The door is there for the opening
You know we all hold the key
Pour out your thoughts on paper
Your on the road to poetry.

Your words at first may falter
Like a child's very first step
But the more that you keep writing
There will be words you'll never forget.

You know you will never regret this
It's the greatest therapy
And before you really know it
Your a writer of poetry.

There's a poet there in everyone
Thats what a poet said to me
So if you really whant to be one
Then you will master poetry.

i want to be moved by things,
even if they leave me empty
afterwards.
i want to be known
by someone who's brave enough
to dare and explore
the most profound depths
of my soul.
i want to always be seen as i am,
not as i was before;
that person is long gone.
i want to be loved like a sky on fire,
like a flood of devastation,
like a stolen kiss
before the end of the world.
i want to be moved by things,
even if there's nothing
but a lifeless desert
in their wake,
even if they leave me empty
afterwards.

My mind is a wilderness
with no way of disentangling
the mess that is my thoughts.

I struggle with unraveling
the troubles of my soul
as they keep growing unchecked.

I am lost in the thicket,
looking for tools to find my way,
and I wish I dared ask you
for help with finding my heart.

I've drank the finest of wine
Down to the bottom of the bottle
Only to witness an ocean alone
Barely surviving my own hands

A fire burned through my viens
That was blew out by the wind
Breezing through the leaves
A calmness that sits with me
Before calmness dismisses me

I walked across the tallest blue sky
Where wide winged birds soar high
Til promises of white clouds turn grey
And so there I fell with the rain
Dripping through the lowest gutter

Many times I was buried, lying in dirt
Like a grave, needing no help
Finding the dark inside of myself
But I always rise with the blades
Of the greenest fresh spring grass

No matter what feeling I catch
None of them seem to everlast

This isn’t a poem
So don’t expect anything more
Than me ranting about how
My head, eyes, and heart are sore

This isn’t a poem
I’m telling you it definitely is not
Yet why do I feel like writing
Is like undoing a knot

This isn’t a poem
No, I promise that I don’t lie
And that my tongue
Doesn’t feel like it's tied

This isn’t a poem
That’s not what its meant to be
Rather it's just simply
A rhyming expression of me