First love.
Blind love.
Arms tied behind my back love.
Eyes bigger than my heart love.
I can see my way through the dark love.
Head up in the clouds love.
Feet high up off the ground love.
Far too young love.
Everlasting love?
Wrapped up in nostalgia love.
Don't go there love.
Leave in the past love.
Why does this hurt my insides love?
Head in the sand love.
Feet back on the ground love.
Second best love.
Finally grown up love.
Blind love.
First love.

If I could be a color I would be a crimson red
painting hearts with my quill feathers
while dancing playfully around your bed.

If I could be an angel in your dreams
I would float you gently on my cloud
softly rocking you with my wings
so that you know you're safe, and sound.

If I could be a song of love
I would sing it just for you
I would sing it every day --
so that you know I love you too.

Your arms could possibly be my jacket
    They can be around my shoulders
   Around my chest
   Such as my waist
   Your stomach pressing against my back
    That's be nice ....
    Warm tooo

You were so real I swear to God.

And so I write and write and write,
Until you become so fictitious and so unreal,
I have to stop believing.

That's how I get rid of love.

Who needs chocolates
when your sweetness
goes beyond my tongue,
beyond my senses,
into my memory,
where it makes the taste
of everything sweet
seem sugar-free?

Who needs flowers
when I've got a field
spreading from our love,
filled with buds that don't die
and don't need colorful petals
to attract more than two,
forever growing,
with scent everlasting?

Who needs gifts
when everyday I get to
unwrap true love
covered in layers
of this friendship,
life's most valuable present
you can receive many times
but only keep once?

Who needs Valentine's day
when life itself,
for us,
is a celebration,
and our hearts are always
birthday celebrants
because everytime
feels like the first time?

She climbed on stage anxiously
Blow of the wind bursting free
In every step meant for thee
She ought to handle perfectly

Roar of the crowd rushing wild
Knees trembling like that of a child
Applause blaring, surrounding the platform
Made her come back to the day she was born.

When all went well with a rhythmic tone
When in time she felt very much alone
The voice that came fresh from within
Turned her to this person so awfully mean

She grabbed that mic and made attempt
Compelling herself to explain what it meant
Uttering, she whispers on the wing
“Not all with the Voice, Sings”