Im sorry when you asked me to say it one last time
I couldn't mutter those three words to you
They were stuck in my throat
Choked back as the tears silently rolled down my cheek
I couldn't stand to know I was really losing you
But I honestly have nothing but love for you
And i still care for you
Even though I really shouldn't
I pretend I'm angry towards you
Because its a whole lot easier
Then admitting I miss you
Deep down in my heart
I really do hope that she loves you half as much as I did
I hope she sees the scars and
Loves you even more
And I hope nothing but the best for you
I just wish I didn't have to be around to see you moved on
When I am not even close

Multiple questions; quizzical words springing up to catch my attention such as "Hindrance". Who was the one hindering my smile? What force was blotting out the sincerity in my heart? Insecurity was a factor; memories long past--a warning to cease any actions leading me forward. Even through the word I sought a way out. I tore a hole into the plastic bubble subtly titled "Hindrance". I peeked past the thick material, careening forward with one eye looking out. It was hard to overcome the hesitation of fear--yet it's gone now. Hindrance isn't such a complexity any longer. I know its meaning; I know its cause.

The scientist proved the hypothesis with experimentation and observation. Now I will search for a new word to move forward with. This one will become obsolete.

[or more reasons I want to slap you right across your pretty face]

upon wakening
my brain informed my arm to
tell my hand
to pick up a pen and
tell of your voice

the first time
  i hear your particular  vibrations
your sound waves
  your signals
over the air
i almost drove off the side of the road
...now i have to close my eyes
and hold my breath
trying to hear a silent memory
  stored in a recess of my mind
your voice has a musical quality
   a warm tone
that i miss

this brings me to your perfect, hateful lips
  (really, i could do without all of this nonsense)
this very moment my heart is pounding
   right out of my chest
         my jaw clenched
                 my eyes glaring stubbornly into blank space

release me from this madness...
   i just want to get through the day
without this ridiculous longing
   just one goddamn day...

...back to your stupid lips
   i like shapes
and yours are the exact right shape
  to taunt me
you grew that scruffy sexy stuff
   just to drive me insane

i'd also like to slap you
   for informing me of your jogging habit
my imagination is quite active
   and the last possible thing i need
is the sun...
   glinting on your hair
       on your stupid muscles
i mean, seriously?
i've almost run down 18 men
  that look nothing like you
because of this insanity
   that has saturated my brain
my nerves
   my emotions
      my instincts

never in my life
   have i been slammed
with such desire
   knowing exactly
how to end this madness

but forced to remain still.
regulating breath.
letting words flow
trying to calm the mind.

but my body wants to m o v e .
my heart wants to explode
my breath wants to quicken...
my voice wants to escape...
my nails want to claw...
my teeth want to bite...

this is getting me nowhere...already i feel the new words coming

To the human who bears the marks of an angry partner, the young adult who struggles to humanize the body that others have objectified for so long, and the child whose mind bears the seeds of poisonous hatred waiting with baited breath to burst with life as the offhand comments increase in number. Take the sharpened blade with conviction and place it far from your traitorous fingers. Believe my words, blood pulses through your throbbing veins, not the black ooze of hatred. Your skin will never be a canvas to taint with red. The red will collide with the peaceful cells, and the violence will not be a masterpiece. You are not just a number, you are a fucking gorgeous universe encompassed in mere atoms that strive to do your essence justice. Gather your soldiers and prepare to fight the enemies that make your body an anomaly or your struggle commonplace. Those horrible nights, where only the moon bore witness to the horrors you carved, are not “typical” and should not be a widespread ritual. You are beauty incarnate. I implore you to lace this statements around each particle in your body until your cells sing with conviction, and fight those who have brought you to your knees. You do not belong there.

The magic we had, has suddenly become an uncommon visitor to our lives. A tired stranger, who's sick of being around.
He has left, and has taken many things with him. He took the spark we had at first away. That spark which never seemed to leave your shining soul.
Feels like I'm lost in this ocean of despair. And every time you speak to me the waves carry me trying to get to solid ground. I can't make it to the ground, because I can't reach it alone.
It all ended in a blink of an eye.
One time I was holding your hand, and the next one I was holding our memories which slipped my mind and flew across the air where they got lost in the valley of hopeless dreams.
And the worst part is I don't even know what I did wrong. The road suddenly took a turn without me even seeing it. That sudden turn threw me away and I bounced many times breaking my thoughts and bleeding loneliness. Many scars were left by your kisses and your sweet words. Those words which now squeeze my heart and crack my ear

Some days
The words don't flow
The bank of ideas has gone bankrupt
And the well of thoughts has dried up
This is one of those days

1. 
   What a small weight for the most important gas,
   that is keeping us alive.
   I was 16 when I realized that my mom
   had forever been my biggest supporter.
   I was 16 and I was still holding my fingers crossed behind my back,
   hoping that Santa was real.
   
   I'm the hidden meaning behind good reasons
   that have paved the way toward bad choices.
   For I have realized, sitting silently in the corner,
   that we are all forced to realize our
   own self destruction.
   
   Like the building and the wrecking ball,
   of which I am often both.
   
   I am your overspoken words and unsaid thoughts.
   
   I am not the beautiful bare trees in the winter,
   but instead I am your poisonous dinner.
   
   I am the passion behind tears
   and the emotion behind screams.
   
   I am the thoughts that keep you up at night,
   and your cold, bare feet.
   
   I resemble a constant string of avoidance and indecisiveness.
   
   I am your dewy eyes and groggy voice at 7:30 in the morning.
   
   I am nothing but a blinking statue.
   
   I am 16 years worth of unanswered questions.
   
   Yet in 16 years will all I be is
   another 16 years older?
   
   I am the epitome of drowning without water,
   and not to spoil the ending for you,
   but I still have 16 years worth of faith,
   that everything will be okay.

I seem to pass time in a daydream,
Waiting for the hour to pass, the day to end, the night to be over
My movements drift by as smoke
My mind, is always on you.
They poster their images in the foreground
And try to distract me and my thoughts
But you're always there, always.
They feed on sadness and loneliness, and I find it hard to fight
But the never ending struggle adds beauty to our love
And perseverance to my cause.
You complete me
As if we were destined, mind mates as it were
I feel invincible when my mind allows your entering
And I save the strength of our union when they rip you from my thoughts.
In time I know we will be together
We will live out the future I have envisioned a thousand times.
I told you, mi amor, I will never stop loving you
And that is set in stone
But there is so much more to say
And I've yet to find all the words
I promise to you our future, our family
I vow to you that I will always try to be the best me
I swear to you I will never give up.
I will never give in.
They will never have me.
I love.
I am yours.

Themes of time, regret, love, and mediation
matter little
in this world.

The poems we write
aren't aimed to make us famous
or even
known.

It's the mapping of the mind
through the expression of words
and the knowing
that I can write anything
I feel
and get away with it.

I am the diety
of a self-proclaimed
thought
charged and released
in the form
of a
poem.

So write on!
Even in vain
if the direction of your
goals
is to become some
indication of someone
we should all respect
and know
for his or her
works.

It is
what
it is.
Mostly.

There are a few
that will be recognized
and who knows
why?

We're all poets.
What makes someone
else's work
more meaningful?

I've been told
by people I know
that it's all about
the people
you
know.