You're worth more than a poem.
But for now,
I'll try my best to make this much more than just a poem:
but a message from me.

What you don't know is,
every time she feels down, she rereads all your kind words.
When she's bored, you're not on,
she rereads them.
She spends all her time thinking about you.
She cherishes you,
You're the best she ever had.

She takes everything about you,
devours them, slowly savoring all the good bits (which is everything),
and then keeps them tattooed all over me,
never to be removed.
Each and every letter, engrained onto me with a flourish,
a kiss,
trailing her hands behind, stroking the way the gorgeous letters look
all aligned together to make such beautiful sentences.

Her eyes trail every word,
her hands caress the wonder machine that brought her you,
her ears thrumming with the sounds of you,
the music notes floating into her ears,
the way water flows,
for you are better than just any ordinary ocean.

You may call her an ocean,
but you are more than that.
The ocean only takes up 75% of Earth.
You are much more.
You are her sky,
her universe.

You hold the stars in your heart,
twinkling like little rubies.
Just like the moon and the sun,
you see everything.
The clouds are your façade,
and the rain,
your tears.
Beautiful.

And all she wants to be is the satellite,
to explore you and learn everything about you,
to always circle around and around,
to never leave.

I know you won't break me,
or her.
And for that,
I am forever in your debt.
So come to me when you need me,
I will do anything to serve my prince.

With Great Love,
The Creep's Heart

We are like two different thoughts synced with our heartbeats,
We are like the wayfaring bodies traveling on the same streets,
We are like the moon and the sun, loving each other afar,
With galaxies around me, yet wishing for a shooting star.

We are like the coffee and the tea, gulped during a winter breeze,
We are like the pheromones generated by a gentle squeeze,
We are like two steady boats flowing in tranquility,
With innumerable happy faces around me, yet i find yours very pretty*

Your face is prettier than me.
Beautiful than the blue oceans
and skies. Calming like the waves
in the shallow rivers. Calming
like the way morning dew falls
down on rose petals. We are
like kings and queens living in
royalty. The way you look at me
and the way i bow down to you
when you call me your majesty
makes me feel like living the life
of luxury. We're like
peanut butter and jelly and how
they get mixed up together while
they make their way down to
one's belly. We are like coffee
and cream because of the way we
both go together. Most of all we
have a love that's not mainstream.
Not like those couples we see constantly
on TV. You make my
every day seem like a valentines
to me. Just by bringing me treats and
kissing me under the sheets
while we sit together. Every day i pray
that this is how we'll stay for
an eternity. I pray that we'll be husband
and wife for an infinity* ~

How do you show your love
To the person of your dreams?
Words aren't enough,
And they are too far away.
What to do now?

Shrink me and
put me in your pocket.
Fix me a roof in your heart.
Let my ambitions dry out
to dust outside the door.
I need no such thing, I need nothing.
Long as you hold me tight,
For every single night.
And never let me go.
That will be my nourishment.
My monthly fee.

Have you ever been afraid to write?
Almost like you don't want to feel what you would write about?
Yet at the same time you're craving it?

I want to write,

I want to write about the offset piece of sidewalk outside her house
     that I always managed to trip over no matter how many times I had
     before promising I would never trip again.
I want to write about how I would drive the long way to get to where I
     was going for months after we broke up just so I could pass the road
     leading to her house just to have a chance of seeing her, even if she
     never noticed me.
I want to write about how I'm afraid I'll never feel the static race down
     my spine when I kiss someone ever again because after she left no
     kiss has ever managed to spark anything inside of me.
I want to write about how I sat for hours on the ledge where we first
     kissed because I could let my tears fall down off the cliff like rain
     that I hoped would water the ground enough for a flower to grow so
     if she ever came back she would have something almost as beautiful
     as her to see there waiting.                                    
I want to write about how I now understand how Jesus could die for
     people who hated him because even though she hates me,
     I begged God to forgive her, because she knew not what she did to
     me.

But I don't write any of it,
Because I’m afraid to feel like that again,
Because It's pathetic,
Because I'm afraid she will see it,
Because it's not love,
It's poetry.

And no matter what her reply was,
it's still poetry.
And even though I don't love her anymore,
she’s still my stanza,
And I'm trying to find a new poem to write.

the air is suffocating
and all that I want
i cannot have because
the fear is too tall

as my heart sways
on a thin thread
don't let me have
one more fall

there are no more
moonlit nights
all that is left is
ashes on the wall

just stay beside me
speak no more because
with my final breath
**i give you my all

I was the daughter of winter
when you began to whisper
in my frigid ear. I lifted two
snowballed hands and chiseled
through the solid ice; bitter
words pierced the raw mist
surrounding me, but you were
not disarmed. I tried to stop the
thawing, dreamed lustily of a
rapidly approaching sleep,
that deep freeze and muffled
silence. You stayed, shivered,
and I was suffuse in tender
sunlight, for you were an
Indian summer, a falsehood
by very nature—false hope,
false promises, false warmth.
Your lilting birds and sultry
air enchanted—I was dizzy
and drunk, melting slowly.
You sang in the soft breezes,
danced frantically in the wake
of falling leaves, and swore
with each delicate blue sky:
It will always be this lovely!
But you were just a charade.
I was no more than a pool,
heated from the diminishing
glow of your fervor’s twilight,
and Autumn waited, patient,
as the mask finally slipped.