If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains

Just when I get back on my feet you pass on by and I lose my footing Again

Forever seems like so long until I think of all the times spent waiting

I would write a sweet poem and title it with your name if I loved you at all

Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin

Under the weight of life I forget how to breathe and I feel suffocated I hesitantly make peace with the world

I know that you were there in my dreams and in my arms Every dream we

I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back

There seems to be a drought in my… but who knows if it is the cause or the result of the war raging within me