Red lips, blank stare
Almost as if she came from nowhere
He mastered the art of longing for her
Despite her coming and going like a blur
And here she was, promising not to leave like everyone before
Because she wanted to be his cure
But at some point
She clutched a joint
And with a roar, threw a flower
Which his name was carved into, onto the floor
And stomped on it, crushing each and every petal
Where it lay still and settled
Forever
And
Ever

I've always been told
That you should never let go
Of a person
Who can see the sadness
Behind your smile
And hear your screams
When you are silent

Three years it has been
Since I was introduced
To a person
Who rapidly became
My other half,
My panda child,
My best friend.
Up until then,
I was forever surrounded
By small talk
And friends without meaning

Through all the
*******
And
Heartbreaks,
She had been there
Along with
All the petty
Events inbetween
And
I know
In my coffee
And
Cacti
Scented soul
That she will
Continue to do so
For a very,
Very,
Long time.

And one day,
She is going to arrive home
To a place and a person
She loves
And then she will understand
That dying
Isn't necessary
In order to
Go to heaven.
And
If a boy ever
Borrows her heart
And returns it infected
I will personally
Destroy
What's left
Of his sad
Little
Life.
Because
Knowing her,
She will give him everything
And he **** well
Better do the same.

Brooke Roman,
You are beautiful
And I hope you enjoy this poem
That doesn't really make much sense
But
I thought it was necessary
Because
You mean the world to me
And
I would not be here
If you had not come
And saved me
And
You can truly say
You appreciate beauty
Because
You've continously stopped
To pick up the pieces
Of my insecurities
That self-identify
To a beer bottle
Smashed onto a rock
Probably by my father

You are perfect
And
I love you
More than I love coffee
And pizza
And that's saying something.

That moment when
"I love you"
Becomes synonymous
With a slam of the door

That moment when
Water pours out of your doe-like eyes
And takes the shape
Of your absent father

That moment when
You witness a stranger's father
Pushing away a girl resembling a porcelain doll's hand
And whispering,
"It hurts me more than it will ever hurt you."

That moment when
You realize
You have a hickey
Except
It's on your heart

That moment when
What used to upset you
Now amuses you greatly
Because,
You killed every inch of feeling
And replaced it
With jokes
Until
One day
You realized
You also killed yourself
In the process

I don't care
Who you are
But
I just thought
You ought to know
That you are beautiful
And wanted in this world
And you mean a lot
To many people
So please,
Just remember
That I love you
So go **love yourself

I just adore how you feel upon my skin, October.
I went outside to sit beneath an autumn tree
With its beautiful, colorful assortment of leaves
Crunching beneath me
And I asked,
If I looked as beautiful dying.

The passerby stare,
Analyzing the earthbound woman with a mossy soul
And never fail
To tell others
Of
The girl with golden leaves in her hair, in love with a boy who held autumn within the palms of his hands.

Blood spiller, blood drinker, heart of flame.
The days come and go, but in autumn, she cannot be tamed.
                                                                                                             -Shauna

Let's take a trip down memory lane,*
Where the people were everything but sane
I open the unmarked cardboard box
Full of torn photographs
Torn, because my mother
Refused to remember
The memories
Of my "father"
Who, full of rage
Broke out of his cage
And rampaged around
The quaint house
Of my past
Until one day
He disappeared
For good

Another photograph
Was left untouched
And full of dust
And underneath that thick layer
Mom and Dad were smiling
And then I thought
What happened?

But then
I thought
What if they weren't really happy? What if it were all one big lie?*
And that's when I knew
That I never
Ever
Wanted to take a trip down memory lane
Again
Because
It was too painful
To contemplate
And analyze
Why
And
How
Things turned out
The way they did

I ruined his life and he ruined mine, so we must be soulmates.

My father was always told
a loveless man should always ******* with his left hand
because it supposedly felt
as if someone else was doing it
It all began with a bottle and a bag of marijuana
which quickly transitioned
into five bottles and various drugs
which quickly transitioned
into an addiction
that lasted for years
that continuously causes
sadness and anger
denial and depression
and the worst of all
mistakes
that cannot be undone
with a hundred “I love you's”
and “I’m proud of you's”
which he continuously states
because he reads me like a novel
and burns the pages one by one
until there is nothing left
but ash
and
a coffin filled with regret
Once filled with disappointment,
he now admits
how very wrong he was
which I've wanted my whole life
but now
I’m not even happy
or angry
or upset
I am nothing.
And
I’m beginning to wonder
if when he pushed me away
for the last time
before his final farewell
if he used his left hand
in order for him to feel
as if someone else was doing it.
I've been coughing up
the various post-it notes
that are meaningless
with his new addresses
for years.
It's been ten years
since my father first disappeared
when a newborn arrived in the household
Nine years
since he began secretly growing marijuana in our garage
in order to make him feel better
and avoid his responsibilities
like the **** plague
and spent
the majority of his paycheck
on every drug
under the sun
Eight years
since his mother died
and the drugs and anger
really began
Seven years
since he passed out on the front lawn
and nearly died from intoxication
body full of alcohol and multiple drugs
body thrown against a tree
ambulance and police sirens blaring
in the distance
as I stood scared
in the house
with a crying brother
and an upset mother
Six years
since the final fight
between him and my mother
he held a knife
firmly in his palm
and he vanished
for weeks
for months
and he threatened suicide
for the first time
out of many
Five years
since my mother stopped accidentally
setting his place
at the dinner table
and the final divorce papers came
and we started a new life
but he
just got worse
Four years
since we lived in and out of hotels
with prostitutes
and drug-addicts
as neighbors
Three years
since he found himself an equal
who is just
as ****** up
as he is
Two years
since he showed up drunk
to a birthday party
and full of rage
he took as many drugs as he could
to ease the embarrassment
One year
since I thought I were to see him
for the last time
because
I was sick and tired
of being sick and tired
Six months
since everything happened
and I finally spoke my mind
and watched him
make an even bigger mess
out of his “sad” life
that he created
himself
Two months
since I last received a letter
because
he was too embarrassed
that a disappointing daughter like me
did not visit him
and accept his mistakes
because
he is now
my favorite little bundle
of disappointment
One month
since I decided
that this poem
was the parting gift
I am to send him
because
he is more
like
an abandoned house
whose windows are broken
with strange noises echoing off the walls
than a father
I guess
you can just call me
daddy's favorite
little loss
of contact
with actuality
He is now just a galloping apology
trapped in the throat
of ten years ago
and
I hope he kept the receipt
on all those excuses he bought
because
they stopped working
when his heart did
And maybe one day
we'll reunite
once he decides
to make amends
and put his life back together
with glue
instead of
alcohol
and
drugs

At least
he taught me
how to make an exit
out of one's life
and
to be careful
not to choke
on all the lies
that he had told
over the years

Dad
Rhymes with bad
And mad
Which is what
He always is;
Although now psychically here
He's mentally at the closest alcohol store

Now facing reality
He is a free man
Who should be trying
To be a better person
And father
But once again
He gripped onto a bottle
And purchased
More drugs
Because
Instead of putting
His life back together with glue
He's using his usual
escape

In the end
He is more like
An abandoned house
With echoing halls
And large cracks
In the foundation
And spiderwebs
Covering the walls
Which symbolize
His heart
Because
It stopped working
The day he left
Without a goodbye
Or
"I love you"
Just
A slam
Of a door

Its sad
That I am
Not surprised
That he
Disappeared
Once again
Without
A word
And instead
Has taken
To drowning
In
A bottle
Of *****

leather and lace
look at her beautiful face
she wants to be a witch
she wants to be forgotten

her makeup gradually
becomes more and more post-mortem
as the days keep on piling up
and
she knows she's doing something right
when she gets the strange looks
from the passerby

she carries her guitar
like a mother carries her newborn baby
and strums the strings
just like her lover makes her feel
after a long day

and one day
that lover rips her heart out and splits it in two
resulting in her happiness dying
and now she's forgotten
and he refers to her as "that witch *****"
and now she doesn't play guitar like she used to
because her motivation is gone
and not only is her makeup post-mortem
but that leather and lace girl
with the beautiful face
is now six feet under
the ground

He’s my poem, I’m his song. Together, we’re one another’s story.

The year was 1892,
Where the sun glowed like never before.
Her soft mahogany curls were elegantly folded into her head,
The pink blush vibrant against her porcelain skin.
Her easel was flooded with elaborate strokes,
The tones gathered from the glorious flowers erected in the fenced off garden.
The authentic golden beauty was aching from behind her, arching forward toward the warm summer morning beams.
"How funny," she whispered, "They remind me of you."
The canvas illuminated the "you" she had just mentioned, the man positioned in a gorgeous array of scenery, yet he was the focus; the true vision in her mind's eye. She wondered where he was, and why he had not yet answered her artist's call.
Her back curved toward the sunflowers and golden rods behind her in a hand-painted vase, and she made a gesture with her hands.
"I will marry you someday."
That's when a soft patter broke the silence - she was being beckoned beyond her dwelling on this day.

In love with a boy who understands what the leaves say when they whisper in the wind,
Love that’s two cups of coffee gone cold because we decided to make love on the kitchen floor.
Love that makes you realize they're both your sunrise and your sunset,
And
Love that shows you places inside yourself that you never knew existed before.

It's the kind of love, where you feel the same way about them as you do when drinking the first sip of coffee each and every morning,
And where you want to play with their hair until they can't remember what their name is.

The sort of love that isn't ordinary at all, where you know they'll be making you weak in the knees on your 34th anniversary,
And you find yourself reciting the day you first met as your favorite day.
And,
Where you're homesick for that person the second you're apart.

I love you a lot
And if the feeling is not mutual
Please pretend
That this was just another
Stupid poem

"I don't love you anymore."

The rose bushes are issuing their consistent melody,
With such unbearable benevolence.
I crave surprising him with their petals, the harmonizing scent blending with the vintage lingerie and a picnic basket full of sweets, freshly cut flowers and writing he inspired.
My life, my soul, the man I love more than I did two seconds ago.

My heart flutters home, meeting my soul along the way. He’s waiting, his smile brightening the atmosphere as our bodies touch, the delicate set of skins melting into a single form of art.