I Wish

I wish I wrote the way I

thought;

Obsessively,

Incessantly,

With maddening hunger.

I’d write to the point of

suffocation.

I’d write myself into

nervous breakdowns.

Manuscripts spiraling out

like tentacles into abysmal

nothing.

And I’d write about you

a lot more

than I should.

Can’t Help Myself

I’m not supposed to want you;

I’m not supposed to care,

and yet I spend my time dreaming

of all that we could share.

I’m not supposed to think about you

or wonder where you’ve been,

but no matter how I fight it,

thoughts of you sneak in.

I’m not supposed to ponder

where you are each night,

but you creep into my vision

when the stars shine bright.

I’m not supposed to yearn so,

always wishing you were here,

but I hunger for your kisses,

and I long to draw you near.

I’m not supposed to imagine

where you are and what you do.

I know I shouldn’t cater

to a single thought of you.

I’m not supposed to need you.

I know these things. I do.

And yet I can’t help myself,

because I fell in love with you.