she's been staring at blank pages
tapping her pencil against the desk
shaking her foot
she's been staring at blank pages
lost for inspiration.

she's started to cry
late at night
sometimes in the day
she's got a weight on her chest
she overwhelmed with emotions.

She's been filling up those blank pages
pencil swishing back and forth
paintings
drawings
poems
stories
each tear drop
a new chapter
every sniffle
a stroke of the brush

overjoyed to produce lovely work
dying from the pain
loathing the necessity
that artists
need to be miserable
in some way
or another
to be great

He's the dagger
twisted in my gut,
all the pretty words
dolled up with a
smile that is anything
but pure or true.

He's a spicy treat,
when all I'm looking for
is something sweet.

Perhaps it's wrong of
me, to search for love
in eyes that wander so
far I have to make
maps of their journey.

He has me falling
from the tallest crevices
with promises to catch
me with arms that are
already holding another.

He's a lost cause,
a candle blown out,
the stolen kiss that
was never returned.

But I'd bet all my
money on him within
a heartbeat if he said
he felt even a mere
shadow of what I did.

she forgot to write a poem that day,
and the day next
and the day next,
she forgot to write a poem that week,
and the week next
and the week next,
she forgot to write a poem that month,
and soon forgot that she had forgotten to write a poem,
she forgot all about words that rhymed
and titles
and tags
she forgot to write poems,
because she forgot to be sad.

I touched your face
~ today*
I drew
     the fingers of

     my right hand

         down slowly,

              gently along

             the left side
    
              of your

            beautiful

           face


I cupped your dainty chin
between thumb and forefinger

I willed with all my energy that

you might feel my touch and hear

my heart whisper your name -

"my darling little bird"

~

and I heard you softly say my name ...

"ant..."

"stay with me ant..."

"don't leave me,  please..."


I heard you say that

~ today

when I touched

your beautiful face

in my favourite photograph of you.

I once told you
how passionate I am
when it comes
to my one and only vice

With that, you retort
"Alcohol is never the answer"
and with that statement, I ceased
for in you, I believed

Before, only wine can make me high,
but our happy months came by,
surprised at how you made me high
With you, I reached the sky

A single drop, my lips didn't touch
but when you left
the only thing, it became
my lips ever reached

Now that I ponder on it
I should really cease
doing my newest habit:
thinking of you