We'll meet again
Behind the sunset
The light of dawn
The hues of blue and pink
We'll meet again

We'll meet again
Behind a bookshelf
Behind a swinging door
Behind your eyelid moves
I see you and
We'll meet again

And when we meet again
Tell me how you feel
When we meet again

Opposites* attract, but we're one in the same.
Brown eyes meet green, saying words our mouths won't.
He nods like he understands and I almost ask him to explain it to me.
Almost, because I nod like I get it too. I don't though
It's clear to both of us how blurry all of this is.
It's easy to see how hard it is to understand.
It's nice to think how bad it could be.
Its odd how normal it feels.
Though it couldnt feel more right to be somewhere so wrong,
I love that I hate to love everything about us.

I try to find what I crave
And soon I see its her.
From myself I need to be saved
To not let this pass in a blur.
This ocean holds the key without contempt,
This grave revives amidst a wake
Of thistles unbound and patterns unkempt,
If only to grasp for heaven's sake.
The seekers find their mystery
In a poetry unopposed,
The voiceless hide their misery
In a sultry book of prose.

Our greatest fear
is often
being wrong,
but what is so good
about being right?

People who are always right
never learn to get up
because they never fall down.
They never taste
the sweetness of victory
after their mouth was filled
with the sour taste of defeat.

People who are always right
learn by retaining,
not by doing.
They are simply sponges,
collecting data,
barely in need of their brain.

People who are always right
do not get rewarded
because no one cares
about the one-shot triumph,
if the five hundred tries
are more interesting.

We are afraid of being wrong
because we think it means
that we are weak.
Being wrong,
however,
really just shows
we are human.

I write songs
but they don't sound right
I write essays
but it doesn't look right
I write tweets
but they're irrelevant
I write Facebook posts
but people rather cause drama than find ways to reduce the problem
I write on my hands
but they disappear after a shower
I write on walls
but the city covers them up
I write on a foggy glass
but it fades away
I write my name
but I've written it so many times it just looks like a trademark
Then I write poetry
everything seems right...
everything looks right
everything feels right
everything always reassures me no one will cover it up
everything seems to stay for the moment
Poetry is right

It is so hard
To be right
When wrong
Is the only
Thing known