You found me as a frozen-over winter
     water infused into my veins
     slowly spreading through my limbs.
Me, turning to ice from within
     and you, you saw the icicles
     growing in my eyes.
You thawed me, a spring warmth
     steadily cracking the glaciers
     until they broke free
     from my arteries.
And I, I felt myself melt
     in your presence.

Love isn't spoken.
It's a silent conversation
     held in a glance,
or small gestures
     just to provide
     occasional reminders
     that you care.
Love isn't spoken.
It's sitting together
     and inching closer
     just to feel the touch
     of them against you.
Love is effort,
          concern,
     unbridled affection,
     and memorizing
     the sound of a voice
     until it becomes its own
     special kind of embrace.
No, love isn't spoken.

I'm all alone here in my room,
but the voices dance in my head,
singing me that convincing tune,
telling me it's time...
                   go ahead,
                   release the red.

Each night I died,
sleep slowly
overtaking my brain.
And each morning I woke
and would lie there
so disappointed at
the very act of waking,
my tiny deaths
only temporary.
I struggled to move,
bound by the weight
of my demons sitting
in my lungs until,
with a lengthy sigh,
I'd breath them out
and force myself up.

                                                          Each night I fall,
                                                          sleeping soundly in knowing
                                                          that I am cared for.
                                                          And each morning I wake
                                                          and bound up, bursting
                                                          with energy and the need
                                                          to press my lips to your.
                                                          I'm so grateful to have
                                                          another day, more chances
                                                          to be caressed by
                                                          the sound of your voice.
                                                          I am weightless, and I
                                                          let out a content sigh,
                                                          not wanting to get up
                                                          only because I have found
                                                          perfection in your arms.

You know, I'm pretty sure
I could watch you for just a minute,
     the most fleeting of moments,
and find a hundred reasons more
     to fall in love with you.
I catch myself staring all too often,
eyes tracing over your features
as I try to understand,
     even just a little bit,
this spell you have over me.
I'm not speaking of swooning
     over the curvature of your clavicles
or tumbling down into the depths
     of your green eyes.
Though if I'm honest,
     I love all those cliché things too.
                                                                 No, baby, you see,
                                                                        I've fallen quite madly,
                                                                             for you, wholly,
                                                                                  mind,
                                                                                      heart,
                                                                                           and spirit.
                                                                 It is the very essence of you
                                                                     that causes my ardent adoration.

Metamorphosis
I feel a churning within
This change is coming...

I don't want someone I can't live without-to me, that's not what true love is about at all.  A state of being completely and fully dependent upon another is no good.  I'll tell you what I think love should be instead-not someone to move any mountains for you, but one who will stand by your side through it all, whether planned or not.  Don't fix it for me, but hold my hand and together we'll conquer our world.

Putting on my face
The world's so topsy-turvy
Hold tight! The ride's tough

So I'm saying my final farewell here
     to all that I've known before
And maybe in the process I've shed
     a tear or two.
But goodbyes are never easy, you know.
Try not to be sad for me though, dear.
Because, in all honesty,
This is the most liberated I've ever been.
I'm saying goodbye to the past
     and all it stands for.
No "see ya later" here, for I never intend
     to come full circle.
This is a one-eighty, not a three-sixty
I'm turning it all around
And I'm sorry if you feel I've changed
     too drastically
But maybe the truth is you just
     never truly knew me.

Why am I so scared of this?
I can't explain this rumble jumble
     of feelings tornado-ing
     around inside me right now.
I want it, I like this chance, I do.
But ****, am I terrified too.
And the apprehension itself
     scares me.
I'm standing at the edge,
     cautiously peeking over,
     as my toes creep ever closer
          until they've passed the ledge
     dangling in that scary oblivion
heart racing, breaths tumbling
     as they chase each other
     out of my chest.
I have to jump, make this leap
     or I'll never be sure.
I can't be too scared to try,
     too fearful of the fall,
     to risk the chance to fly.

One kiss, and an explosion occurred.
Neither expecting this, yet nothing different
     would we prefer.
I didn't fall for you gracefully,
but the siren's call of your soul to mine
     was a blitzkrieg attack.
And honestly, I'm looking forward
     to never going back.
For you, sir, have filled me wholly,
     completely my voids,
     and sealed shut every wound.
Every heart beat boomed in my head,
     drowning the sounds of all else
     the moment I knew for sure
     I had found it, found you.
Without trying, I came unfrozen
     as your voice caressed me.
My breath arresting, hitching,
I knew then, I know now-
     I want you to be
     my always and forever,
     my happily ever after.

Spy the turtle-there!
Playing peek-a-boo with me,
loving the whimsy.

Tiny buds push up
Popping their heads out to ask,
"May we come to play?"

Louisiana
Distinction between seasons
Almost unnoticed

Perfection now, but
mosquitoes will swarm us soon.
Spring is oh too short

The world is melting
Shuddering off her top coat
To display her skin

Spring-so colorful
But you want to know the truth?
Winter's more my style.

It's funny the pull one person can have.
The way they can make the world right-
     bring flight to your very soul-
Only to rip a hole through you
     in the very next breath.
I don't get it.
This whirlwind, this tornado of emotional distrust.
How did you gain such power over me?
I will gladly stand her to be showered by
     your kisses and professions of affection
     but all it takes is a split second of self-doubt
     and I'm left wondering...
Are you better off without me?
There are others, you know...
Much prettier, shinier baubles out there,
     just waiting to be picked up and admired.
I'm flawed, filled to the brim with troubles,
     not wrapped in nearly such a neat package.
Funny, it is, the way this ferris wheel works.
Just when I think I've found my comfort space,
     my safe place,
     ...whoosh...
there is goes, oh so quickly,
blinked away much too rapidly.
How does one person gather that much strength
     over my very own essence?
Funny the way that works.

Two pieces in the entirety of the world
     exist as separate parts of a single soul.
Together each portion that we are
     brings a clarity previously grasped for.
I taste you in the very air around me,
Sense your presence as it crowds mine,
And though we must eventually part,
know that we,
     the two moieties,
     exist in one rhythm.

I'm sad,
and no, I don't want to talk it out
because there's nothing you can do about it.
It's a sad sad,
the kind that permeates,
stays and repeats things in my mind
until it confiscates every vestige of peace.
I'm sad,
and no, I'd rather not discuss it,
because there's nothing you can do to fix it.

"Make a wish," he says,
"you get a wish on your birthday."

"Anything I want?" she asks...

"Anything," he promises,
          not realizing
          he's already made all her dreams
                    come true.

My biggest fear has nothing to do
     with monsters, the dark, death,
     or any of those usual frights.
No, my most intense scare comes
     from the anticipation that one day
     you may see me the same way
     I see myself.
For you see I'm not the girl that guys
     conjure up in their daydreams.
I could never hope to pass as one
     of those flitty girly-girls who know
     of quizzical things such as
               make-up
               cute hairstyles
               or fashion.
My blemishes show, and honestly
     I haven't a clue how to hide them
     anyway.
I look at braided hair, beachy waves,
     and effortless updos with envy
     My hair has two styles: up or down.
I've never in my life looked casually cute,
     and am obviously uncomfortable
     in a dress.  Please just pass me
     my jeans and t-shirt back,
     I'm much more myself in them.
     How does one even walk in heels?
I'd like to think I'm one of those
     "cool" girls that guys claim
     they love, the low-maintenance
     type chick, but I don't think
     I'm "cool" at all, really.
When guys describe those chicks,
     they do things like
               play video games
               quote Star Wars
               read comic books
     like some ideal gorgeous geek.
Well that's **** sure not me either.
     I **** at video games,
     love Star Wars, but
     I'm terrible with movie references,
     and have never read comics.
     Does manga count?
     I'm kind of starting to get into that...
I'm not the nerd's epitome of perfection
     either, the everyman's ideal.
So what am I? I'm just boring,
     little ole me.
I love to read, and would rather
     spend the night reading
     or watching something than go out.
I'm shy and self-conscious to a fault,
     so don't try bringing me around
     friends, I'll just bring you down.
Honestly, I'm basically a child. I love
               Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
               Gargoyles
               Tom & Jerry
               Animaniacs
     and cartoons in general.
I'm quiet and contemplative, often caught
     writing in my notebook,
     detailing my observations
     about the world around me.
I have a ***** mind and a messed-up
     sense of humor, giggling
     of the worst times occasionally.
But all in all, I think of myself
     as pretty boring.  Laidback,
     but with the most capricious of moods.
     I'm both low and high maintenance.
I don't know why you think positively
     of me, but I anticipate the day
     you realize I'm really nothing
     special at all.
The day you discover the truth
     I already know all too well.

All the things you've said
     that have struck me down the most
     were said as nonchalant utterances,
     or disguised as whimsy and play.
But those are the ones
     that dig in the most,
     drill into my core
until I'm so ******* and hurt
     I want to spit your venom
     right back at you.
Your words work their way
      slowly through my system,
     steadily poisoning my thoughts.
And it's the worst when I'm alone,
     with only my now-tainted mind
     for company.
Problem is, sometimes
     I feel that same loneliness
     with you right beside me.
So, despite your ardent claims
     to the contrary,
I'm quite unsure of your ability
     to handle my capriciousness
     for the long-term.

What am I supposed to write when I feel nothing at all?  When the letters and words beat at me, begging to be let out, but no poetry falls from my pen? How do I express the feelings when I am quite simply exhausted from their very presence and my mind has become a jumbled numbness? I am unable to express myself and so am stuck with the yearning to create without the ability. I sigh, not liking this mindless haze that is becoming the home of my brain, wishing I could find my way back to my voice.

Your preference for her
     is all too clear
and becomes more obvious
     each time you turn
     away from me
     to seek her out.
I'm left behind, reeling
     from your silent insults,
breaths stuttering as I try
     to comprehend
     when I stopped
     being good enough.

****.
I hate knowing,
    KNOWING
ways to make it all better
and being simultaneously
unable to take advantage
of those socially unacceptable
escapes of mine.
I have to just be here,
plaster on
my societal face
and it's all so ******* fake.
So fake.
All I want to do is give in
to the ever-taunting whims
that are begging,
pleading for release.
It's a dangerous game,
one I know I can't afford to lose
but ****
is it fun while I'm playing
with my deadly vices.
****,
how hard it is
to say no sometimes.

I dismantle you little by little,
pick you apart piece by piece
as I edge you ever closer to the precipice.
Your curiosity is titillated
by the tantalizing nothings
I whisper to draw you near,
promises I never intend to keep.
I tease as we creep, and you have no clue
as to the depths of my nefarious intent
until the moment I lay my hands
on your chest
         and push.
Your hands catch, grasp tightly.
So I lean forward and gift you
with one last kiss
before I stare into your eyes
as I peel them from the surface.
Laughter pours forth
as I witness your fall
from high above.
I turn and walk away,
my deceit complete.

We're terrible at goodbyes.
It's probably what we're worst at
in our relationship.
We suddenly turn into one of those
mushy couples everyone gags around,
unable to part each other's company,
constantly returning for "just one more."
Goodbyes are the worst,
and we **** at them.
Yet every time you leave me,
I am left with the hugest grin
on my face, unable to contain myself
because someone such as you
loves me so dearly
that it's a struggle
to part ways.
So although I know
I'll miss you terribly,
and we quite simply **** at goodbyes,
I'm always left behind
in the best of moods,
filled to the brim
with my love for you.

You run into the station as I'm pumping gas and come out with a gigantic cup of coffee.
"I know that usually by this time you've had three or four cups, and this was the biggest they had."
I take a long swig, and it's the perfect combination of caffeine, dairy, and sweetness.
"I love how you know exactly how to make my coffee," not knowing if you realize how much significance I place on this small act.
"About three-fourths coffee, one-quarter milk, and a ****-ton of sugar," you say while smiling at me so casually.
It's not a big deal, and yet it is. You pay attention to the tiniest of details, take notice of the most seemingly insignificant parts of my day.
You have no idea how much it means to me, how much value you have added to something such as this cup of coffee.

Sometimes while sitting next to you
I feel as if we are actually galaxies away from one another
and I'll try my damnedest to gather up all the stars in the vicinity
and spell you out a message among the constellations.
But for some reason you can't read my signs.
Maybe we're not speaking the same language,
or I simply haven't gathered enough stars to adequately display what I'm attempting to say.
Whatever the cause, our miscommunication turns the inches between our bodies
into unconquerable territory
that spans light years.

Each silent insult you hurl in my direction inches its way up my body so that it may worm its way in my soul and lie there, forcing every insecurity to my surface. Your unspoken digs crawl into my very being, wielding barbs that cut deeper than any words could. And the worst thing is, I don't think you even realize how terribly you're hurting me.

I'm confused as to when my touch
changed from the thing you crave
to the thing that makes you turn away.
I've always heard you can have to much
of a good thing, and I guess it's true.
Because my hands no longer
seem to bring about that same reaction
they used to.
And I'm just left here, confused.

If I were to place you gently in my pocket,
would you mind very much staying there
and remaining always near?
So that in my moments of greatest need
you could pop your head up above the edge
and whisper tiny encouragements into my ear?

I've given pieces of myself away
     over the years.  
I meet people and I love deeply,
     so I break off a piece of my heart
     and offer it up, my gift to them.
I've found my presents oft returned,
     unwanted, unused
     after their purpose had served.
So when we first met, sir,
     I had no intention
     of breaking myself further
     for you, only to be scorned.
But intentions be ******,
     for you didn't wait.
No, you sewed my pieces
     back together for me,
     without me even having to ask.
And so it is you, sir,
     who shall have the gift
     of the rest of my heart.
One little piece will never be adequate,
     and so I give to you,
     more and more every day.

It's one of those days
where I just can't fake my smiles.
I abhor everyone around me
and the very air against my skin
causes a friction that makes me flinch.
I can't ******* handle today.
Can we rewind,
start over,
so the sounds of their voices
don't grate on my brain?
Because it's one of those days
I simply can't take anymore of.
Please help me, I'm about to break.

I threw our old pictures away today,
     and cried as I did it.
I had held on for a bit,
     not knowing exactly how to
     proceed.
I knew I didn't really want to keep them,
     but our end wasn't drastic enough
     for a burning.
But today, today I finally threw them away.
And I have no clue why,
     but it's tearing me up inside.
And I have another confession while I'm at it.
The other day, when I came by
     to pick up the last of my stuff?
You were teary-eyed and I tried my hardest
     to remain hard-hearted,
     and we talked it out a little.
You said you miss me still
     and I felt like a *******
     because I replied only, "I'm sorry."
I didn't want to tell you I miss you too,
     didn't want to lie to you.
But then, as I was leaving,
     you shut the door behind me,
     and I remembered I wanted
     to remind you
     about taking me off the lease.
I turned and opened the door,
     and I saw you finally releasing
     what you had been struggling
     to hold back in my presence.
You were walking towards your room,
     sobbing.
And I witnessed that moment
     when it wasn't meant for me.
The sound of your cries
     and the shaking of your shoulders
     has haunted me since,
     an unwanted movie stuck on repeat.
And I walked away.
And I threw our old pictures out today.
And maybe I actually was meant to see
     that moment of unbridled agony,
     so that I too could feel some of your misery.
Because you loved me,
Still love me,
and I destroyed you.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
I lie my head there on your chest
and find my absolute favorite place to rest.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
And I've been tested many times over in my quest for peace, but I never would have guessed I'd find it so quickly with you.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Your heartbeat is the rhythm of my universe.

I've always been a small child
who likes to draw and play with toys
and you, you've got glitter in your veins
and I've always been attracted to shiny things.
So you caught my attention from the very beginning
and I, I who am easily distracted, became hooked
on the colors in your soul.

Love isn't spoken.
It's a silent conversation
     held in a glance,
or small gestures
     just to provide
     occasional reminders
     that you care.
Love isn't spoken.
It's sitting together
     and inching closer
     just to feel the touch
     of them against you.
Love is effort,
                concern,
       unbridled affection,
     and memorizing
     the sound of a voice
     until it becomes its own
     special kind of embrace.
No, love isn't spoken.