I really do have my moments of guilt,
But also too afraid to lose what we have built,
Are you playing a game, and I don't know the position?
Or is this a transition to something great,
And night I'm alone and it's myself I hate,
But when I wake up to a clenched phone,
still smiling about the dream of me and you,
And a bench,
It, like the day, has been renewed,
So should I stay selfish and unflinching,
Even though the protests and picket signs,
Are crossing over to my mind,
Or realize,
That I never want to have a day,
Where I can't say,
Good morning, and I won't leave,
No matter what come,
And I am here to stay.
Maybe we both need to hear that for once in our lives,
Someone isn't leaving.

I am a poet
And my world is my own
No ingestion of substance can compare

I am a poet
My senses I hone
How else can I color them to share

I am a poet
My pain is my pride
My wounds bleed raw on a page

I am a poet
My hope burns alive
Experiences transform me to a sage

I am a poet
I overflow with love
I accept all for who and what they are

I am a poet
Who needs not a shove
To weave a story in whimsy from afar

I am a poet
My passion rules the mind
However logical I pretend to be

I am a poet
I coax the words in kind
Filled with feelings only memory can see

I am a poet
I see the verse as yet untold
I bathe pages from the beauty of a look

I am a poet
My pen leads to my soul
There is intrigue in every shadowed nook

I am a poet

You text yourself snipets of thoughts/lines, and when you go back to retrieve them you notice the only person you've texted back all day was yourself.

Know it all in theory never practiced
Waddles and quacks
Assumptions under false pretenses
Opinions often criticize
Judgments without a clue
Senseless chatter
Assless pants
Years behind
Broken spirits
Wavering faith
What is proof?
Wasted life and selfish acts
Yeah, what do you know?

When the thought of an absence
tears at the spirit
leaving a vacuum in its place
Perhaps it shall be called love

When a life would freely
be given for another
without thought or hesitation
Perhaps it shall be called love

When the happiness of another
means more than ones own
Perhaps it shall be called love

When walking away is the only option
to allow for that happiness
Perhaps it too, shall be called love