Ironic isn't it?
A poem about poetry?
A small thing talking about
The larger thing that is makes up.

But that's what poetry is.

Poetry is made up of words
That people are afraid to say,
Yet yearn to write because
Everyone needs to let the words escape.

Poetry is a collection of poems,
Which are a collection of words,
Which are a collection of thoughts,
Which are a collection of ideas.

Poetry is a collection of everything that makes a person who he is.

So, yes, this is a poem about poetry
Because poems are about expression
And desire,
And the desire to express.

That's what I have,
A desire for expression.
So, I'm expressing my desire
By writing a poem about poetry.

Poetry is the small thing that makes up the big thing.
That big thing is me,
And people around me.

And we make up the world.

You ripped apart my soul, I no longer wish for someone's arms to be wrapped around my body. And just as you always do, you came back, just like that. Not because you miss me, not cause you love me. But because you are a killer, and killers always come back to their crime scene

i eat alone and sleep
alone and i go out alone
and stay home alone
and ******* it i'm so
tired of being alone

Maybe you were right about me

I become afraid
of the sun -- I just wanted
love -- she burned me twice.

You say I have talent,
You say you want more,
I want to be one to feed your addiction,
The burning desire for more.

That's a weird addiction to have,
to crave lustful words,
but that's what I like about you,
It makes me wonder.

What should I say now?
Which words should I put together?
I want her to feel sensational,
pleasured and ecstatic.