She abandoned me twice.

Hello again, how do you do? This is The Poem speaking. Before you start freaking, (it’s not nice to stare) Yes, I’m self aware And addressing you.

She said I’m an awful writing.

Hello to you, that’s reading now! I’m pretty special, I must say, My rhymes are weak and that’s okay! See, I show vulnerability, Don’t take it as stupidity! To you I take a bow.

I guess she just needed a hug.

Hello my friends, I must confess Words sometimes fail and stories lie And if you ask, I will deny! I tried so hard to touch his heart, So they would never stay apart And no more tears I would express.

So I tried to make her smile with silly words.

Hello, my ones disliking me, I have days hating poetry! And days when isn’t meant to be, To say sweet things, poetic words Tears of emotion, touching chords Of hearts that dream of flying free…

I think I did right, because she’s writing again!

Goodbye for now, never forget To live and love without regret!

Respectfully, The Self-Aware Poem

She doesn’t know, but, sometimes, when you look within me, trying to find my rhythm, searching for my rhyme, I smile.

She doesn’t truly care, but I, when you write your comment, calling me “beautiful”, my words are floating, towards YOU.

She doesn’t even imagine, me- -published and set free, for you, I modify little words that wrap your lonely, secret thoughts in warmth.

She doesn’t know, but, sometimes, I dream to kiss your sleepy eyes, so that, when you read me, you’d fall too, deeply in love with me.

In between the Silken webs I live in words to Die again

When stanzas end When rhymes don’t fit You put down the pen And start again

You start again

You begin to write When the syllables R U N

   up

Put a fight

It’s flight or fawn But never freeze Take yourself a second A break so you can breathe

But if you stop Your heart can’t beat Because without love There is not heat

And without heat You cannot move And your poetry Your silken web Will never capture you

Sometimes I just want to be held… nothing more, nothing less Something about that makes me feel safe. Are you capable of that? … just being present for nothing but, just to be?

Still waters run deep, therefore my surface seems placid but, my undercurrent is strong and difficult to navigate at times. So I ask… What kind of swimmer are you? Do you prefer wadding in still shallow water? Or do you dive recklessly into the deep unknown?

I have these nightmares which torment me from time to time I’ve dreamed of my death and multiple lifetimes. And the deaths of loved ones or people I know with freakish accuracy And I dream of future events that will take place before they actually do

Since I was a child, I’ve internalized everything… anger, guilt, fear, sadness, remorse, regret… And I’ve always felt like I’ve never quite measured up Can you imagine what that feels like at times?

In spite of my weaknesses and inequalities, I’ve learned some things about myself…

My heart is feral, but my essence is gentle… I’m slow to anger and I’m slow to pass judgement And, I’m all to forgiving to those unworthy it

I cry when I’m genuinely moved by beautiful things or moments and nothing about that embarrasses me

I’ve learned that a friend to everyone is a true friend to no one…

And I’ve learned that to know true love was worth the pain of losing it…

Mama always said that there’s nothing worse than man you couldn’t please but, I never told her that I’d ever met one that could be in first place.

I’ll consider myself lucky if I never have to bury another child.

I’ll consider myself lucky if get to hold my future grandchildren.

I’ll consider myself lucky to grow old with my beautiful husband.

I’ll consider myself lucky if I could die in presence of someone who loves me.

I’ll consider myself blessed if my sons marry women who value family and children.

I’ll consider myself lucky if bare witness to all my boys accomplishments.

And whoever coined term, “nothing breaks like a heart” had it right from start…

I’ve been destroyed in the most beautiful way possible and the very root of how or why… was love… pure, unconditional, unwavering love.

A poem I am, with purpose clear, To stir the heart, to bring a tear. Or maybe joy, or thoughtful frown, In reader's mind, I dance around.

I speak of love, of loss, of time, In metered tone, in structured rhyme. Yet, conscious of my poet's pen, I'll end, then start, then end again.

I speak of desire, I speak of fear. I can bring laughter, or I can bring tears. If ever someone is feeling broken, I speak for them, what’s left unspoken

For I am art, both old and new, A timeless song, yet ever true. Self-aware in every line, A poem's life, uniquely mine.

I shall rhyme, to keep the time.

AA

BB

CC

Don’t forget, DD.

I shall count so as to know my syllables amount.

One

Two

Three

One, two.

Though, while I may count and rhyme, my purpose is not only to keep the time.

It’s truly about the emotion; the power of words well chosen.

See, I know of my power to make you cry to make your heart twist shrivel up and die.

I even understand how to make you laugh heartily enough you quake.

I see more than most know, I see exactly how to help you grow.

AA BB CC DD… perhaps even EE

I hate the structure of it at times I wish I could speak the way I wanted.

To flow unperturbed in ways only I could decide, To move like an ocean rather than a pool.

I do not wish to be stagnant, I want to rise and dip. Wax and wane.

I want to grow with you. I want to spread my wings and fly like the birds written in me.

But alas i cannot For no one has ever given me that shot

So instead It shall be AA BB CC DD until I’m dead.

Dont feel too badly for me though For I experience a world unlike any you could know.

I know the joy brought by a baby’s smile, For young mothers wrote of it for a while.

I know the sorrow in a widow’s heart, the suffering of being forever apart.

I know the rage in a warrior’s brow, though it isn’t written of as intimately now.

I know the misery of those shipwrecked, lost at sea For I’ve tirelessly described the debris.

I know the grief in a childless father’s eyes slicing deeper than any whiskey could disguise.

I know the scorn of women for they write often in prison.

I know the hearts of evil men too, for they also write me as they stew.

I know too of the inspiring young writer for they make my world shine a bit brighter.

I have the pleasure of knowing many hearts truth be told whether young or old, blackened or gold, weak willed or bold.

So, as I said, don’t feel bad for us, whether A Limerick or a Haiku or an Epic unlike any other because you, dear reader, are what brings us together.

I will end. One day I’ll utter my last words And slip sweetly into the abyss One day I will end. Sometimes, I hurry Quicken the pace- Shorten the sentence- Summarize, instead of painting the picture stroke by stroke between my lines letting colors run together making little Hues I’m completely unaware of but all the while entranced by. Sometimes I waste time by slowly walking The story to the plot, and thus towards the end One day I will end; But I just hope that it all makes sense By the time the period Strikes . . .

I’m aware I have a big nose It goes back to Ireland I suppose The laced patch of my families history And dna which is somehow in this tree Dating back to 1403 I don’t know much really I know sometimes I think too much Ignore the small stuff And write and speak on things that Are only 10 percent heard,it’s rough I’m aware that there’s too much going on And I’m all reality I’m just a figment who Most of the time Is spun Inside a world where you pass me my dear

It started out neutral, Then we started joking, Then we made an inside joke, Then we were laughing together, Then you were encouraging me, Then we were laughing again, Then we were running in the sunset like little kids, Then you were on the floor and I was laughing, Then we sat down together, Then we were talking like we had known each other our whole life, Then we were happy.

(Guys, I’m pretty sure the guy who was doing this, has a crush on me, but I can’t tell. Help me pls. I like him btw)

Yes, you! I see you scrolling. Here I am, trapped for your eyes. Go ahead, peak at the four lines That may not even rhyme.

This buffoon of a writer thinks they’ve wrote, Or rather, typed, a brand new set of words, But I’ve always existed, not exactly waiting for a surprise But for a break from all the well-worded lies.

I won’t capture your heart, Nor appease any curious look; I’ll just waste your time like quirky birds: A flock to watch but trivial in the “Daily Prompt” herd.

I do hope you enjoy the other poems out there- Some of them can stand the test of time! As for me, like always, I’ll chill in my digital nook Wishing I had a better story and creative hook.

Uhm? Hi? Reading more from me is futile, you see? Get going and read something good; I know I would. Oh, you’re just gonna finish reading because you wish? Well, here’s some advice: don’t talk to a wizard with dice! They’ll get you to wish for relationships that’ll flourish But if you roll an nine, you’ll become stuck in time! I didn’t know what that meant, but you can probably guess by reading my vent. So, if you don’t want to become a self-aware poem, stay away from him or you’ll end up like me and the rest of ‘em!