Hey, so, um...
This is a bit awkward, isn't it?
I don't know what you're like
From a personal point of view, that is
I've heard people talk about you
I mean, in a good way
Or a neutral way
Whatever

Shouldn't have said that, shouldn't have said that

Anyway, I don't know if you know me
Since I don't really know you, you know
But I think you are... er...
Attractive?
Yeah, except on the inside
And the outside, too, especially
I mean, um, not especially.
I'm not shallow.
But you're really cute.
So, I guess that's just what I wanted to tell you
My work is kind of done
But I mean, talking to you isn't work

Oh, this is harder than I thought

Well, you don't have to say anything
I'll just, uh, leave now.
And you don't have to talk to me, ever, if you don't want to
So, bye...

Oh.

I, I mean, sure, sure I'll stay.
OH.
Really?
Wow. Okay.
So, what's next-
Oh. Sweet. Okay.

The first thing I see is blue eyes
Well,
Blue
Green
Gray
Bright eyes
And long black eyelashes that didn't need mascara
Then the straight brown hair
That goes to my waist
Went to my waist
I never had to straighten it
The uniform bangs
My mum cut them for me
Just a fraction too high
Just a little too thin.
Then the light eyebrows
Slightly thick before I started waxing and plucking them
The pale, unmarked skin
Like a china doll
Still in her box
No blackheads on my nose.
My nose
Before I developed the Gallizzi nose
Or the Dunlap nose
(I can never tell between the two)
Not like a button
But I didn't want a button for a nose.
Those days back when beauty was a princess
That fell in love with a beast
Hey, just like me
Because with my now short hair
With bangs cut to the side
I see auburn, copper, and gold strands
When I step in the light
And my proud nose, I think it suits me
And those blackheads will go
And my eyebrows are fine
(But I'll still wax and pluck them)
And I don't often straighten my hair
Even though I feel like I should
And my eyes are still beautiful
And beauty is still a princess
And the princess is me
Who has fallen in love with with the beautiful beast
That is, was, and forever will be me

It bothers me so much
When I become an i
Or your face becomes you're face
You are face
No, I am Sam.
It bothers me even more
When definitely becomes definately
Or defnatly
Or definitliy
Oh, it hurts to write that.
I understand the need for speed
To get the point across as quickly as possible
But we are writers, whether we call ourselves so or not
And paying attention in English class
Won't do any harm.
Oh, also, while I'm thinking about it,
When you insult someone online?
"Your a idiot"?
"Go dye i a hole?"
"U don now nothin"?
That's the worst thing of all.

I think
That I might
Date a boy
Who will let me
Throw rocks at him

I can tell when someone needs a hug
When the pain is too much
And the mask is gone
When the world's on your shoulders
Instead of in your hands
I won't ask you what's wrong
Or what I can do
I'll just hug you.
I won't complain when your long hair gets in my eyes
Or when your briny tears stain my shirt
Or when you squeeze until I can no longer breathe
And when your voice
spurts,
splutters,
then pours out
Into haphazard words translated from your heart
I will stay there
And
just
hug you.
When your story wrenches my heart
Fills my own eyes with tears
I will not let them spill.
Whether we stay there until late at night
When all is silent and smooth
And I see you finally withdraw
Your eyes still pinkish red
I'll still get you a glass of water-
My duty as your best friend.
Then if there's time before I need to leave
I'll give you a small smile and one last hug
But.
When I'm back home
Far away in physicality
I will still be hugging you.

I found the porcelain songbirds
Fractured and faded with age
Dusted with web and candlelight
With grins that were weary and sage.
The story they told was fleeting
Clear as truth, and cold
Of the times of gems and music
And the melodious songs of old.
That day they gave me knowledge
It was all I asked of them
I put it in my eyes and they
Took it back again.
"Your soul is old enough," they said,
"You don't need any more."
And as I sat on velvet stone
To the songbirds I implored.
"Come with me to the light," I said,
"I'll carry you up the stairs.
Then you can sing the songs of old
To an audience everywhere."
"No," they replied with eyes half closed,
"Our days are past their prime.
For now, you be the songbird
And leave the past behind."
They taught me the songs of old
To keep close to my heart
And when I said I did not want to go
They said "Before you depart,
You know our time is over
There is no point for us.
Leave us here to wither
And return to sweet stardust."
And so they did, their bodies stilled
And as they did I sang
I carried them up the wooden stairs
To the light again.

Dear tea mug,
Dear, dear tea mug.
I have finished what must be
My seven hundred and fifteenth cup
Of tea.
I see a faint discolored ring inside you
You're getting old, my friend
I see scratches at your bottom
And a bit of sediment
But no matter what, you're my favorite
And no matter how old
Or discolored
Or scratched you become
I will depend on you to carry the great burden
Of
Mint
Chamomile
Or orange spice tea
For years and years to come.
I raise you to my lips
My sweet carrier of warm drink
And set you back on my windowsill
As I read on my wooden bench
Cushions pressing against my back,
Blanket embracing my cold legs.
But no matter how drafty it gets, kind friend,
I will always depend
On you to carry that great burden
Of tea
To warm me.
I appreciate how hard you work
I'm writing a poem about you, see
And I just want to let you know that
I love you and your burden of tea.

Amorousness is a cerulean stone
Beautifully colored, but weighs you down
Too afraid to speak, or smile, or stare
Scared of a secret you don't want to share

Months with a mixture of love and fear.

Devastation is an indigo jewel
Found deep in the earth of the lies of a fool
Yet in devastation there lies the truth
Hidden in notes and gray telephone booths

The years weathering the emotions of youth.

Purification is an apricot timepiece
Clean and bright and punctual, please
Don't mistake pure to be free from sin
Though the heart can start over as a new hour can

The time cleansing wounds from a phase worn thin.

While we are talking about time, let me just say
That the memories of an hour don't all go away
But memories are saffron ink pens in the sense
That their time fades, but never ends.

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Delicate
Your petals curve out from your slim center
Pale arches spreading out and over.
Sweet smelling stalks support
Bells that sway in the night.
The moonlight shines through your vibrant white body
Filling you with unearthly light.
Gentle music accompanies you.
As this night surrounds us
I place you in the gentle rock pool
And the water shimmers cool, clear gossamer.
The smooth stones will protect you
Watching in the waterbed.
Will you sing back to the moonbeam, dear flower,
While I leave you here to rest?