I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

so many poems
are about heartbreak
but what about
the leaves we rake?

so many poems
are about loss
but what about
your grandma's tomato sauce?

so many poems
are about love
but what about
your nice winter glove?

if we took a step back
and saw the little things
maybe we wouldn't need as many poems
about depression

I’m hanging
on the ‘y’
of your goodb  e
                         y

I smell that i am rotting
the flower by my nose  
Was easily retrieved
from dirt beneath my toes

Distract me from the pain
redirect my sadness
Are those in love sane
or wallowing in madness..?

Everything is potent till you use it all the time
yet your still on canvas in the paintings of my mind
I find ;
i never quite lose you all the way
I tossed you to the ground
but wanted you to stay..

My mind is a maze
Mirrored walls
Sloped floors
I can't find my way out of it

Like a circus freak show
My mind freaks me out
Terrorizing me in the night
Invading my resting dreams

But in these times I'm lost
Although I'm scared and alone
There is peace in these halls
Of my mazed mirrored mind