I like it when you hold me
and pout your lips, smiling a little bit
and you look in my eyes
before stealing a kiss on my nose
It gives me butterflies
that leap and soar
because I'm so in love with you
I like the way you think
how you're thoughtful and measured
how you listen and remember
how you always try to do the right thing
It makes me feel safe
and grounded and at home
and so in love with you
I like every moment I spend with you
and I'm eager for more
how many years
does it take to see
the More you have
the less you're free
the other way around
is what you'd think it'd be
the More you have
the less you need
but what you need
isn't always what you have
as we all could do
with a little less
and the less you have
the More you know
to let it go
...and when you find that
the less that you'll want
Crushed flowers are beautiful,
not useful but certainly nice to look at
My sister affectionately called me a 'delicate little flower' one of the many times you made me break down, crushed from false accusation
until i eventually dried up
pressed myself until the pain no longer hurt.
I wondered why i had become such a fragile thing
shouldn't heartbreak build you up, a learning experience rather than reducing you to a few petals and a stem.
i feel more like a tree
green and great during the warm summer months
unaware of the freezing winter winds that will blow away all my protective leaves. barren. cold.
i hope someday i will become evergreen
beautiful, tall, luscious and full- pine or cedar or spruce
staying fragrant all year round
but for now i remain a daisy
dried, pressed and crushed between these pages, within these words.
It has always been like this
He is my friend
Has been since fourteen
And whenever we hang out
He leads me into my room
A place of solitude
Where it is just me and him
Every session leaves me with crimson lines across my flesh
But he does not leave afterwards
He does not feed me lies
Or trick me with pseudo scenarios of how things can improve
He gives me the blunt words I need
Proof of my failures written on my skin
Yet, he is oddly comforting
In a way most cannot understand
My friends say I should cut our ties
Break the friendship and ignore him
But I have no will to
Because once they realize I am not worth their time
He will not leave me behind
I will still be his first priority
Now, and forever
While all he ever asks in return
Is a few scars on my skin
I’m a poet whose imagination’s died,
a galaxy whose sun’s ceased to shine.
Pray for me, for I am lost.
The builder didn’t count the cost.
Laid in a tomb behind a stone,
swallowed by a fish in the deep unknown,
I’m waiting for my day to come
when you make me speak
like you healed the dumb.
Call my name and there I’ll come.
Loose me and I’ll freely run.
I’m just waiting for your hand
to pull me on the sea again.
There I’ll see you in the light,
the water’s calmed and the moon is bright.
Little, yes, my faith may be,
but I’ll try again, just wait and see.