We're vague as **** lovers.
What do you mean?
Doesn't matter who said it.
The answer is a riddle anyhow.

Just because the sun rises,
doesn't mean it's a warm day.

Just because I smile,
doesn't mean my heart feels that way.

My poetry is like a broken dam,
because it bursts out of me,
all broken,
****.

Are you,
are you,
the one leaning on the tree,
the careless beauty,
your hair dancing in the breeze?

Don't give me your jacket, dork.
Drape it,
around us both,
and hold me close.

Two roads,
did not diverge,
in my dying wood.

There is no clear path,
I am wandering,
and wondering,
where do I go from here?

strangely
there's something somewhat comforting
about nobody appreciating
your poetry
and in knowing that not everyone will read
and no one will fully
understand
there's something promising about the void of silence
and its perpetually unending eternity of emptiness
and quiet
my mind is a maze that no one bothers to play with
and this bothers me greatly
yet not at all