The first time we talked
your eyes
were always on mine
but my eyes
darted from the floor
to the corner of the room
because
looking at you
was (is) like looking
at the sun.
the second time we talked
I stood waiting for the lift
You called out "hey" from behind
i almost fainted
we entered the lift
and i realised
for the first time
your smile
was like a thousand suns
and your voice has
a slight accent
i still can't place.
the third time we talked
I was braiding my hair
you walked past
and i squeaked in surprise.
****
you turned to me
dressed in a flannel shirt
looking perfect as usual
and smiled "hey"
i could only hide my embarrassment
with a small laugh.
the fourth time we talked
you were alone in your classroom
i walked past
you opened the door, "hey"
my hands fly to my hair
self consciously trying to tame
the lion mane that seemed fine
a moment ago.
i give a small wave
and we talked longer
than we normally would.
you were so near to me
i almost hugged you
i'm sorry
i remember staring at the floor
and the ceiling
and the walls
avoiding your intense gaze
as if what i was talking about was the most interesting thing in the world
you were patient
you were nice
you smiled at me.
you are constantly on my mind.
am i on yours?
I don't know what these feelings are.
i hope i'm not in love with you.
because i think
you're in love with
someone else..
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 9:25 AM UTC
it's not fair
that my brown eyed boy
is being treated like a toy
he's barely begun
and the sun
won't rise
if he doesn't shine
although he'll never
be mine
I wish he'd never lose
hope
I'll mope until
he smiles once more
and I'll never shut the door
for my brown eyed boy
-j.m
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 9:24 AM UTC
I miss...
missing you
chasing you
wishing for you
to wish for me.
I miss...
excitedly telling you
who I am
and who I wish to be.
I miss...
not knowing
when I would see you
hold you
exhale your breath.
I love us now...
don't misunderstand...
but the anticipation
and the adventure
at times get over-powered
by the day.
I miss...
our breathless
creativity
and the almost violent need
to be close.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 9:22 AM UTC
Saying goodbye
To someone you love
Is like reading the final page
Of an amazing book.
As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice
Just how beautiful
And perfect
The plot always was.
You appreciate the joy
And even the pain
As you read and thumb
Through every page.
Finally understanding
The moral of the story,
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey.
Although the last sentence
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits
Once you turn the final page.
Eventually you may stumble
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return
To the book you left behind.
You may just discover
Once all is said and done
That this particular book
Was your favorite story
All along.
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
The gardener tends to his plants with love and devotion
From the daisies to the tulips and the hydrangeas in rows
But one flower he gives the most attention,
Was the beautiful, blood red, prickly rose
Every day the gardener cared for the flower,
Savoring the sight with his eyes and the scent with the nose
Yet when he goes to touch it, however,
It's thorns would cut him and from the wound, blood rose
Sometimes to himself, he wondered
Why something he loved so much
Would oppose him so violently
And deny his touch
Even as he asked himself, he knew the flower didn't know why
But he knew he had chose
He would always love, till the day he'd die
His beautiful, blood red, prickly rose
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC