I wish I could find words to describe you.

I’ve learned Latin and can say “cow” in French. I’ve heard Italian, and read in Spanish. But I have yet to find any words in this world, strong enough to write poetry about you.

So the world,

Will never know you,

Because it’s words,

Are not ready for you,

Because you darling,

Are pure poetry in an alphabetic world.

Bare branches are beautiful,

You don’t have to hide behind,

The vibrant mask of your leaves,

For me darling.


Just because,

You are afriad that they will judge,

Doesn’t mean,

That I will.

Writer’s Words

They took my words from me,

The only thing I thought they couldn’t.




But did they?


My mouth formed the shape of words,

And my vocal cords whispered the vowels.


My brain spun new poetry,

And my fingers attached themselves to a pen.


Did they?


I think not,

Because you can never separate,

A writer from her words.


Grief can harden them,

And anger can make them red hot,

But you never can take a writer’s words,


And so you can never take away mine,

Because I am a writer,

Even if you never saw it.




The sad part about losing you,

Was that you lost me first,

And I not only lost you,

I lost sleep,





Inside jokes,


And myself somehow.