******* hell why’s it so cold
i can’t tell whether the fold
my lips compel kiss the cold
or miss the swell of summers old.

my hands are dead
but moving still—
couldn’t feel lead
if they’d given a pill.

my hair is stiff
but flowing still—
even hands can’t sift
my hair’s bobbing fill.

my eyes are red
but seeing still—
the understated
“i’m not crying by will”.

but despite the dryness of the air
and the coolness of the night
the caress of the wind fairs best
without moments of respite—

even if the crescent moon dares
no pestering like the sun, i quite
get way less aware
my lips already needed a bite.

in order to fall in love, do i need to feel butterflies or that burning sensation in my chest?
to feel like i can never get tired of this person no matter what?
to feel constantly like i'm on cloud 9 when im with you?

oh how i yearn to be madly in love with you
i know love cannot be forced though, and the more i try the more it strays away
are we not meant to be or is this a different type of love than im used to?

it used to be easy for me to fall
but time went on and life changed, experienced changed me
i once felt that spark with someone else so it's hard not to compare
but one thing i know for certain is that you make me feel safer than anyone else on this planet can

i would do absolutely anything for you, just to see you happy
there's so much i like about you
so just because you don't give me that feeling, does that mean i will never fall in love with you?

they say there's a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone
it would be sad to think that i can never fall in love with you
but oh how i long for it so much, i just want us to be happy

but in the end, if it cannot be found i will have to let you go
it will break me and change me forever, but i want you happy
that's all i ever wanted
just for you to be happy

From within my
Glass house
I keep a pillow
Full of stones
To lay my
Weary head
A chest full of
Bricks
To build my bed
And a cabinet
Full of molotovs
In case I need
A drink

The wayy she smiles.

Sputter out of controlling remorse, taken all of his energy.
Notably chalk.
That waits in his knee.
But then you sneeze.
Mostly realize.
That you've got it all.
And none in a hug that was in the fall.

Garrett Johnson.

Falling in love?
Falling into the well that is love?
Falling free through space until you hit
the bottom of love?
Gasping for air and rubbing your neck
from the weight of the drop?
Climbing the perimeter of the pit
of love, eyeing the top?
And in a place like that,
what is there to do but try
to climb out, see what you’re made of?

the steam of the shower holds your face
like a pillow.

pushing out the smog, clutter in your head
billowing around you and thawing out
the raw thoughts that you try to freeze over.

the endless patter of hot rain that
cleanses, but also
hurts
in that it's one of the only
honest sounds you'll ever hear
(outside of love.)

the moment you step out into the humid, mediated
atmosphere of a cooling room
the water dripping off your arms,
your hair,
your face,
making you anew.

but as everyone does, you wipe the mirror clear
to see your face, and know that despite life,
it's still you.

it changes you, yet proves your you-ness more than anything else.

I'll do my best, as the title suggests.  Right away I'll write away about how my day should not be written off.  Because when I do I'll lose my day because I put it off.  Could I write it rightly?  Or will I write it wrongly?  I'm pretty sure i right wrongly.