Your words
Fly through my head
Like fireflies
Caught in a jar
Trapped by a child
Kissed by the sun
And a strawberry ice cream pop in his hand.

Your words
Dig into my skin
Tunneling
Like an ant
Endlessly perseverant
Endlessly irrelevant
Never more than a soldier
Fighting for a king that doesn't care.

Your words
Surround me
Engulf me
Trap me
An endless web of lies
Stretching out through my heart
Winding around my love
And squeezing
Tight tight
Until I am completely yours
Forevermore.

Our unrequited love stretches through time.
Joy, love, and sorrow becomes a rhyme.
I take your hand, unsure what to do.
I love you more than anything. Do you love me too?
Pain, heartache, comfort, glee,
Those are the things you give to me.
Passionate kisses, our love never ends,
This is the poem I read to my friend.

When the howling of the wind,
And the swirling of the sea,
And the crunch of the leaves,
And all the screams and sobs of the world are too much,
Then come to my house.

Hear the squeak of the door opening,
The scuffs of your shoes on my unswept floor,
The fire crackling beautifully,
And hear my comforting words.

I can't fix it.
Nobody can except you.
But I can make you feel better.
And that's the only thing you need.

So open my door.
Come to my house.
And enter my heart.

First, it was drawing.
I wanted to be the best.
I spent hours on my floor with my sketchbook,
Filling it with broken humans.
But then, I abandoned it.

Next, it was baking.
I wanted to be the best.
I spent hours in the kitchen with my cookbook,
Making a recipe of disaster.
But then, I abandoned it.

Finally, it was poetry.
I didn't want to be the best.
I didn't want anything anymore.
I spent hours at my desk with my notebook,
Pouring my shattered heart onto the paper.
But then,
After I had tried so hard,
And given so much,
It abandoned me.

My mom said I wasn't real,
When I told her the crash wasn't her fault.

Can this be considered a poem?
Or is it just words written in the dead of night,
Scrawled in my notebook with a blue glittery pen?
I use the light of my slowly beating heart to see my futile writing.

Can this be considered a poem?
Or is it just my thoughts,
Thrown onto a poetry website?
My poems take up space that the real writers should occupy.

Can this be considered a poem?
No.
No it can't.
Because I can't write.