Somehow He tells me not to sleep tonight,
Whispers of a demon creeping out with blight,
The "Dream Eater", he smiles and says goodnight,
Tomorrows anew, as I cook up a stew, so sleep tight,

Little do you know what your treasures insight,
So scrumptious, they feed me even if they are made of light,
Do not worry little one, you do not need them, that's right,
For they are mine now so just be careful of my bite,

I will not harm you I just came to write,
What is yours will never be yours, because I will always steal your might.

I've got the world's best kept secret
locked in 2 AM screenshots--
her late night musings over a crusty joint, a crushed pill,
or some ***** cigarettes.

She sends me her thoughts,
fears,
anxieties,
insecurities--

at her most vulnerable,
absolutely the most beautiful.

Her anguish stressed in the digital scroll
(though she doesn't like Kerouac, I let her borrow my copy),
her stained fingers mashing all their hurt and nicotine
into the keyboard--

and her pen aches and her paper stains
with the unrequited love she empathizes with
in the somber pop punk songs that explode from the stereo
she sings loudly on cold and lonely night drives
(I shiver in her passenger seat).

And she made for me the greatest of mixtapes,
her holy scrawl expounding upon a dull grey donut-shaped
slowly fading form of intimacy,
a blank CD--

"This mix is a good time"

and when I jammed it into my car stereo I was illuminated.

She is so cool, she is so punk,
and in her clandestine drugstore car charger thefts,
broken poems,
impalpable aesthetic,
impeccable music taste,
illuminated or even further obfuscated drug trips--

I have the world's best kept secret,
and more than anything, I wish to share it with you--

                                     so she can make someone another mixtape.

When words were stolen from my page
I flew into a useless rage,
But then I came across some lines
Which helped me through those angered times.

It was Poetry Journal (MVP)
Who pointed out the theft to me.
Ajey Pai K also showed
The plagiarism, and bestowed
This knowledge for the world to see,
And challenged them to disagree.

I did some research to discover
This matter clearly touched another;
Scout Pilgrims poem said "Don't be
An *******!" to writers like me,
And so I tried to write some verses
In appreciation for the curses
You heaped upon the plagiariser
Whilst I, myself, was none the wiser

If it wasn't for people like you,
Who helped their fellow poets through
And valued the writers honesty,
I'd give up writing poetry,
And although this poems not my best
I need to get this off my chest
So I'll force the rhyme to make it so;
I appreciate it lots- thank yo!