Hello Poetry. Sad,
I Know. But there are
just too many things
I don't like. I hate to
be rude, or disappear
without notice. So I'm
posting this first,
and then, in a few days
will deactivate my
account. It's been a pleasure
knowing and reading
you all. I've been
very active on
DeviantArt, if you're
interested. I'll put
a link in the author's
comments. Follow me
there, and join me
too! It's a wonderful
community of
artists. Much love to
HP! No hard feelings,
please.

Our love was like
the quill you gave me for Christmas
that one year, that
I never learned how to use.
Aesthetically pleasing,
object of envy,
idea of perfection, but
sloppy and awkward in practice.

We could've been brilliant,
but we could never get it right.
So we gave up trying, to gather dust
on display.

But even that grew less appealing
(until it wasn't anymore).

Our affair was like
the bag of dark chocolate kisses
you gave me on our first Christmas
together.
I devoured the entire thing
in secret, and
threw away the wrappers
without a thought.

We were meant to be
expendable.
So we took all that was offered,
and gave nothing in return.

But all bad habits take time to break
(until they don't anymore).

If I were a tumbleweed,
I think I'd like for you to be the wind.
I wouldn't mind if maybe,
You'd just take me, and I could see
the world upon your whim.

But, I'm not a tumbleweed...
I like to think I'm wild as the jungle.
And you, Oh, precious you,
would never dare to cage me,
But tangle with me -
Bloom and over-grow.
Then together, we'd be rapturous and elusive.

I know, I know,
My disposition's fickle, love.
But you've got my heart beating
to your song.
I'm still a bird,
Whose only love is melody -
And my wings are growing weary;
I think I'd like to rest upon
your branches.

I want to be shaken.
To feel {{ eternity, }}
and taste death.
To dip my feet in youth,
and           sandcastles         of
        build                     out       time.

I want to hold my life in the palms of my hands,
and watch it s.c.a.t.t.e.r. in the wind,
to see which moments light-up-like-stars
or lightning bugs,
And which ones only create ~ dust ~
on other people's keepsakes.
But I'm afraid,              (so afraid)
too much of it would just be ash
that blows ~ away...
And no one could call that beautiful.

If I knew every moment was precious,
I wouldn't spend another moment here.
I want to be moved;
I need to be
                     *shaken.

The way you lace wonderful words together
to form stellar sentences
leaves me    {{ breathless.}}
You say the most heavy words, like it's effortless
and I am moved.

They slip gracefully
                                  off
                                        your
                                                 tongue
to rest in my marrow,
decorating my brainwaves and
bringing light to all my darkest places.

They meet me in my nightmares
and
lace their fingers through mine
        like it's where they were meant to be,
              ...like they'll never leave my side again,
                       ...like a promise.

And you know I believe in you so much,
                                                                    (so much.)
But
mybed'sstillemptyeverynight.

And even though your words meet my eyes
After bouncing off satalites,
I can only thank them for traveling - so far - to
tickle my finger tips and
                                                                  ed.
                                                              rn
                                                          tu
make the corners of my mouth up

They're still only meteors burning up
                                                                before
                                                                             i.m.p.a.c.t.
(and they could never hold me)

But, my fingers will whisper a reply,
Give it a second to bounce around in space
(It may get distracted by a few stars on the way),
You'll still light up upon reading,
"I love you."

(even.badly.)

I've been knocking on all the wrong doors,
So God flung open a window and told me to breathe.
"Be still," He whispered,
"You've forgotten all the things I ever taught you."
I fell onto the floor and didn't move;
I wore my shame like clothes that didn't fit right.
"It's just that, these lights have grown dimmer, Lord.
When I was no longer able to see, I died to feel instead."
My excuse was flimsy, but I clutched it to my chest;
It was all I had to replace my faltering heartbeat.
"You can't feel anything when you're dead,
And you're always learning everything the hard way."
I closed my eyes and let His words surround me;
They seeped into my skin, strengthening my sinew.
A spark caught in my soul, reigniting a fire I'd forgotten.
I opened up my eyes to see the walls were made of glass.
The world outside was beautiful,
But God told me not to move,
"A storm's coming, child. I'll let you watch,
but I wont let it touch you. And when it passes,
I'll open up the door."
He tested me with storms, but tempted me with freedom.
I put my trust in Him.
So when thunder rattled the walls and threatened my being,
I sat in silence and watched the storm roll in.
With every streak of lightning and every drop of rain,
I came back to life.

I missed you yesterday.
So I started folding paper planes,
But I knew they'd never reach you.
Aerodynamics         paper              really         up.
                          and            doesn't            a­dd

I switched to folding boats instead,
And they looked strong and sharp.
But they sank even
                                  faster
                   ­                         than
                                   ­                  my
                                                            he­art.
And, no one ever taught me how to sail.

Then, I tried my hand at paper cranes,
Because, I read somewhere,
"One thousand cranes are good for one true wish."
But I stopped after forty-three,
When I ran out of square paper and band-aids.

So, I folded up some stars instead,
But they weren't any good.
They didn't twinkle and they couldn't
                                                        ­          even
                                                  ­                          fall...
(and i stopped wishing on stars years ago).

I gave up on origami; I was never very good.
Paper only likes me when with pen.
Instead, I'll try to reach you
with the words I love to write --
poetry [and] promises [and] dreams
(and maybe a few apologies for loving you all wrong).
All I really wanted to say was,

"Baby, run away with me."

But I didn't think - the words alone - would move you.