“I laugh and I cry and I reason on until the late night, but I never feel the urge to call you. The person that I once knew is forever frozen in time.”

You don’t deserve my poetry. I hate that I give you that satisfaction still.

Your name still tastes like poison in my mouth.

Soft and sweet and wrapped around your fingertips.

I have so much love to give even with these daggers still stuck in my heart.

I am still weighed down by unspeakable heaviness- It follows like shadow currents.

I thought time would heal my broken heart, but its been forever since I fell in love and I’m scared that you took pieces of me that can’t be replaced.

Be here with me tonight, and lets sing the saddest moon song there ever was.

He grabbed my hand as the flames licked at my feet and the devil and I danced.

A place where our stories are rewritten, and six degrees of separation no longer troubles us.

My mother always told me that love is like a plant, but she never prepared me for the realization that too much love towards the wrong person can drown your heart until it rots.

Spill yourself onto the page with ink and a half healed heart and watch the words blossom.

I like to think of myself as the sun, but it gets really lonely all the way out here especially when everything I try to touch burns.

I know I write too many love poems, and perhaps this is me admitting that the love inside me is still there somewhere, stagnant – but its a cruel addiction. I need a intervention.

There was a time when I loved you too much that it made me feel the darkest shades of blue. It’s been years now, but I’m seeing life in other colors again.

A sea of jumbled emotions I had longed to live again, a feeling that no metaphor could match.

There were still embers scattered around me from the bridges I have burned. I wonder if they can feel it too. The space between us lingering like a scarlet letter, I’m learning how to love again.

I was a left-handed dentist who made people cry.

You’ll never have any trouble with Mr. T, I’m just a big, calm teddy bear kind of guy. Mr. T ain’t ashamed to cry.

My mother told me, ‘Son, nobody else but God knows.’ And that’s what I’m about – reaching out to the people, crying with them, giving them hope.

When I go out and I meet people who are suffering and they come and talk to me, Mr. T cries, Mr. T who could break a man’s jaw with his fist.

You’re still crying about him aren’t you? Silly girl. What good will it do you to spill those sky blu tears? You meant either everything to him or absolutely nothing at all.

The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.

There are voices crying what must be done, a hundred, a thousand voices.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply… For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.