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  Apr 2019 untitled
James Heinrich
You
''What type of woman do you prefer?''
i was asked.
All of a sudden i was describing you
untitled Apr 2019
each press of my lips on your skin,
a gentle whisper of a secret, muffled,
too faint to be heard aloud—
it falls silent upon ears
but the heart seeps each promise
and intangible emotion in.

I look at you dreamily,
my eyes convey what my cowardice
will not dare to say.
I know you see it,
clear as day—
I am afraid though,
as we bear separate truths.
poem for my girlfriend
untitled Aug 2018
those that see beauty in everything feel the most discontent.
there are extreme emotions that one who is creative must process--
an unforced authenticity and tenacity to stay focused on a subject,
and to devote the same amount of attention to each entity, that you lose a sense of self and a sense of the world around you.

we use stress as a way of pushing us forward,
and only in moments of extreme stress does an amazing happening occur.
and for this, we are deemed odd, as a normal person thrives where they are most comfortable.

the originality that visionaries possess is exhausting, yet we admire it.
we allow for many things to flow in our minds without halt,
all notions and ideas taking up precedence, and this may be our greatest fault.

day break to sunset, my mind is racing non-stop, constantly,
to the point that sleep does nothing to quell the overthinking brain,
as my lucid dreams act as a force to keep me awake at night.
my mind is in a perpetual state of fantasy, sometimes during everyday life in bouts of daydreams,
imaging new situations and being unable to describe it all.

when I try to silence the thoughts that persistently flux through my mind,
my talents feel wasted during this time of artistic deprivation,
and only do I feel truly sound when I create new artworks for a few to discern.

sometimes I feel as though my mind feeds off on my depressive states,
as it takes the deepest of emotions to generate proufound art.
while I wish to be happy, I have a need to be in a bit of a sustained disarray.
something I wrote in December
(after my finals)
untitled May 2017
her foot never fully touched the ground,
remaining half afloat in the air--
stuck in the clouded mist of her anxious mind,
she could not grasp the full weight of reality

her dance too tentative to be considered one of grace,
she treaded carefully with each step, although,
she knew this all with a great familiarity--

a constant state of limbo and disarray,
out of touch with sight and mind,
thoughtless rumination
all gather to combine into this displacement

she leaps with hope and faith,
but unable to press her foot along the earth
she glides over the dust and ruin,
seeking to avoid rather than settle-- she survives without living
anxiety living avoiding trouble past
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