Never have I ever heard
anyone say they hated music
I asked her again and she said
'I hate music!'

She hated music
because it reminded her
of her tragic past after
every lyric in her head
it drowned her thoughts
that filled her with dread.

She hated music
because it reminded her
of love because she
feels that her love
isn't good enough...
for anyone.

She hated music
because it reminded her
of unhappiness
when she tried to listen
to an instrumental tune
she would be gloom
as the beat mimics
the sound of her
fathers beating heart
before he passed away
until then she fell apart
and felt her life was
going to be doomed.

She hated music
because it reminded her
of the good old days
where she was young
and nothing was
stepping in her way
although there were
songs that would say
in life things will change
and you don't always
have it your way.

She hated music
because it reminded her
how people created it
and she said that some artists
don't make songs for
great motivation,
but sadly it's more like
great desperation
she said it must be easy
for them to do all of that
just to get famous
although it doesn't do
everybody any good to
improve their daily
situation.

She hated music so much
that it made her jump into
conclusion which made her
so ticked as she look back
at it now it got her sick.
she asked me
why do people listen to music
when all we can do is ignore it?

She listens to every genre
of music from
many different artists
and she still isn't
interested
as she clutch
her hand into a fist.

She realized now
that she is free from the lyrics that weighed her down
and the rhythm that drags her back around
she believes that without music she would feel
safe and sound.

I wrote something once.
I don't know where it came from,
or when it will come again.
I try so hard to put words on a page
so I can feel like myself,
but still they don't sound like me.

Words burn in my chest and
I can't spit them out.
Beer cools them, and so I drink it.
But the words go to my heart
and they squeeze and squeeze
and then I lose them.

They mean much to no one,
and not to me.
But left alone they squirm
and squeeze and shout
so I can't hear what they mean
or what I'm trying to think.

I can't get rid of them.

When I listen, they help.
When I don't, they burn.
I want to spit them all over,
so you can feel what they do to me.
But only if you're ready.

They're like worms, the words.
They eat, and sleep and breed,
and there's more of them.
And there'll be more tomorrow,
and if I can't get rid of them
they'll eat me alive.

When I put them on a page,
they stay still.
And then more come,
and I'll catch them too, hopefully.
Then they'll stay still
so you can see them.

The words.

I used to assume I was subtle shades of blue-
Simple hues,
Unprepared for complexity.

But oh God,
I turn red when you look at me
And I catch your eyes lingering
Longer than you'd like to admit
As if you're a wanderlust traveler
Discovering borderlines

I turn red
When your fingertips trace me
And start to imitate this ocean of sheets;
Curling around me
Pulling me underneath

I turn red
When your lips trail embers onto my skin
And light me up
Like I'm the burning end
Of all your cigarettes

But do you inhale me the same way?
Darling, do I live in your lungs longer
Than a few seconds of smoke
Or do you just like seeing the color red
Written all over me?

Am I really a poet,
If all I ever write about,
Is you?

I love her.
No not ******* worldly,
But softly, purely , celestially.
Obsessively?
Not necessarily, just completely,
selfishly and I'm sorry.
I love her unconditionally, some say unconventionally.
But they don't understand me.
Yes...I love her.
Most spiritually, asexually, platonically and wholly.
I love her, truly, honestly, musically and poetically...
She doesn't have to love me.