What shall I call you?
Should I call you my friend? Despite my heavy weight you still catch me every time.
Should I call you my enemy? I do hate you. I hate that I can never hate you.
Should I call you my sibling? Sounds incestuous.
Should I call you my lover? I don't wish to only have you in between my bed sheets at three in the morning.
Should I call you my partner? Let's hold hands and use the buddy-buddy system forever.
Should I call you mine? Yet all I want to be is yours.
Should I call you by your own name? It's the sweetest thing that has ever left my lips.

Forget what they tell you
About being a masterpiece
You are not art

You are not stagnate beauty,
Nor were you created for the pleasure of others

You were not meant to be marveled at
by the simple minded
Or ridiculed for your every flaw

You are not art

You are wind
Sending chills through the bones
of those in your presence

You are fire
Spitting embers with a coal-coated tongue

You are water
A bubbling stream of euphoric laughter

No, you are not art
You are so much more

Life has a cruel joke.
Giving you the right person,
at a dreadful time.

i can't make you love me
and it pains me to admit
no matter how many times
i pleasure you
or touch you
it couldn't possibly help
i despise how obvious it is
that i am constantly savoring
your every kiss
memorizing your lips
and how they fit mine
just right
gazing into your eyes
until everything turns hazel
stroking your rough skin
and learning the landmarks
of your exterior surface
please just stay prisoner
in my bed
just wish i could look into
your mind
to know what you truly think
of me
and us
but how can i expect you
to love me
when i can't even
love myself