"What is your name?"

"What do you mean?

Once, I was given a name,
By someone very dear to me,
But is that the name
That belongs to me?

I have names that I've chosen
Many names, made for strangers to see
But are any of those the name
That belongs to me?

I have shorthand names too,
Gifted affectionately,
But are those the names
That belong to me?

I have names that I share
'Poet,' 'Daughter,' 'Artist,' 'She.'
Could these be the names
That belong to me?"

"...
I just asked for your name."

Sigh.
Smile.
"You tell me."

What is the difference between a pure man
and a sinner?
Who decides what is Holy and what is demonic?
Why are they right?
Why do we have to listen?

They’re wrong.
I don’t believe it anymore.
The only sin I could commit would be to let this end.
If that makes me a demon, a sinner...
Then I will fall.
If it means that I can be with you.

Though I am of Heaven and you are of Hell,
our love will not be defined by the split between
Sin
and Purity.

They say the kiss of an Angel is the one touch that can forgive all sins.
My love, I am your only sin,
and you are the keeper of my purity.

I love you.

she was not fragile like a snowflake.
she was fragile like a bomb.
and i didn't know which was scarier-
                                                        ­  her explosion or her calm.

For everyone I’ve left behind
And all the things I’ve left to find

For all the times I’ve laughed and cried
For all sweet and off-tune lullabys

For vocals lost and voices found
For plush green grass and frozen ground

For all the things that caused me fear
And all the things that keep me here

For every sight yet to be seen,
We welcome the year 2018.

I’m a poet who doesn’t understand poetry.
I see all these words and phrases stacked up against each other
And they sound pretty
And they sound meaningful
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish there was a dictionary for poets
That tells you what things mean in plain English

Because let’s face it,
Poems aren’t written in English,
or any language that normal people can understand.
Poems are written in feelings,
Which is why I think that there’s no such thing as a bad poem.
Because no one speaks in someone else’s poetry.
We get a choppy translation
And sometimes that bad translation can make it seem like their language is gibberish.

Sometimes you can learn to speak another language,
But you’ll never be fluent.
Because as soon as you learn a word,
It’s going to change.
And every time you relearn it,
It’ll change again.
And even if you think you’ve got it down,
There are ten other people speaking ten other dialects,
And everyone thinks that theirs is the right one.

I’m a poet who doesn’t understand poetry.
Because I don’t write in English,
And I don’t know anyone who does.