“Please stop trying to make me the ghost of your past lover.”

Poetry is music for the lost.

I refuse to let age take away the magic I believed in as a child.

You do not have authority to hurt me anymore.

His lips touched mine and suddenly all the colors in the world hit me at full force.

The distance between us is long but my love covers all grounds.

I build my own walls yet I am not strong enough to tear them down.

I’m coming home but this time with softer edges.

I may not have been able to keep my heart, but I’ve kept my strength.

I wonder how many scars I would see if I cut you open to reveal all your truths.

It’s comforting to know that I can still make a home in the places we used to occupy.

Everything I want is in your hands. And yet you have nothing to give.

The battle between emotion and logic is most brutal.

Come sleep in my heart. Make a home of it there.

Before I met you, I had a lion within me.

Emotions are such complex concepts to understand.

The light found me in the palm of your hand.

All the world loves a ghost. The evidence of that simple statement can be found by looking in nearly every direction.

I will still live like a ghost in the mornings; walking, listening, pouring coffee to finish sometime by the afternoon, when I’ve had enough of watching the world and do all I can to live in it.

I project myself out through the glasses and across the street, a ghost in the morning sunlight, torn with disembodied lust.

I have blisters on my feet from dancing alone with your ghost.

Derek (Jeter) told me the ghosts would show up eventually!

I like to trace the ghosts of your fingers on the back of my hand. They read- I don’t know how to hold without you.

Let us honor the Holy Ghost.

Have we forgotten that there is a Holy Ghost, that we must insist upon walking on crutches when we might fly?