I met you tonight.
You smelled nice
and I sat next to
you for two hours.
Sure, there was a
fifteen minute break.
But so what? Your
bangs hung straight
across your forehead
and you skirt lay
loosely around your
thighs. Your sweater
clung to you body
and you clung to my
mind. I know your
name and I know
your face but I know
not you.

It was your first time going to a show and you told me you felt like a white crayon.
It was my thirteenth show and I told you white crayons looked very nice on any color paper but white. So why limit yourself?

You had your legs
crossed and your
foot kept touching
my calf and instead
of recoiling I let it
happen. I talked to
you and when I took
my coat off it flailed
in your face and I
said "I'm sorry, sorry."
And you curled your
mouth into a cute
smile and told me it
was really okay, and
then the show was very
good and how many
have I been to. It's funny
how you're cute and I'm
me and you laughed
when I said stupid
things and I let our
legs touch and I even
held the door open for
you and said "Goodnight,
Lady. See you next Monday."
And you said "Goodnight,
Nolan. If fate wills it,
so it shall be." And we
laughed and I begged fate
to will it.

I guess this could be a romantic poem
but I quit smoking a week ago,
and a poem ain't romantic unless the poet is sitting alone, in the cold, smoking a cigarette and wishing his memories of her could burn with the cigarette. Which is, coincidentally, the last cigarette in his pack.
And besides, my insides have been feeling more hollow than ever, and a poem is only romantic if the writer is feeling romantic.

But I remember, about two weeks ago, not wanting to be trapped in the confines of these blank white walls, I went for a little walk. It was cold and I was smoking the last cigarette in my pack.
My eyes chances upon the stars and a deep unrest fell within my stomach. I thought of you, as I had been often doing, as I always do when I look at the stars. Not desiring life, and only wishing to sleep forever, I began walking home.
I crushed the cigarette under my boot and wished I could do the same with the small part of my heart that you still mercilessly hold.

How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways...
I love you to the heavens and planets and stars
   my soul can reach, though they be out of sight
      for the ends of the sky and everlasting grace.
I love you to the level of everyday's
   most deafening want, by sun and candlelight.
I love you freely,
   as women seek Equality.
I love you purely,
   as they turn from Normality.
I love you with an unused passion,
   with my past, and with my ever-aging soul.
I love you with a love that I believed I had given away --
I love you with every smile, laugh, tear... all of my life! --
And if God willing,
I will love you until the last breath is drawn from my mouth.

stay calm
breathe in
breathe out.

do the dishes after dinner
and breakfast
but eat out for lunch.

a polish hot dog
and two lines of coke
will fill your stomach.

I never thought I was doing all that great,
I just knew I wasn't as bad as I had been
and I didn't fall to my knees and thank god
every day that I could sleep without taking a knife to my skin
and that I could wake up without my mother shouting from the next room.

I took it for granted and now it's hard to fall asleep without
licking blood off cold steal
and it's hard to get out of bed without
incessant harsh words.

I took it for granted and now I am not being held and now
I am not being held
and now I am not being held
and it's hard to breathe without being held.

So I use
people
and substances
and routines
and aimless walks .

It's hard to get on my knees and thank god for the sun when I don't want to ever see it.

Before I begin, allow me to explain,
I too loved.. once,
so think of me not as some cynic-
nor as a master in the ways of love-
but rather as a keen observer-
now, that may mean I have nothing to offer you-
no insider knowledge-
no secrets of love-

But I do  know how to tell a true love story -

Interested?
Fantastic-
So let’s begin,

True love, if there is such a thing at all,
is like the thread that makes the cloth
you can’t tease it out-
you can’t extract meaning-
without ending up deeper in the web-
and it always remains-
hidden under layers -

In the end, that’s all you can really say about any
True love story-
They don’t generalize-
They don’t analyze-
They arent found-
They just… happen.

and that’s what makes them “true.”

But what is this coveted “love” -
the emotion?-
the act?-
the mentality?-

Love, is a constant state of illusionment-

A collective agreement amongst humans-
that it, whatever it may be,  can be treated as an excuse
for recklessness, irrationality, and misplaced strife-  

A quid pro quo  between two individuals-
to agree that they are doing something-
anything-
other than mindlessly drudging through life-

Now that is not to say that what love creates is pointless-
I said before, I have felt the embrace of love
Love festers between individuals for so long
it has no option-
but to mould the physical to itself-
and alter our personalities-

Characterized by spontaneity-
by indulgence-
by risk-
to love is the most dangerous experience in existence-
the act of being fully vulnerable with another-
while promising not to hurt them the same-

Love is characterized by vulnerability-
and the constant fear of being hurt-

So you want to know how to write a true love story?
be honest-
dwell not on the “romantic” blindfolds that keep us irrationally seeking our partners-
dwell not on the on the memories of a love that blossomed-
reveal the core of love -

A true love story comes from gut instinct-
A true love story, comes from experience.
A true love story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe

So I said I loved once,
allow me to elaborate-

I too have felt the “butterfly stomach”
- where the insides of the lovestruck turn on their host and manifests the emotional significance of meeting “the one”

I too have spent the day daydreaming...
-Lost in the thought of “the one”, seeking brief breaks from reality in my mind between moments of  utter normalcy

I too have melted into a puddle of emotion….
-lying next to “the one” as we slowly spill more and more of the secrets that bound us as individuals, joining a spirit much larger than ourselves-

I too have felt... invincible-
-to know that I’ve found something more significant than myself. Something that replaces the fear of the future.. and makes it something to look forward to.

Yes, I too have fallen in love.
and I did just that-
I fell.





..And that is my true love story-

Maybe I'm as tough as I seem...

Or maybe you're just too stupid to see that I need help.

Maybe I'm quiet

Or maybe you just don't see people can die silently

Maybe I love reading

Or maybe you just don't notice how my hands quiver as I cry into the pages.

Maybe I love singing

Or you like my tune just a little to much that you do not envision me putting a cry for a savior in my lyrics

Maybe I am too deep in my little colorful world.

Or you are to blind to see,that I am just a smidge too insane.

Maybe....this is all I will ever get.