Poets.
Ha!
We’re crazy!
Crazy, convoluted, and confused.

I’m a poet.
Yep!
I’m crazy!
My head is so full of random ideas,
So full of thinks that have never been heard,
Thoughts that have never been put into words.

You’re a poet?
Of course you’re crazy!
You write with a depth that cannot be measured
So deep you can’t see the bottom.

Oh, poets.
Yes, we’re crazy!
We’re crazy, convoluted, and confused.

As poets,
Yes, we know we’re crazy
And random and misunderstood

Hey, poets.
Embrace the crazy!
We’re crazy and crazy is good.

This sentence is false.
Now, if this sentence were to be false,
Then it would be true.
If it were to be true,
Then it would be false
Truly, this sentence is false.
False, this sentence is true.
You can ponder it
And ponder it
For the rest of your life,
But at the end of your life,
It will ring no more true,
And it will read no more false.

Tantalizing taste,
Sweet, salivating scent.
Delicately delectable
Apple pie.

A Jolt
Telling me to bolt
I shiver with cold
And it enfolds
My every sense
Fright

I am from black cats and silly smiles,
From senseless sisters and lazy Sundays
I am from coarse yellow grass
That brushes my legs and tickles my feet

I am from chlorine pools and fast flowing rivers
Sunny days and stinging nettles.
I am from tall trees and ripped jeans
Barbie band-aids and tireless energy.

I am from warm afternoons,
Bike rides and best friends,
Whole orchestras and squeaky recorders
I am from a place that is never silent
Pattering feet and clicking paws.
I am from snow days and sled rides,
Pillow forts and fragrant pines

I am from puppy dogs and Christmas gifts.
Spilled drinks and soaked towels.
Cool winter nights, curled up with a book,
Overstuffed sofas and Friday movie nights.

I am from daddy-longlegs
And chasing butterflies
Cicadas
Clinging to my shirt,
And caterpillars
Crawling up my arm.

I am from lemonade stands
And (I must admit) overpriced craft sales
Cozy blankets,
And widescreen TV’s.

I am from stories and pictures,
Scissors and glue,
Colossal messes and unstoppable laughter
Setting suns and shining stars
New days and new beginnings.

Memories I will forever cherish,
And new ones made every day.
Arguments,
Agreements,
Opposites,
And perfect matches.

Photographs that make me giggle,
Smile,
Cringe,
And remember.

My home is not a place.
I have made a home in my memories.
A place I can go whenever I want to smile.
I am from everywhere,
I am from anywhere,
And this is the place I call home.

When I look into your eyes,
What do I see?
Dark and light,
Black and white.
Shadows that spiral into the depths
Of darkness
Fear?
Solitude?
Sadness?
Your expression is unreadable,
But it stirs something inside me.
The battle between dark and light
Is mesmerizing.
I cannot look away.

What makes a poet?
A poet is not a writer.
No, a poet is a composer
A poet is an artist
A poet creates masterpieces without paint
A poet creates songs without music

Poets can find meaning in anything
Poets can make the most overused things original
Poets can pull emotions from the depths of their minds
And put them on a page

A poem is made of a complicated simplicity
A poem is a silent melody
A poem is a persona
Immortalized in words