"getting close to you," she said,
"it felt like skydiving"
her lips were trembling
and her eyes were so sad
"and now my parachute just won't work."

i never catch you staring at me
but i guess it's when i'm not looking,
when i'm turned away or
gazing out the window,
singing my favorite song.
oh darling,
i've never thought of myself being as beautiful
as the way my name is typed on your keyboard,
but i guess my brass hair
can shine in the sun.
oh beloved,
there is so much for you to learn,
so much time for you to decide
that i'm too much.
but let's not be naive, honey, okay?
boy,
of course i know it's about me.

to be a writer..

it’s an awfully emotional adventure.

it doesn’t mean
you’ve always got a pen in hand.
it also doesn’t mean
you’ve got too many voices in your head.

to be a writer
means to fall in love young,
and to never fall out of love.
because like a true love,
the words will never leave you
or never let you down.

to be a writer
means that you want it;
you crave the aligned phrases,
the scratch of lead on paper,
the depth of the ink soaking in.
the beauty that the words leave behind.

to be a writer
means that you need it,
that without it,
you’re not sure how you’d speak
without a voice.
it means that early in the morning,
when your cheeks are stained with tears
and your heart is trembling
within its cage
the flow of words
coming from inside
is the only thing that can save you.

to be a writer..

is an awfully wonderful adventure.

hi, you geek.
this one’s for you.
not that this is the only one
about you,
but for now,
it’s the only one i’m writing for you.

i love you.
three words
that tasted like sweet candy
on my lips
after i told you.

also three words
that i came to regret.

but now i see,
as much as i lie
and hide behind
my crafty facade,
the truth still remains
as a weight in my mind.

i love you,
you geek.

you dont have to be a writer to be a poet

you write poetry with the tears that glaze your eyes at three in the morning
you write poetry with the sound of your laugh and how your lips frame a smile
you write poetry with the eyelashes you bat at your lover
you write poetry with the words you whisper into their skin
you write poetry with the way your chest falls and rises with every breath you take

you dont have to put ink on paper
to be a poet
you just have to live

s.s

i write because paper
always listens

Why do I come here,
Day
After
Day
Soak my worries into these healing poems
Dive into someone else's heartbreak
Cry with them
Swim though a tangle of truth written by a nobody
You aren't a nobody anymore
This is a haven, a sanctuary of hope
For all these wandering poets
Wandering through heartbreak
Lies, truth
Death, life
Hurt, healed
So, ask me, why am I here?
Aren't you here for the same reason?