I’ve read every book in this house
Listened to every song
I’ve played all these games before
And I don’t have the guts to start
Building a model ship without you
If there’s something in this house
That’ll make me happy
Without you
I haven’t found it yet
And every stranger at the mall
Looks at me and asks
“Who are you missing? Why are you here?”
And I wish there was a way to eat alone, with other people, without them seeing you.
And when you drink whiskey out the bottle, the hill you’re standing on gets steeper.
I wrote down a sentence
“A poem is just a song you don’t sing,”
And I think I’ll make that one a song
And I wish I could tell you that in person
There’s snow on the mountains
It’s beautiful, crisp and sunny in Cape Town
I hope it’s better in New York.
Here at last, we shall be free. 
Beautiful poem. And I have always believed poems are songs as well. 🙂
Wow. Don’t know anything about you as a person. You could be an angel or a monster, or both.
But your writing is brilliant. Flawless.
Maybe you weren’t meant
To have her but to have
A smile for a tree
Instead.