It doesn't matter
how many layers
I put on,
this bed still feels
too cold to sleep
when you're not lying next to me

you passed by
like a hurricane
a tsunami following your wake,
you turned my world upside
I had no choice
but to go along for the ride,
so much happened
I thought
it must have been years
but it was only a second
that you passed me by,
in a whirlwind
so fast
so driven
you didn't notice
I slipped my heart into your pocket,
and you kept on going
leaving me behind,
forgetting...
I know not where you have gone,
but I wonder
if you ever took your hands off the beast of life
and dared to relax them in your pocket,
if you would find my heart there, still,
or perhaps it fell out
tumbled down into the bush
on one of your adventures,
lost forever,
it hurts
it hurts so bad
that you have my heart
but I do not blame you
for not giving yours in return
no,
for you didn't know I gave you mine,
to blame you would be unfair,
so I shan't tell you of the tears I've cried
from my loss
my pining
no I do not blame you
for not returning a love
you don't know begs returning.

I wish our words
could be as easily
erased from our hearts
as they are from paper

If I'm being honest
I'm tired of being a poet.
I'm tired of findig meaning in everything from the lines of the sky to the cracks in the side walk
I'm tired of using extended metaphors to explain how overwhelmed or angry or sad I am 
I'm tired of immortalizing the people I love or hate in half assed lines of poetry
For once I would like a good day just to be a good day or a bad day just to be a bad day
A landscape to hold no higher meaning than to magnify the glory of existence
For the people I know to hold no cosmic significance in the fabric of time
I would like to sit and be quiet
To write and be at peace
For the storm to pass over
And to find some relief
This is not a game for me this is how I breathe and I am tired of having to hold meaning in every crack and every crevice
My poetic nature has become a menice in my tired skin
I'm tired of letting the light in
But this isn't something you quit
This is something you breathe
This is something you are
This is something you need
Even if it doesn't make sense all the time
This is the one true thing I know that's mine
My sense of rhythm and my sense of rhyme
And it isn't easy all the time
Because these days life moves faster than I've even known
Faster than I can process what I've been shown
These days it's easy to feel the weight of all of my time spent alone
My mind isn't home
I'm chilled to the bone
These days I'm tired of being tired and tired of writing about how tired I am
Like I'm six feet under but I'm not yet dead
Using poetic devices to say what's already been said
I'm tired of playing this game
Imortalizing name after name
I still feel the same
Even though I still keep writing
So what I'm trying to say is that I need poetry like I need water but sometimes if you drink too fast or you drink too deep you feel like you're drowning
Out to sea in familiar surroundings
It's astounding how tiring being a poet can be.