Oh magnanimous ruler of poetic plights
Giveth me thine strength to write
With such diction that I'll have two words to each line.
Oh how verbose is my mind
on the page
When I try with all might
To delay my short sight

But you! My magnificent master
No man dare find rhyme faster than thee
All I see
Is the artful complexity
That blesses the page
And I rage!
One word
One line
All 26 characters utilized
I need not surmise
That this is the stage
Of your grandest play
And my demise

To make a long story short
When I woke up next to you
Your face just a few inches from mine
I realized I had never felt anything like this in my life
Something so peaceful
Something so...whole
Something that made me stop looking for home
Because I'd found it

Time passes me by and I realize I'm so much bigger and yet so much smaller than I hoped to be.
I don't watch good films. I don't read enough or write enough. I don't think enough.
I don't play guitar; a couple chords is all I know, I'm afraid that's as far as I'll ever go.
I don't sit and write songs on paper, I type them out and forget about them ten minutes later.
I don't have people I can call friends; at least not anymore.
I've distanced myself from everything and everyone I ever loved.
I don't speak spanish, french or romanian. I've never seen the ocean or been kissed on the lips.
I only know a couple words in italian.
I don't go to parties. I don't have a job or a good credit score.
I don't have pretty handwriting. My mom doesn't like me; she might love me sometimes, but she doesn't like me.
My father doesn't know me,
I'm afraid by now he forgot how to pronounce my name.
I spin in circles and dream of a life of happiness, love and fame.
I dream of picking my own wall paint and moving my furniture around the place.
I dream of saying I own this house and everything inside,
myself included.
I can close my eyes and enjoy some expensive wine,
I earned it.
I dream of a lover who understands that I might be happy but no amount of love could ever ease the pain or heal the hole in my brain.
I let the good thoughts escape,
the bad ones remain.
I dream of someday being able to look at my left hand and not see the purple-hued bruise that my mother left behind when she pushed to the floor that one time; it's not the first time she hits me or steals me from my dignity,
I should be used to it.
I close my eyes and I allow myself to feel the pain.
My body is weak.
I feel her dragging me to the bathroom and yelling at me.
The pain is everywhere,
I'm too dizzy to think.
The neighbors listen to her screams, my cries
But they pretend it's alright.
So the next morning when my math teacher asks me why I missed class
I look down, then he looks down and asks me why my hand is lilac
I tell him I fell, it was late at night and I didn't have my glasses on,
It's alright,
I fell.
I take the test I missed. I hold back tears while reading words that look like greek to me
I fail.
I could have died that night.
I could have died the next day.
I spent the next three years thinking about committing suicide.
She tells me she's sorry, it won't happen again. That was the last time she ever laid her hands on me; out of pity or fear that she might end up committing an inescapable felony.
She tells me she loves me,
I tell myself that love doesn't feel like daggers buried deep into your left hand.
Those broken bones never mend.
I'm almost twenty now,
I was fifteen then.

She is the center, connected
She loves beyond love
Yet I'm perplexed
By this dove
Whose wings, divine
Flutter in the fading light

She dives
Though she is so precise
In her flight
That her gentle body, white
Paints the night sky

Now blind

No stars
Not in front
Not behind
Just her
Always there to shine
Brighter and longer
Than any heavenly body I might find