This is a poem for me, to me.

You have a horrible singing voice
but God knows,
singing while you wash away
dishes somehow makes
cleaning your heart
less cumbersome.

I've been worried about you;
you seem to be craving
a psychopathic thrill,
the kind where you feel
everything but remorse;
what a change of course,
you didn't let the monsters change you,
did you?

Intensity sprawls over
your dainty skin,
either full equilibrium
or capsizing until you sink,
either confessing to possessing
a soul gone obsidian
or your confessions completely shrink.

Girls like you
are the reason why you don't see
many small kids out late at night;
you're either fully pacific
or completely acidic,
either lulling stability and resolution
or chaos enveloped by your convulsions.

You're a ******* storm...
Now make sure the world knows.

You are the light rain; softly falling towards the ground, giving me a calm feeling.

You are the lightning that electrifies me, sending shock waves through my body; consuming my thoughts, consuming me.

You are the thunder that keeps me on my toes; a screaming reminder of what it is like to be alive.

You are the soothing winds that carry me; a tender embrace, a soft caress, giving me peace at the slightest touch.

Yet our love was too much and it quickly became a hurricane; huge nimbus clouds rioting across the sky, a warning of what's to come; the torrential and unforgiving rain, relentless as it soaked every surface and precipice.

We are each other's salvation, rain, lightning, thunder and wind. **Yet no one ever told us that we would brew a storm and become each other's worst destruction.

Let your imagination run wild
Create your own energy
Find your inner rhythm
Be the best version of you for all to see
You may stumble and fall
But, you can always rise once again
Keep climbing that ladder
Reach for the summit my friend

Elder gentlemen crave the past like
nicotine infused black cherry smoke ,
riding puffs of chilly October morning
park scenes in my hometown etched
in gray day period couples struggling through
leaf covered sidewalks , followed by beggar
birds , those canopy filled blackbirds commanding
the audible forefront of greeting , courtesy
and old folk innocent chatter
Smiles and laughter as automobiles circle the
city center of Willow , Water Oak , granite monumental
reminders , window shoppers , price hawkers huddled
in a little brick town no one ever hears about , lost
on the tip of the newsroom tongue , in conversation , this 'black and white village' where townsfolk forever scurry about

my being aches
from the top of my head down to my weary and worn feet
in every spot your fingers have ever trailed
my skin feels battered and bruised
and in every spot your lips have ever landed a kiss
my bones feel broken
even when the time comes where there is not a cell on me that you have touched
i will feel as though you brushed against me not but two days ago
i am so incredibly sad and my insides hurt
and i can't throw up the pain inside my chest because it's decided it's hollow enough to make a home

i can think of a thousand reasons why i shouldn't love you
but i can only focus on the two reasons why i should