So, I won’t delete all of them, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to remove a lot of my poems. My problem is I’m dying to share them with you all! However, how can I expect to make a living off of it, if I post it here, for everyone to see for free? I can’t. So I’m going to delete the ones I use professionally, and probably not post anymore. Terribly sorry, but I’ve got a career to think of and a professional portfolio to build.

The long hours, days, and weeks give us a frown

But we all know we’ll come to miss them,

Oh, how the years wear us down

 …

What else is lost as we ease into the ground?
On our dying way we go,

The long hours, days, and weeks give us a frown.

 …

As we’ve grown old, the more we have found,

Not necessarily all good things, you see

Oh, how the years wear us down

 …

Note that after this world has had a good pound,

Our minds, hearts, souls are different now,

The long hours, days, and weeks give us a frown.

 …

Long gone sweet thoughts, and pleasant dreams renowned,

Their absence leaves a dark abyss within,

Oh, how the years wear us down.

 …

With the loss of innocence we struggle, and start to drown

But some do not worry, fret, or fright, because,

The long hours, days, and weeks still give us a frown.

Oh, how the years wear us down.

My skin and my heart,

You know, they’re both ice cold.

You know, I’ve grown older,

I’ve got the faith of a soldier, or so I’ve been told

I push on.

They say I’m strong.

But, no.

They don’t know.

The tears I cry,

The “what ifs,” and the “Whys?”

They don’t know all about my life.

They’d know that I’m weak

That I shiver in my boots, terrified to speak.

And it doesn’t change the older I grow.

Because, you know, My skin and my heart.

They’re both stone cold, I’m all alone.

I love what I do

And I do what I love,

But I have to wonder 

Is that enough?

They say I have a gift,

But lack self-confidence.

If they were lacking proof,

I suppose this is evidence.

Questioning my logic,

Always doubting my reason.

Continually committing against myself, treason.

So sure, but then so afraid.

It’s a club! No.. it’s a spade..

Am I certain? no.

Am I sure? Most definitely not.

Am I wrong? Probably

But if I am, 

At least a lesson was taught.

I wish I could tell you I’m perfect;

I can’t.

I could pretend that I am,

But I won’t.

I’m one of the few who will admit their flaws,

In a world full of people who don’t.

Sometimes I can’t laugh at myself,

Because my pride gets in the way.

And sometimes, I can’t smile at all

Sometimes I can’t face the day.

I’m creatively flawed,

Wonderfully wrong,

Perfectly imperfect,

And in my weakness,

I am strong.

I never mean to do what I do,

Somehow, I always end up hurting you.

And some times, I can’t help but cry.

You probably can’t even tell that I try.

I try to do right; I really try to smile.

But keeping up that “happy image”

Only ever works for a while.

I don’t know why I’m sad.

I would tell you if I knew.

Even though you think I’ve done nothing wrong,

I’m sorry for what I put you through.