was it like you expected?

In candlelight we kiss

two flames meeting

and becoming one

as the wax melts

we wrap ourselves closer together

knowing we have minutes

until our moment ends

I’m sick of all these love songs
Written about another
Sonnets and odysseys
Desperate for a Lover

I want to enjoy the silence
Nihility subdue
Equally alone
As I am with you

I try to reflect Compassion
A metric of good health
Psuedo-neo Truism
Learn to “Love Thy Self”

The injury lies fresh,
deeper then tearing a flesh..

Do you ever wonder
The answer to a question
That your brain knows
But your heart ignores

your eyes are sending messages my heart cannot decode

if by chance my skin feels yours time may stood still

as i may want it to last forever

Press me against you
Like flowers in a book

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

I'm in Italy once again, my love.
But why is there no architecture?
Endlessly winding, the streets narrow
until the cars can no longer turn.
Did we come here? I easily forget.
All my pasts return to haunt me;
shambling, drunk creature, I dared
to love. Now the heat makes the
veins swell beneath my upturned
hands. I wonder what became of you?
Timidity hid you, even then. Only now,
I truly appreciate your fading smile.

Sometimes, the words don’t come.

The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.

I am left with nothing to say.

There is a beauty in the broken mind.

Like an abandoned building taken by nature.

It is not that my mind does not work.

It is that it works too fast,

And I am left behind,

Scrabbling in the dust,

Desperately seeking a connection,

In the discarded fragments of thought.

I am fighting a losing battle.

I fear the white flag will soon arise.

And signal the end.

Growing up I was always told I was a great listener
Oh how I have strayed from that time of late
Sorry for I never felt heard until now

Déjame ser tu espejo... te supliqué aquel día.
Recuerdo que tu mano se estremeció en la mía.

Yo, que envidio tu espejo, quiero saber qué sientes 1
al copiar en la alcoba tu cuerpo adolescente...

(detrás de los almendros, casi del fondo 2
del mar surgió la luna, con su espejo redondo...)
Te vi de pie en la sombra. Junto al lecho vacío
se oyó un rumor de sedas, como el rumor de un río.

Y yo, como el espejo de aquella alcoba oscura,
yo, allí, solo contigo, reflejé tu hermosura.

Fue un instante, en la sombra. No sé bien todavía,
si eras tú, si fue un sueño o una flor que se abría.
Muchacha de la noche de un día diferente:
yo no envidio tu espejo, ya sé que nada siente. 3

Ya sé que te duplica sin comprender siquiera
que eres mujer hermosa como la primavera; 4

pues, si lo comprendiera, saltaría en pedazos,
por el ansia imposible de tenderte los brazos.

you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company

So you exist most of the time
dear muse

I converse with
The voices in my head

They talk slowly
So their guidance isn't misread

A puzzle piece is gone,
Leaving a gaping hole in my plans-
Every work is incomplete.

A hard barricade,
If only I could weasel through,
Can't deconstruct it with brute strength.

No conclusion seems to end the story,
Good words no longer mine-
Shelf the creativity for another lifetime.

I’m buried in a cocoon of stories
From poetry,
To biographies,
To dystopia,
And romance
So many stories
Of so many people
Real,
Or just figments of the author’s
Imagination
Sitting atop wooden bookshelves
Waiting for the right person,
To pick them up
And get lost in their story
For everyone has a story to tell,
Some are overly exaggerated,
And other’s are rarely heard
The important thing is
That we share our stories
Through word of mouth,
The internet,
Or in a notebook
To be found by future historians
Tell your story
Believe me, you won’t regret it

i never intended
to take apart
all the pieces
you glued back
together

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

I see the lights through the window
Forming shapes in your ceiling
We lie in bed and you look at me
You don't say what you are thinking
But you smile and get closer.

I hear the traffic through my window
Keeping me awake till late at night
Too late to say what I was thinking
That time I wanted to stay
But left anyway.

I wish
her scars were on my heart
and not on her arms.

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

Dear death,

I have met life,
He wants me to fight,
But I'm so weak-
So can we meet?