I know you think your eye are nothing special,
But I disagree.
I love that they light up when you’re happy or when the light hits them just right and they aren’t just brown anymore.
They turn gold.
They shine and sparkle with amber flecks.
They turn chestnut,
The color of the tree we shared lunch under.
They turn the color of your favorite chocolate candy, streaked with caramel.
They turn to color of the coffee you drink in the morning.
They turn the color of the hot chocolate we shared one cold Friday morning.
And all these different shades of brown.
I especially love when they light up because of something I did.

They remind me
Of warmth,
Of your hugs,
Of a lot of other things.
All are good.

If you want flowery poetry
Hit pause, backspace delete.
I write on a lot of subjects;
Only a few could be called sweet.
I’m not into swirling windstorms
Or describing billowy clouds.
Not into extolling autumn leaves
Or conifers standing proud.

I try to select the human things
Whether good or even bad.
Sometimes I wrestle with
Life twists that make us sad.
I try to speak for everyman
And that includes the women.
I try to reflect life circumstances
And the results the travel with them.

So, crooning polysyllabically
Is seldom my favorite tune,
Nor is waxing limerickally
About June, and spoon and moon.
Instead I’ll probably take to task
Those who live in sappy hope
A prince shows up in their life
A proper romantic dope.

I write the rhymes about crooks
That steal from your children
And the supposed leaders
That ****** and abuse women.
I write about parents who
Ignore what their children need
And instead find their joy
On selfishness and greed.

After so many millennia
We really need to stop
Waiting for someone else to come
And be the moral traffic cop.
It is us who need to change
And teach our children accordingly
Because the way we are fixing things
Humanity is progressing dismally.

So keep your butterfly couplets
And views of rain on hedges.
We are falling apart as humans
And it’s visible on the edges.
It will only take a few crazies
With power enough to wield
And this planet, and us of course,
Will no longer have a shield.

My first kiss was on a Wednesday in a third-period math class.

I like him.
                 But the situation was complicated.

He had told me weeks ago he was going to kiss me.

When I asked him why he said:

"Because my words can no longer describe what I feel anymore."

But for weeks I had avoided it, pushed it off, too scared.

But one night I finally decided I was going to let him, to kiss him.

Our lips barely touched but it was my first

I spent the rest of the class trying and failing to focus on my work.
He couldn’t focus either.

Instead, he spent the class teasing me.
His goal was to make my face as red as possible, he succeeded.

I thought about it for the rest of the day.

We kissed again the next day after lunch.
That Saturday we spent the afternoon stealing kisses when we were hidden.

Does our constitution not preach of the unalienable, God-given rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? Does our Statue of Liberty, one of the most historic figures of our freedom, not cry out for the “tired, poor, huddled masses, yearning for freedom?” Does our freedom bell not ring? Has the golden door closed? Has Lady Liberty turned her light off? Have our soldiers laid down their guns?  Who are we as a country to deny our foundation and shut our doors? If all men are created equal, why are we watching with judging eyes?

It’s him.
His hair, his eyes (that he hates), its how he says your name, his smile and those sleepy conversations. The way his thumb grazed your bottom lip and it was all you could do not to lean in. It’s the high from those three words, it’s the first thought in the morning and the last at night. It’s how his name falls breathlessly from your lips and yours from his. It’s the pounding hearts that first time, the breathless lungs and the never-ending smiles. It’s him, head to toe. 

It’s everything, then suddenly it’s nothing.

Then it’s smeared make up and dripping eyes. Gasping breaths and breaking hearts. It’s the crippling pain in your chest. It’s falling to the floor with this crushing weight on your chest as you cry out his name. It’s breaking down and thinking the pain will never end.  It’s the why screamed over and over in the night accompanied by the echo of breaking glass. It's heartbreak, plain and simple.

Sometimes when my bed is comfortably warm and the silence of the morning is all that I can hear, I wish to myself for you by my side.
Curled together, limbs intertwined.
Wearing sleepy smiles paired with sleepier eyes, the light not yet reaching the sky
We’d move closer and drift peacefully back to sleep.