No decision is a decision, I decided not to decide

Poetry is explaining what my lips are unable, When my fingers & toes are twitching under the table. Sometimes I try but the words come out sloppily; For some reason, this way, I can express my thoughts properly.

I try to explain but my mouth can be dodgy, So I’ll rhyme instead of converse, it’s way less stodgy! I can use different words, I might not every day, It’s fun, mischievous; like a child at play.

It’s the acceptance of fancy words & short sentences, It’s that no one answers back or pulls a face- freedom, independence. The bounce in my voice as I read my words back, The clarity in my mind, that daily I lack.

More often than not, I’ve read poems & smiled, Poetry & rhyming has me utterly beguiled.
That’s certainly what poetry is to this expressor, But I am in no way claiming to be a professor!..

To define poetry Define stress Define passion Define longing Define mess To define poetry Define me Define you Define us Define we To define poetry Poetry must define you To write poetry’s story Poetry must be your story To understand poetry You must understand yourself And to understand yourself You must understand Understanding yourself is poetry

Clicks on hardwood floors, Anticipation building.

Saunter over as if you never have before; For the millionth time.

_Gently jump _ _Fabric ponder _

You circle like a shark, Deciding its next meal.

Everything precise. Everything peaceful.

Sharp love will pierce my skin— As you settle in place.

No need to rush; We will savor these moments together.

The elevator hits the final floor You settle into your favorite spot.

Jet plane rumbles on my chest. Fragile fur falls on my face.

These are moments I will never regret doing nothing.

Laughter echoes through.

Wisdom’s face looking at me.

Pointing to the mount.

I had to write one for a class and sorta liked it.

I have never been satisfied, Always reaching for the sky. That was until I got lost In those dreamy, starry eyes.

Our dreams and our hearts never rest— “Avec toi, chaque jour est une aventure,” Your lips, always soft and tender.

I’ll meet you under the Eiffel’s light, Shining brighter than anything, anyone tonight. Whispers of sweet nothings float in the breeze— If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be chasing my dreams.

Your hand in mine, love unfolding along the Seine. “A poet is only as good as their definition of poetry,” So there will you find me, in a cozy Parisian café, Sipping my coffee, dreaming of you.

My thoughts turn into words, Becoming love notes scribbled on postcards— Every moment, I’ll be thinking of you.

Our hearts and our love will always be timeless, Never at rest until, “Notre amour est un poème écrit sur chaque rue pavée.”

Paris awaits you— My art, my passion, Your love, your ambition. I’ll wait for you, To create new pages in our endless love story.

Remember, “Tu es mon chez-moi, peu importe où nous sommes.”

A poet is only as good As their definition of poetry much like a story could only be judged by its context it's interesting how an art effects those who prow those who look for that one specific painting one specific book people are waning much like the moon but unlike it they come and go and never come again it's easy to quit so they look when A poet defines poetry much like a person defines life short and empty like them so they can feel something before the end.

Poetry is an art, a form of expression. We reach deep down and give a confession. We find the beauty in our deep, dark pain. Constantly searching for things in our brain. We use visions and metaphors to reveal our truths. Diving all the way down into our innate roots. There is no rule book, so be yourself. But I recommend you scan a bookshelf. We are being liberated from our suppression. I promise you this will become your obsession. If you’re a deep individual, with a vast inner domain. Come write a poem, and release all your pain.

Yet is it better if their definition deems sultry? The kind that burns and leaves you trying The kind that makes you want to dream, but for a lost cause Because what is poetry without those little flaws? Yet if a poem seems to give the effect of dying The effect that burns the soul thoroughly The effect that crashes your heart severely But with the passion it makes your sorrow Turn into beauty of the warmth of burrows Then maybe poetry is cruelly free And a poet, is known for nothing but expressing their heart truly.

You can only be as good As you view yourself,

So change that mindset Change your way of thinking,

Take it upon yourself To shift the world,

Becoming the best in the world, And don’t be content with anything less.