missing my yard

as i blow thru the reed
the knot too much for me
simply waiting for that repo
and the letter i owe u

do you even think
when hurt seems to be ur season?

because all i seem to do
is simply think of u 😭

when u write my name in black
when u simply condescend without
is ur heart simply calloused
or does ur notepad: “no, right?”

its been 5 years without
and only one of having enjoyed
yet the more i click on that tiny
the more it hurts to admit

i miss u poet,
even if my response is a con as well…

u were my first,
but please dont be my last,

because even when my heart clears
with poems that are too plain
obvious is my only yearn
because its i who never say ur name 😥





just when autumn barely there
the fall i so desperately crave
Splashed with the hint of vermeil

she drops with a sigh
While neglect seems to miss
the leaf i never look for

as if my winter was run dry
my heart drips again with lassion
that only a poet can burn

if i cant buy that which isnt for sale
Then at least i can pick up
That which falls in my lap

as a torn bound spells so clearly,
The grass is always greener
But it may not be mowed!

And still i see u
Right where u should be

dedicated to a poet….