unfinished business

She never responded, so I figured she stopped caring,
Paper trails of unfinished work,my heart died to have her pen tip caress my soul/
My eyes feined for her words, what was once about me,
But even for a poet in distress, a broken heart couldnt release me/
Scholars have written about this, and songs have repeated my struggles
But no bridge, no rhyme, could help the tears out of my eyes/
Poetry w/o any substance, my stanzas lacked her lyrical attachments,
And as my pages ran close to empty, my chapters faded w/o her touch/
But who am I to force an artist where her pallet has ran dry?
Bc though my passion has never dimmed,
whats a purpose w/o its life?
What is living w/o any ambition?
Love doesnt stand on it own...

to be continued.

inspiration was her gift

I've been inspired; touched by someone elses words

I couldnt help but embrace myself

Finger popping and candy kisses,

her poetry had me wet and laid in between her pages

Strung out, too weak to even talk,

I mumbled her emotions that I wish I can display

Imitation be a form of flattery, and her thoughts have consumed me

So then I write,

write of a girl who loved so hard her soul felt incomplete

A girl who constant reaches got slapped away by deception, lies, time...

A girl who got everything she ever wanted,

except for a love who didnt want her.... Need her

A girl who's eyes I lay on everyday, and wish, oh do I wish

her words would become true.....of me