There's a hole.
What seems like a minuscule hole in my suit jacket.
Right at the seam, where it overlaps with my jeans.
It's there because of the idiocy,
the complacancy,
the moronicy,
of a girl I used to be.
The girl everyone wanted me to be.
As she ran away from life,
because the man I was meant to be told her she was a freak.
Now when it first appeared, I thought it was a gaping chasm.
One that could never be filled.
But I fixed it, as I came to terms with being her, and he.
There's a hole.
What seemed like a minuscule hole in my heart.
Right in the center, where it puts love into the rest of me.
It's there because of the carelessness,
the idle hands,
the love struck glances,
of the girl I thought she would be to me.
As she played with my heart because I was too weak to see otherwise.
Now, when it first appeared, I thought it to be a gaping chasm.
One that could never be filled.
But I fixed it, as I came to terms with her being her and me being me.
There was a hole.
What seemed like a minuscule hole in my life.
Taking over my world, absorbing all light making me terribly unhappy.
It was there because depression was a beast,
a monster, a thief.
Stealing every bit of smile I had left in me.
But only because I didn't know I had another option.
Now, when it first appeared, I thought it to be a gaping chasm.
One that could never be filled.
But I fixed it, as You walked through the door and into my arms.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
With this poem I promise:
1. To love you unconditionally.
2. To pick you up off our bathroom floor when you're crying and say you can't anymore.
3. To tell you five things a day that I love about you.
4. To hold you close when you are scared, and sing our song to you.
5. To play with your hair when you fall asleep on my chest, 'cause you hate Doctor Who anyways.
6. To let you control what we eat for dinner each night, and not complain when we have pasta, again.
7. To remind you every second of every day just how lucky I am to have a beautiful woman like you in my arms.
With this poem, I promise I love you.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
Maybe we are meant to meet people.
Maybe they are meant to be the ones.
Maybe they are meant to save us
From ourselves when we try to run.
Maybe we are meant to fall in love.
Maybe they are meant to change.
Maybe they are meant to help us
From the things inside our brains.
Maybe we are meant to see people.
Maybe they are the wrong people.
Maybe they are meant to keep us
From nights all alone in the dark.
Maybe we aren't give soul mates once.
Maybe they change as we do.
Maybe this poem is reaching out
From my computer to hers, too.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
I texted You this morning.
I asked You how You were.
I never got an answer.
You never texted me, to let me know You got home okay last night.
I was worried. So I called You.
But it went straight to voicemail, probably because You were with Him.
You're always with Him.
I shouldn't be bothered by this.
I'm in love with Her;
I've convinced everyone else through our kisses,
Her hands around my waist,
Her pictures the backgrounds on my phone.
So why when I wake up at night,
body wrecked from the nightmares,
do I call You instead of Her.
Why when is it, when I see You with Him,
do I want to take you in my arms and pull you away from Him?
Tell you the things in my head,
and listen as you go on about the ones in Yours.
Like We used to, when there was an "Us".
It wasn't an official "Us" but it was Us nonetheless.
But He came along, so I had to find Her.
I thought She would be the One.
Maybe she is.
So then why
are You
still
here.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
In New York there lives a man,
Who has everything.
The penthouse suite and Lamborghini.
The millions upon millions of dollars.
Enough to save the man in Syria
Starving every night as war wrecks his country.
In the twenty-four hours the day has,
One man shows compassion;
Saves the life of one who would have taken his.
The other shuts the door on the ones who love him,
Pours another drink of whiskey and ignores them.
Every day has twenty-four graciously alotted hours,
Meant for us to attempt to change the things we see.
Some people misuse it, others abuse it.
Still all the same those twenty-four hours should be used for change.
There's a woman, broken and beaten,
On the streets of Madrid alone.
She cries every night over the pain
Of the memories of her family.
Of the man she thought she knew.
Across the world in Tokyo is a girl,
She cries for the same thing,
A father forgotten in the mess.
Who will save them when they come
Down on their knees and their worlds
Are crashing in?
Every day has twenty-four graciously alotted hours,
Meant for us to attempt to change the things we see.
Some people misuse it, others abuse it.
Still all the same those twenty-four hours should be used for change.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
No one's youer than you,
Or me-er than me
So lets be the us-iest us,
That we can be.
After that, just let it be.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
The day we met I told you I loved you,
And you laughed at me.
Four years to the day and I said it again,
And you kissed me on the cheek.
Our personalities bite at each other.
You're sweet and kind;
I'm aggressive and bitter.
You're the first thing people see about me;
I'm the last they see of you.
Four years to the day,
And we still complete each other's sandwiches.
I make obscure references,
You buy me the things that fuel them anyways.
People don't get us.
Maybe it's because I'll always love you
And You'll always see me as a sister.
Our friendship is tightnit.
Like the sweater for cold weather that I keep in my trunk just for you.
I know you like the back of my hand,
You know me more than anyone else could ever understand.
Four years to the day,
And this time I wouldn't change a thing about us.
Because I'll always love you,
My unrelated non-blood sister.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
every good catholic is raised in believing
that there are Seven deadly sins.
Lust, Gluttony, Sloth, Greed, Pride---
just to name a few.
Me? I believe there are Eight.
The original seven, and Love.
Love is a deadly, venomous sin.
it takes you from who you are,
and makes you someone you are not.
one day you're smiling and laughing,
the next day your hands shake
and the scars are blade deep.
Love, is the ultimate sin.
It changes you.
And some times,
Without you knowing it,
It changes them too.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC