just an idea, withering away;
it has been realized.
It has been successfully plucked
at its time of harvest.

It has become so much more;
this once coal of an idea
has been polished,
and glimmers just as bright
as its diamond-like companions.

So, I return
with yet another triumph,
from braving the dark and cold
labyrinth of my mind
yielding my trophy;
my idea.

Reflection lost
A sense of falling
Wings spread, then cut away
By the wind rushing up to meet me
Sweet agony courses through my veins
Empowering
And yes, bitter, but…
Still oh so appealing
I smile as blood cakes my back
Relishing the smell
Wishing for the taste
To fill my mouth with iron -
So much better than the salty sting
Of regret
For how far I’m plummeting
I shiver - the ground shudders in turn
As I crash into and back through
It shatters into pieces
Impact takes its toll
My reflection on the floor
As blood slowly flows from my arms
Everything seems so…
*Sharp