There was a time I told you,
Of all that ached inside;
The things I held so scared,
To all the world I’d hide.

But they became your weapons,
And slowly I have learnt,
The less that is said the better,
The lesser I’ll be hurt.

Of all you’ve used against me,
The worst has been my words.

There are things I’ll never tell you,
And it is sad to think it so;
The more you come to know me-
The lesser you will know.
-Lang Leav

All my pwoblems,
who knows, maybe evwybody’s pwoblems
is due to da fact, due to da awful twuth
dat I am SPIDERMAN.

I know, I know. All da dumb jokes:
No flies on you, ha ha,
and da ones about what do I do wit all
doze extwa legs in bed. Well, dat’s funny yeah.
But you twy being
SPIDERMAN for a month or two. Go ahead.

You get doze cwazy calls fwom da
Gubbener askin you to twap some booglar who’s
only twying to wip off color T.V. sets.
Now, what do I cawre about T.V. sets?
But I pull on da suit, da stinkin suit,
wit da sucker cups on da fingers,
and get my wopes and wittle bundle of
equipment and den I go flying like cwazy
acwoss da town fwom woof top to woof top.
Till der he is. Some poor dumb color T.V. slob
and I fall on him and we westle a widdle
until I get him all woped. So big deal.

You tink when you SPIDERMAN
der’s sometin big going to happen to you.
Well, I tell you what. It don’t happen dat way.
Nuttin happens. Gubbener calls, I go.
Bwing him to powice, Gubbener calls again,
like dat over and over.

I tink I twy sometin diffunt. I tink I twy
sometin excitin like wacing cawrs. Sometin to make
my heart beat at a difwent wate.
But den you just can’t quit being sometin like
SPIDERMAN.
You SPIDERMAN for life. Fowever. I can’t even
buin my suit. It won’t buin. It’s fwame wesistent.
So maybe dat’s youwr pwoblem too, who knows.
Maybe dat’s da whole pwoblem wif evwytin.
Nobody can buin der suits, dey all fwame wesistent.
Who knows?
--JIM HALL

Mom: "You've created this love triangle between you two...."

Me: "I didn't mean to make a love triangle. I meant to draw a line. It just so happens there are other lines."

That's the funny thing about love.

You don't want to get hurt,
but you choose to be vulnerable together.

In summertime, our love is kind, like poppies floating in the breeze.
In wintertime, our love is warm — it dances from my head to toes.

If skies are blue, our love is giddy — two people singing in the sun.
If thunder rolls our love is calm, a refuge from the dancing rain.

When spring flowers bloom, our love is bold, like yellow petals on the iris.
When autumn leaves fall, our love is gold, shining bright like a harvest sunset.

From New Years's till Christmas our love will continue to play.
From season to season I love you always! My one, my only, my love.

Genie in a bottle
Three wishes mine

Wish one: I wish for love, love so fierce, everyone can see it.
Wish two: I wish to be happy, a cloud nine happiness that I wish would never leave.
Wish three: I wish for success, to rise to the top.

Genie nods

Gone

Love so fierce
Everyone can see
the scars on my bleeding wrists
and the bruises on my arms

Happiness
On cloud nine
Until I have to by another drink
and drown the sorrow

Success
On the top
Yes, till I crumble
In defeat on the ground
Broken

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
--SYLVIA PLATH

Tears, shes seen ‘em all
She knows what its like to
Fall to hard, to have skin rip on a
Shard of glass, and blood run into rivers,
And stain roses red.

Are we to plaster painted faces
And be expedited to live?
Are we hide scars and
Not admit we are sad all the time?

"Are you okay?"
they ask

I respond
as quickly
as I can
so they will not
notice the earthquakes
in my voice
or the tsunamis
in my eyes
or the drought
in my heart
--Ellen Everett

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
--ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

She was not fragile like a flower; she was fragile like a bomb

Girls like her were born in a storm. They have lighting in their souls, thunder in the hearts, and chaos in their bones

Her soul was too deep to explore by those who always swam in the shallow end

She is a combination of sensitive and savage

She didn’t need to be saved. She needed to be found and appreciated for exactly who she was

She is fire and ice. You’ll fear the cold, and crave the burn

She’s a tornado with pretty eyes and a heartbeat

She was poetry in a world still learning the alphabet

She was either wildly naive, or dangerously intelligent

What’s a queen without her king? Well, historically speaking, more powerful

That was her magic, she could still see the sunset, even on those darkest days

She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art isn’t supposed to look nice; it’s supposed to make you feel something.

She’s the flowers, but she’s also the rain. She’s the beauty of day, but also the nights full of pain.

She’s a tornado with pretty eyes and a heartbeat

She sees in black and white, thinks in grey, but loves in color