I wonder if you told her she looks beautiful tonight
I wonder if she revoked your truth
and you ended up in a fight
I wonder how strong your feelings are
And how weak is her heart
I wonder if she ever thinks of him at night
I wonder if her eyes shut tight
From the guilt of remembering his name
I wonder who is too blame in this insane game of trial and error
I wonder if she clutches your hand when she is scared at night
I wonder if you're willing to fight for her instead of allowing her to fade away
I wonder if you remeber the man you used to be
Can you see glimpses of me ?
I wonder if you had decided to stay
What may have been?
Or do you lie awake next to her to hear your heartbeats sync
During the night and all through the day I wonder
if l will ever be okay

Let your mind visualize further than your eyes have gone.
Look real deep to that time.
To that time where only for us,
One plus One equals One.

As I look back,
I see an ocean of thoughts and unanswered questions,
Leaving me puzzled
And left to ponder on my own.

If  only I could have that one moment in time,
That time when your eyes were filled with such a lust.
Just so I can meet you all over again,
And to make sure that I can say
I love us.

So many unanswered questions,
Blossom in my *****.
I see the love in actions,
But never in your eyes.
Never in your touch.
Walls built I cannot break through.
Do you crave my soul as I crave yours?
Does your heart ache with my absence?
Are we destined for eternity?
Or are we destined to fail?
For fear of failure,
The past is bittersweet.
It numbs me.
Reminding of hurt,
Reminding of smiles.
I take a breath and hold it,
Will it be the last?
As I exhale the poison leaves with it.
Doubts and concerns leave me.
I hold you and find peace,
Strength I never knew I had is found.
With the dawn of each new day,
My resolve gets stronger.
I have found my place.

"I went through my old notebook
One after other,the pages were a surprise.
There were cross marks all over
As if the words were,all lies.

I smiled over every crosses
But then my heart felt sad.
Because I could not remember,
What did i want to write,So bad?

Just like my unfinished poems,
Are some unread books.
Few unsaid words,And the final looks.
The tears unrubbed,
And smiles unlaughed,
Few hugs unembraced
And memories uncarved.

There is a pain,And lies a pleasure
In some unquestioned questions,
And those unanswered answers.

In something that stays,But is gone.
In poems like this,Which is never a complete one.

I'm tired 

Of people

Friends that complain about their true friends

I can't be friends with all of you

Simply because you show none back

To value someone at a higher state

Hurts you at any rate

To treat you special 

Even if it's all at the same level

I should be a quiet ******

At least interactions would further interest me

I'm tired of unanswered text

Or accommodating to your standards

I could be the one that make you laugh

But you want that ******* over there to do it 

Not me

Why 

Because I'm not him

Hey I'm a funny *******

I just gave a minor coin value

Me and old abe

Either way the penny is still earned or saved

I dislike how you cry every day he is gone

Don't get me wrong I understand you miss him

No I've never been in love 

I guess I won't understand

I won't understand how to hold certain people over others regardless of the binding situations we are put in

I won't understand that loving everything and everybody for what they are is so **** hard

On the other hand it is a contradiction

A hypocritical statement

Because at the end if the day

When living good noble and kind is a dangerous way to live

That means I'm a badass

But why value all as a million bucks

When you just a penny of a dollar

I used to write poems
Who knew how to rhyme
Easy words hung out together
Matching pace, keeping time

But now I like my proses
That don’t have to try so hard
I can write each phrase
Quick as it catches ablaze
No rhythm in it’s ways
Just minding its own business
As it swirls across my page

But I guess it’s not the words themselves
That put in the effort
That craft phrases so pristine
You’d think they’d been conceived by Robert Redford
(Oof)

It’s my latent mind
That no longer lives in the land of
Rhyme
Where AABB and ABA
Just aren’t my preoccupation
They don’t rise me to another station
Of talent and prowess
Of being the very best

I just want to write out how I feel
And not worry how it sounds
That is until I go back
And see how emotions lack
In words that don’t capture me
Don’t rapture me
With their romanceless apathy

I forgot that poetry is poetry because it is an art
That a lion is more a lion for his mane than for his heart.
Would a balding lion still best the other beasts?
Perhaps
But if so,
Wouldn’t you know
That a bald lion is a she
The one who hunts and bears new beasts
The one who bleeds and shares her meat
The one who mangles cub thieves
And I’m sure the one who untangles
Knots in the mane of the he

I digress from this feminist lioness
But I like this point of view
That sometimes beauty is better
And sometimes better is use
But I also already knew that
And if you’re still reading, so did you

My point is that though I am
Smarter now
Older
More mature
With thoughts that vibrate higher
And far less victim overtures
My poetry has suffered
And I enjoy it less
And now to create
Swooning phrases capped in rhythm
I must confess
That I labor

In my old way of feeling I found it easier to create
But in my new way of thinking

Ah
There it is.
In my new way of being I think
I choose when to be swayed by an emotion
Rarely being overtaken
But also rarely feeling forsaken
Accepting calmly an occasion where my intentions are mistaken
No matter,
I remain unshaken

There we go
I’ve got it back
A little rhyme
Picking up the slack
And in the evening I’ll have a snack
Some carbs
Some sugar
And the extra poundage won’t give me anxiety attacks
Cellulite on my thigh
Doesn’t make me want to cry
I’m not so lonely
I am content
I am ambitious
I pay my rent
I don’t overeat
Or undereat
I just want to feel sated
I’m not frustrated
I don’t feel hated
And my gratefulness is never belated
I’m happy
I am not manic
An unanswered text won’t send me into a panic
I moisturize
I don’t have bags under my eyes
I don’t compromise
I won’t lie
And when I care I really try
I love my home
And love my skin
I love my bumpy shins
I don’t feel stressed about my age
Or the passing of time
So I suppose I won’t fret
That my words won’t always rhyme

She'd crayoned indiscriminate orange cheer and saw that she'd later been placed high up on the fridge door. From experience she knew that this meant that she had created something of worth, something with a 3-year-old's indiscriminate love, kept in place by a bright red magnet right next to a half-finished shopping list.  

At their next visit she pointed and laughed - it was still there, though a little askew and over-caressed, judging by the finger-grease stains. Her pride was self-evident as she presented the picture's yellow counterpart and watched it being mounted with a matching magnet.  

This time she noticed the tears, so had to ask her mum what that meant.  

She quickly learned and later at the Royal Academy she was ready with a handkerchief when her grandfather teared up staring up at the family portrait in her signature sunshine palette. She enjoyed the smile as he reached up as if to bless the elevated portrait with his familiar caress and grand-paternal pride.  

But the repeated queries about the bright red spot that featured on most of her portraits went unanswered.

She is my unopened
present
my box of regrets,
the locked door;
the letter without
a stamp.

I'm a
flower without
soil
A fish on the
beach.
I'm a lame dog,
and the gray in
a beard.
I'm an
albatross on a
gray sky,
a ship lost
at sea.
I'm the unanswered
words...
Marry
me.

You were always online but never on line in all ways.
For days on end, my calls and messages would go ignored and unanswered.
I left my heart far away from the margin on a page that was carelessly ripped out from my book of thoughts.
Forever is a myth and the future is uncertain; the weight of all these words has gradually become a burden.
At around 2 a.m. in the morning I am usually up thinking about you with no hope of finding sleep.
I am usually up listening to a wide variety of songs that exceptionally complement my melancholic mood.
It’s hard walking away from a girl whose arms I’ve always wanted to run into.
What should I do now with the love that I’ve always wanted to give to you?
As I toss and turn, my earphones inevitably become as tangled up as the words I’ve tried to say to you.
The words that I have tried to say to you are now slowly suffocating me.
These words keep depriving me of the air that I need to breathe when I think about the greatness that we both could be.
Forever is a myth and the future is uncertain; the weight of all these words has gradually become a burden.

Booming voices, and broken glass
Tuesday at 2am, Thursday at 4pm
Hysteric laughter, backwards ball caps
Scribbled writing that doesn’t even make sense
Birds trying to fly but falling instead
Headlights piercing through the foggy darkness of dawn
The realization that entropy is unavoidable
Ash grey, lavender, forest green, misty rose pink
I am struggling and haven’t yet found my kitchen sink
A piano slightly out of tune, papers falling to the floor
Glazed over eyes, cracks in the sidewalk, all of this what for?
Steaming cups of black coffee, met with desiring needs
Full moons and unanswered questions
All of these, I happen to be.
The power of silence, the power of identity
Thunderstorms, moments of chaos perfectly intertwined with the silence,
Unmade beds, messy hair that falls into your eyes.
The ever-moving cold gray skies and beauty of the sunrise
Out of place tiles on bitterly cold linoleum floors
I am not perfection, in any way, shape, or form.
I fall from grace routinely, my bones ache and tremble
And when I fall apart, it takes me a while to reassemble.
Like gunshots muffled by the noise of the city blocks
I am not perfect, nothing special ever happens.
I am broken, I am misplaced and unwanted passion.
I am the raw energy that shoots from my fingertips
The tumbling words that constantly fall from my lips
That I cannot, nor would I want to control.
Galaxies and constellations grow in my soul.
I am, nothing more, than all that I have listed.
I am mistakes, dark times, unnoticed and forgotten moments.
But I am also a smile after a long cry, (don’t worry) your identity has not been stolen.

Did you get those scars on your knees from praying?
Or ******* your fathers **** inside the barn?
or did you pray while doing it
that he would choke on his own satisfied face?
did you sit inside his church listening to him preach
hypocrisy to family and friends
while you swallowed back that bitter taste he left in your mouth
the one that tasted like an anger so pure it made your eyes water?
did you wait patiently for him to finish his speeches about
salvation, jesus, god and being sinless
whilst you prayed in that godless church, he would miss a step
fall and break his neck?
Was that thought the only thing that gave light to your eyes?
did you think these things while you brushed the dirt and gravel off your knees
wash the blood in the toilet
Put on your Sunday dress and look at yourself in the mirror
with empty eyes
that knew nothing but hate
and a shame so heavy it made you hate the act of breathing?
because every time you did it reminded you of the weight on your chest that no amount
of air
could
get
rid
of
(like the time he sat on you when you were sleeping)

Do you think that gods disciples and prostitutes have the same knees?
Do you think anyone can tell the difference?

Does the cross around your neck ever threaten
to get so tight it chokes you?
so hot, it burns your skin?

Too much praying gets you to the same place
when you're left with nowhere to dish out your pain
and too many unanswered questions, on your knees
on your ******* knees
about fathers and gravel, dirt **** and spit
*We all get ****** in the end

friendship becomes deeper
and love was developed
but as years passed by
Our friendship turned cold
then our love faded

Our Untold story buried in the past
where explanations remained unanswered
The scar that reminds me of our love
and remember the story of our history