Poetry Corner: Sell Yourself

Sell yourself

“She reminds me of you
But she sells it.”
That feels like an insult.
Should it?

What exactly are you trying to say?
It’s okay to be myself
If I do it for show?
Only to sell a business?
Or an idea?

Am I not able to express
Interest in my passions
Unless I’m getting paid?
Or is she faking her own interests
Just for a profit?

Is one of us right
And the other wrong?
Do you wish I was her?
Or her me?

Instead of leaving me with these never ending questions.
Or a desperate need to prove my worth
And justify my existence.

Poetry Corner: Young Fire-starters

Young Fire-starters

I want to steal your kisses
And fall in your arms.
Let’s stay up late
Laughing until the sun comes up.
I want to listen to your favorite songs
and watch your eyes shine
as the notes bring you visions
of the adventures of your younger self.

I want to feel
your hand in mine.
That solid feeling of you and I
Where it’s us against the world
And the World can’t even begin to touch us
because we’re young
and desperately in love.

But we’re older now
and the world is a little louder now.
But your hand is still in mine
And our love still sends up sparks
Leaving wildfires in our wake.

Poetry Corner: Size Difference

Size Difference

I’m a few sizes too big?
Maybe she’s a few sizes too small.
Or Maybe there is a better way to judge a woman’s worth.

By her mettle.
By her character.
By her heart.

Instead of putting us all against each other’s waist size.

It’s uncanny to think I’m less of a person
Because I’m a little bit more.

Poetry Corner: When I’m Broken

When I say “I’m broken,” it doesn’t mean the end.
A sign that reads “Caution! Fragile! Handle with Care.”
Where every step is met with the worry
That the next stumble could shatter this frame apart.

Broken means there is still hope.
There is still time to try and fix it.
To strengthen the foundation
so the cracks don’t deepen.

Broken doesn’t mean over.

Because when I’m past broken, it’s the end.
It’s finally too much and it’s over.