I woke up wanting...
my cheek against your skin,
listening to the beating of your heart
the air rising in your lungs,
Tracing your clavicle with my nose
Up the side of your neck
Breathing you in deeply
As I softly kiss your cheek
And whisper gently in your ear
"Good morning, papi..."
- Morning would begin like this
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 12:01 AM UTC
Like a constant meditation,
in between my daily to-do list,
thoughts of the weather,
what I was going to eat next,
deep inhales,
and seemingly interminable exhales,
he was the mantra my mind would default to.
~Ohm is where my heart is
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
I know how you're feeling, yes
I know just what you think
I know he's kinda cute
'specially after a drink
or two you share with him
and almost on a whim
You start to consider the possibility...
....but you don't know him like I do.
(I pray you never do.)
He says all the right things
and talks of pretty rings
and goals and future plans
He takes you by the hand
and looks into your eyes
It takes you by surprise
I know girl, I do, believe me...
...but you don't know him like I do.
Yes, he sounds so sweet
and he will sweep you off your feet
A pretty picture he will paint
then admits he's not a saint
Believe him and what I say
It all just fades away,
It all just fades away...
Changes like night and day.
You don't know him like I do...
I pray for you that you never do.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
He said: make war, not love.
So she took out her sword,
named it kindness and killed him with it.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Withered petals remain
on stems that have gone dry
a dusty symbol of the day
someone cared enough to try.
*-I'll buy my own **** roses*
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
There was a certain cadence when he talked.
His head would bop to its own rhythm as he enthusiastically recounted, waxed poetic, or ranted.
Rant or rave,
There was no real in between
As is often the case with passionate people and sharp tongues.
His words cut like razors.
He was more than willing to draw blood and I was more than willing to shed it.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC
That cute dimple on the right side of his face only revealed itself when he flashed a wide satisfied grin.
Just like that, I melted.
-My heart is made of Nutella & Chocolate
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
I do not deal well with death/illness/suffering.
For someone who always seems to know what to say,
when it comes to this,
I am at a loss.
I am certain that is so
because I know all too well
there is nothing to say.
Deafening silence.
There is no right thing.
No words to make you feel better.
There is no consolation prize.
With sadness in my eyes,
I have nothing else to offer.
Just these two arms and lots of love.
Sometimes (most times) that is not enough.
These two arms can’t take away the pain
and trust, it is not for lack of trying…
I try. sigh I try….
And if I say “I’m sorry” that just might REALLY **** you off.
You think I’m apologizing for your condition,
like it’s my fault or my decision.
I know it’s not, I know.
Truth is, I am sorry...
I’m sorry I could not give you more.
I wish I had more.
All I have is these two arms.
No words.
Lots of Love.
It’s not enough.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
this isn't heartbreak,
no,
this is swollen
and there's a difference between the two
heartbreak is what you feel when
you get your heart broken
swollen is what happens when
you give too much of yourself away
and I do
too often
without thinking
I love
like everyone is dying
and my passion is the only thing that can save us
like the end of the world is coming
and all we have to save the human race
is my weakness
I care
like it is an alternative to breathing
and every available ounce of oxygen has gone missing
I give
like a one time supply
that thinks itself endless
like my limbs can regenerate without trying
like my lips are incapable of cracking
like my bones were made for splitting
I give
like if I were to empty out completely
I could still call myself whole
like I can auction off this body
and still refer to it as home
like I can hand out my vulnerability in pieces
and still have something for myself
this isn't heartbreak,
no,
nor is it swollen
this is a resignation
from my conscience
to my desperation
this is a reminder
for my own
to give all I have sparingly
and this is an apology
to my sanity
for when I don't listen
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC