Sexy Books

Well today is another day for poems, my friends. These are a few that I have written in the past month and are mostly about relationships and self-reflection. I mostly write when I am having weak moments, so these really don't represent my every day state of mind. Writing really is a great outlet for me when I feel overwhelmed and hopefully they will help you too. Please let me know what you think!

I Only Need Your Love Because I Gave You All of Mine

I cannot know

what you need now,

so I give you

time.

What bigger gift

could a person

give?

Yet it scares you more.

You need to know

that which scares you

(my emptiness)

comes only from being

so full

I had to dump my purse.

Now you have

my coins,

and instead of refilling me

you run.

Can I Kiss You?

I should have said yes

when you asked

so innocent and delicate

what held me back

I had never been asked before

only pressed

by any parting lips

whose fancy may have been

what was so wrong

that I said no

not now

not any day

because I ruined your

beautiful question

of can my lips

touch yours

My Robin

I walked right along

and so also did he

I thought that the robin

was walking with me

but it seemed when I moved

so also must he

until I moved too much

to stay comfortably

then he fluttered away

my robin from me.

#6

How do I look when I'm mad?

Only you'd really know.

Do I look like a child,

a girl who can't have her way

or do I just look tired

of arguing all the same?

What about when I'm depressed?

Are my eyes all puffy

after hours of crying

and your gentle hand on my back

and soft song over my fears?

On the Same Page

Your hand is around

the top of my hip

but you're grabbing

me like a book.

Flinging open the cover

and stealing all

the words, the ideas,

the big picture

of my pages.

You finger the leafs

with soaking, trembling hands

that rush

to the corners

as you smile

at me trembling too.

Your eyes melt 

the print with speed

as you consume

every breath

that ever held air

in my plot.

I am used and beaten

and tattered

but your body knows

that inside of me

is still

the same story.

About poetry: A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. - Robert Frost