words at most
are sign posts
never touching
what's real
minds watching
yearning to feel
and at least
the beasts
of burden
I'm sorry
i beg your pardon
i didn't mean those words
that cut to the bone
the words said in anguish
the words that you moan
love has its own language
that communicates by touch
you speak to me
you tell me so much
the words I weave
are a cry for help
please don't leave
this is what I felt
fault lines through and through
cracks in my sentences
words no longer the glue
the endless relentlessness
of thoughts
circling like sharks
they haunt
my deepest parts
the weakest heart
pumping out words
of dread
this is what I said
you said
the words that line our bed
sleeping on novels
we are apostles
of language
tell me how you manage
all your words
how do you discard them
with such ease
no gratitude
no need
your smile
sells more
empty words
than I could ever write
I'm never right
how could I be
when words are all I see
so please
use your lips
to silence my sentences
wrap your tongue
around my words
i promise you some
you've never heard.

And what do I serve with tea?

Of a cake layered with words - a slice
A croissant with stirring smilies
A quiche with quaint archaic spice -
Fresh from a poet's repository.

In the clink and chime of quills and pots
And spoons that stir the brewing tea
Dark or creamed, winter or spring
Here's to a cup of poetry.

I am Both
I am held together,
I melt away.
I am the voice that speaks for pay
I am at a loss for what to say.
I am the day, I am the night
I am the peace; I am the fight.
I am the love, I am the hate
I am on time, I come in late.

I am the good, I am the bad
I am the real, I am the fad.
I am with you, I am alone
I am the sewer, I am cologne.

I am the rich, I am the poor
I am the nun; I am the *****.
I am the door, I am the wall
I am the big, I am the small.
I am the doubt, I am belief
I am the long, I am the brief.
I am the servant, I am the king
I am the mute, I too can sing.

I am the mansion, I am the shack
I am the plenty; I am the lack.
I am the truth, I am the lies
I am the laugh; I am the cry.

I am the bitter, I am the sweet
I am the win, I am defeat.
I am the up, I am the down
I am the smile; I am the frown.

I am the calm, I am the strife
I am the death; I am the life.

I am the two of all we see,
Both good and bad we come to be.
When the finite's in eternity,
Both good and bad reside in me.

Because I am the fire, I am the snow
I am holding on; I am letting go.
I am satisfied, I am discontent
I am the sender; I am the sent.
I am the foe, I am the friend
I am the start I am the END.

You’re not a poet because you know those ‘fancy’ words
You’re a poet because every word you write comes straight from your heart

You’re not a poet because people admire your work
You’re a poet because you write for your own contentment and not for people's consent

You’re not a poet because you feel alone
You’re a poet because pen and paper are your biggest companions

You’re not a poet because you understand emotions better
You’re a poet because you let them flow freely

You are not a poet because you’ve failed in love
You’re a poet because you’ve been in love deeper than anyone else

You’re not a poet because you are strong
You’re a poet because you don’t hide your weaknesses

You’re not a poet because you can heal hearts
You’re a poet because you know what it means to be broken