uncertain 

i don’t know whether to trust myself

or trust the words coming out of your mouth

because at least you have this all figured out. 

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blame game

hanging on to a thread 

that i created,

lowering myself into the pits

that i lit the fire to.

it’s a game of how much damage

i can cause and how much blame 

i’ll take for it.

my constant company

a poet like me never gets lonely;

i have my words to caresss my lips

and my thoughts to hug me tight;

no i am never lonely,

not with my turtleneck warming my chest

and my heart beating as a constant drum of my extradorinary life.

my company lays inside,

my words

my heart

my thoughts;

oh how i am loved.

Paris is a dream 

take me to Paris

so i can butcher beautiful words and mimic foreign accents

and drink incredibly expensive coffee

and pretend i like tea at 3 in the afternoon.

i will walk around while simultaneously falling in love with the romance language subliminally spoken 

all around.

take me to Paris

so that i can take in the overwhelming scent of

freshly printed poems and bakery goods and cry because 

this city,

is truly,

alive.

the flood 

i think too much,

but apparently that’s what 

gives a writer the upper hand. 

who said i wanted the pen in the first place?

yet it’s been handed to me.

therefore, i will let my thoughts spill over in floods

and watch the words fall like honey from my mouth and prick like the thorny stem of a rose. 

you’re enough for me 

you say you’re no good for me,

let me be the judge of that.

i have to bring my finger to your lips to stop you from uttering 

those words that bring saddness to your eyes and i want to kiss those

thoughts far,

far away. 

you’re good for me,

enough for me,

i promise.