Why poetry?

In one poem,
I can show you time.

I can see the leaves fall,
Feel the leaves gracefully plummet down,
Gently pushed by the harvested wind.
The oranges and reds transform,
Down to hues of blues,
My spirit drops,
As does the temperature.
The white glare begins to dull,
And the blues and reds,
The oranges and purples,
And where the leaves once fell,
Hold homes to fresh buds.

In another,
I can show you death.

Its weird to think where the mind goes,
It goes to our past, our future,
But when you decided to stop your own blood from coursing through your body,
I had to think where your mind went?
When you took those pills like they were breath mints,
Did you panic?
Standing on that ledge staring into oblivion and everyone who has ever seen your soul,
Were you alive?
Driving off that cliff assuming that road would bend and curve to get you home,
Where did you go?
Lying in your own pool after they swerved into your lane,
What kept you sane?

Like many others,
I can show heartache.

When I Say I'm looking for friends,
I do not mean the “friends” that become so intertwined in my life that when they leave me,
they take a part of me with them.
I hope the part of me they take with them is in better quality that how they left the rest of me.
I want your attention,
but just enough to keep me interesting.
I want to know more about you than you know about me,
And when you move on from me,
Because i'm a stepping stone,
I'll have souvenirs of you that remind me of you everyday.
I want to be the double texter,
I want you to text me when you get home even if you live next door
I want to blare songs on the radio and sing off key, but you don't have to join me.
I want to be your friend, but you don't have to be mine.