I slept off on my notebook

thinking of all the ways I could write about you

or I could just say

I slept off thinking of you

but I think it’s safer to say

I came up short


My throat is dry from frustration

My body sick from lack

I’m looking for my oceans

So I can wow you with beauty

And pour out exactly like a fountain

but I can’t find it

so I think it’s safe to say

I came up short


Maybe you were right

When you said I couldn’t do it

Maybe you weren’t

But my pencil’s glued to my hand

So I’ll say what I can

Whichever way it comes across


I wanna say I love you

10 times out of 9

I don’t know if it’s love though

Or greed

but me and my heart took classes in self restraint

and for all the wrong reasons too


Most times I’m dreaming

Thinking of all we could be

And there’s so much I want to say

That I hope you don’t drown in

Secrets I wanna spill

That might burden you

Questions I want to ask

That I can’t seem to

I’m thinking of you

11 times out of… sorry, did I use that trick before ?


I am wondering

how my pen can produce such a poor representation

of how I really feel

or maybe how I feel isn’t enough for poetry

Did I say not enough ?

I meant weighs much more


I’ve thought of maybe 3 million ways

to be with you

All in different times and universes

Not to torture myself

But for the pleasure of leaving this world

Even if it’s just in my head

At very volatile moments











Dreaming of dreaming

ways you can’t imagine

filled with love

and lust



with zeal

that I am most likely incapable of in this life


It’s only been an hour

I am trying desperately to mean the things I say

and say the things I mean

but even genuine words on paper

could be read in the worst of ways


This is a poem I slept upon

I should apologize for what it’s turned into

A hole I vomit my feelings into

an attempt to feel them no more

I didn’t mean to say I love you

while trying to say I was unsure

I didn’t mean to make you feel the twist of not understanding my emotions

but between you and me

there’s so much I want to do

that I am not capable of

and this is not naΓ―ve pessimism

but pure honesty

they say it’s the thought that counts

so I think of all the things I can’t do & do them all.


I number this poem 8 on it’s side ∞


only because its the amount of times I tried

just before I thought it was safe to say I came up short

Well I guess it wasn’t safe at all.


Poet amongst other things

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