i'm trying to think of something to write about,
but you wont leave my head,
and i've already got half a library full,
of poems about you..

*****

i want your hands,
in mine.

i want your curls,
wrapped around my fingers.

i want your eyes,
looking at me.

i want your lips,
against mine.

i want your lungs,
                                 * to inhale me as i become the smoke,
                                                   that fogs up the mirror of your mind,
                                                                   and sinks into the deepest crevices.

*i want you.

i'm not entirely true to myself,
but neither are any of you.

no i am not
what my father was/is
and what my mother was/is,
i am not even a combination of
the two,
instead i am alien
to my family tree,
because everyone related
have done well in life.

Two to Five years they're saying
and god only knows that
I cannot live without my Mother's love

i ******* hate you.

i reach so far,
to try to grasp that one moment,
that's been gone for so long.
but everytime,
i lose my balance,
and i
             f
                
       a

                      l

               l


L.O.

you had a home once,
not sure for how long.
but long enough to grow holes,
and begin to fade.

you were loved once,
maybe by a child,
or and adult stuck in their past.

your family abandoned you once,
left you in a plastic bag.
under their dresser,
to rot.

you were alone once,
for seven years so i've been told.
and you began to erode,
and you began collect dust.

you were found once,
and taken away.
you were cleaned,
and given a new home.

                                               you were loved again.