It's not fair that I wait up all night for you.
I'm not saying that it's your fault;
I'm just saying that it isn't fair.

It's not fair that I got too serious.
I'm not saying that it was my fault;
I'm just saying that it isn't fair.

It's not fair that I'm too stressed to smile.
I'm not saying it's the world's fault;
I'm just saying that it isn't fair.

It isn't fair that I'm writing sad poems at midnight.
I am saying that it's your fault,
but I guess not entirely.

By day the fear defines me;
By night it envelopes me,
Perpetually reaffirming it's hold,
Refusing to release me.

Escape would be the sweetest taste,
more so than this surrender
to which I have become accustomed,
and to which I have not the strength to nullify.

We are given this inadequate kit,
of alternate emotions and yoga poses,
with which to fight the fear,
as though we have a chance.

Yet no matter how tense my anger,
how jubilant my happiness,
or how serene my meditation,
this fear has found a forever host.

From adolescence we are told
that this fear is a human construct.
Oh, the absolute worst kind;
this kind has no solution.

As teenagers we are herded into groups,
and told they are what will ease the fear,
and yet, the same emotions exist in all.
So what then is our option?

Is it to find love?
A kindred spirit whose fear mirrors our own?
I do believe so.
Oh, I do believe so.

As young adults we are told this is wrong.
We should be independent;
searching for love will certainly lead to heartache.
We must just live a little longer with the fear.

In our 30's the advice is more rushed,
as though we really do have timers.
We are now told the time spent afraid,
was time wasted.

What a sick joke,
that we are given false testimonies,
and are bombarded with warnings,
all most surely unsolicited.

I will not listen.
This fear is mine, not yours.
It has been my dearest friend for so long,
but it is now my choice to leave it behind.

There is no power in the trinket;
There is no mana,
Nor is there a curse of an ancient.

Still it is prudent to take care of such an item,
If only to appreciate the craftsmanship.
I'm sure the maker would be proud of how well I care for this trinket.

I sometimes do wish there were magic here,
As I roll it through my fingers
"The Remover of Obstacles"
Lord (and trinket) know I have more than a few.

Love found is oft the doing of luck
The sum of picked-up pennies
And good deeds stored away for such an occasion

But love can also be found in luck's absence
A karmic apology for years of despair
So how then can we know when to expect it?

Through palms read and stars watched
We are given our timelines
Loose strings along which we bounce around
Praying always to just stand still

Through horoscopes and faulty quizzes
We are told who we will become
Self-fulfilling prophecies at their worst man our love lives' helms

While it is true that love is everywhere
We must not search
We must not turn over a single rock
For then luck and karma are out of a job

I want you so bad
My body shakes as I bite my lip
Running my fingers up my arms as though they're your hands
Stopping when I get to my neck

Imagining that your fingers are the ones brushing my hair back,
I slide them up around my ears,
Reaching my cheeks
As the fingers line my face, they reach my lips, parted just a bit

I'm tempted to kiss them,
Thinking of my desire for yours.
Instead I slide them down my body,
Thinking of a better use for them.

I could've been looking at the sky.
I could've tied my shoe,
Or buttoned my pants.

I could've picked up my phone,
Or made a mug of coffee.
But no, you stole that moment from me.

You mashed my lips against yours,
Tender but firm,
Just the way that girl taught you when you were twelve.

It's not that I mourn those lost moments;
In fact, I'm quite glad about their passing.
Your lips are much better company.

But, what if, what if, there had been a falling star?
And what if now I trip on my laces?
You would now be to blame.

Now, I have a missed call,
And I'm uncaffeinated at work.
It is your fault, your *****, rotten lips.

Was it intentional?
Did your mouth set out to sabotage my day?
Or is my preoccupation with kissing you just the way God made me?

Whatever it is, I think we'd better stop.
This love affair of our lips has become hazardous to my health.
Oh, but that smile of yours.

Your perfect lips folding back to show pearl teeth,
And your eyes, oh, your eyes.
One more kiss won't hurt.