Recently “minutes” or recently “hours”?
Recently, minutes were reasonably ours.
Like how I “recently” saw him at the grocery store,
And “recently” went back, hoping I might again.

Sure, we spoke…
Recently.

So I logged on, recently,
Just to see what’s up.
That’s how it always is,
And the status is always the same:
“Recently”

I zone out, staring at neon towers
An intercom beeps, “we’ll be boarding shortly” and I snap
Out of my days.
I’m out of days,
Days I want to be lost in and have forgotten all at once.
          What happened here?
Lost in heartbeats and honey whisky…
A sweetly resounding lullaby or siren song
I can’t decipher, but I’m held nonetheless.
Memories shimmer through my mind like the lights on the water, neither of which I’ll expect you to understand.
You won’t because you can’t.
“And that’s okay.”
That’s your catchphrase.
You tell me it’s, “okay.” You say that a lot,
And for once in my life,
I believe it.
How could I not when you speak out of earnest?
Your eyes as sweet as chocolate chips,
As rich as fresh espresso-
I tremble at the sugar rush.
I crumble at the withdrawals.
So reality strikes again in my lonesome.
Thoughts flicker in my head like hollywood movies whose colors have faded sepia,
Because that’s all they are now.
Dusting the fog from my eyes, out of my days come nights, and in the nights, neon lights.
“Last call, boarding flight…”
          It stays here.

I like the rain,
the subtle chill I feel before we meet,
with clouds to soften brassy spring beams.

It’s my favorite hiding place.

Its fluorescent shimmer on the lake,
encasing my bedroom in endless waves
of whirring winds to dampen loving moans.

I disappear and return all at once.

I feel its warmth, its cool, its caress,
how it speaks in charming whispers.
I think it likes me too.

Fistfuls of lust, yet tender
Smell your skin, and dare remember
Holding, yielding, grasping, pleading

Smokey eyes and steaming embers
Destruct the inner walls to lend her
Naïve tongue and tremble breathing

Heat. “I like it”.

Roughing, grinding, fasting, slowing
Oils seeping, fingers deeping
Push and pull to tease and bend her.

Stop, but just to start again,
Steaming. Heating. Beating… Beating…
Beat the heart to break and mend her.

You can tell by my teeth that I don’t have the time to take care of myself
You can tell by my face that I don’t really mind forgetting myself
Wouldn’t know by my smile how hard I try to hide regretting myself
In the highs or the lows, I don’t know how I can stop upsetting myself

pretty little itty bitty tinker toys
and temperamental sentimental emo boys
both intricately cute
and intimately mute
it’s the little things that count to mounts of many joys

“I love you.”
“I know.”
Between the highs,
And the low,
In the times
When I’m alone,
That’s what love does.

It comforts,
And hides
In the corners
Of your mind,
Yet surprises
Just in time.
That’s what love does.

It takes
The chance
The percentage
Of circumstance,
The sacrifice
In glance,
And does what love does.

It conquers,
And pays
The cost,
Without delays,
As if it’s not much,
To stay,
Because that’s what love does.

It hugs,
It kisses,
It sees you
And misses,
Yer true love,
Rarely disses,
Because that’s what love does.

One day, your hand will be mine to hold, with no care as to who may see; your name will be the sweetest name upon my lips and the most endearing of my thoughts.

One day, you’ll hold me, as I should be held, and I’ll be proud to be encompassed by your embrace; your eyes will still be the kindest sight I could gaze upon.

One day, with your ear softly nestled in the palm of my hand, I’ll hold your head closer, as you kiss me like I should be kissed; your hair will brush like satin ribbons through my fingertips.

Your warmth will be my favorite season; your shampoo, my favorite scent; your shoulders, my favorite shape; you, my favorite sensation.

One day, you’ll pledge yourself to me, and only me, and I’ll be proud to call you mine. Our mornings and nights will become my favorite time of day.

Dinner won’t just be a meal; a date won’t just be on a calendar; "goodnight" will no longer mean "goodbye."

One day, life will still go on, and work will continue, but it will all be with you, so life and all that it contains will be better. Sunsets will glow brighter, your arms will hold me tighter; the lake, even more so, will glisten, and to your soft words, I will gladly listen.

One day, with a dream, but, more importantly, with each other, your family, your future, will be mine, will be ours.

One day, in each day, we’ll be one, because you are the one for my every day.

I don't write to myself.
I don't write for a shelf.
I write for strangers in an electronic abyss.
I don't write to take care.
I don't write just to share.
I write to hide behind metaphorical bliss.
I don't write for my friends.
I don't write for the trends.
I write sometimes because I am just bored.
I don't write 'cause I'm good,
but maybe I should
write for me, what I want, instead of making it a chore.

You know, I haven't written in a while.
It's been hard, because I don't know what makes me smile
anymore. I see one's eyes, feel his fingers through my hair,
while, on another note, I cannot forget how another one cared.
I thought love was something that I once knew,
until my love for my best friend suddenly grew.
I fought and I argued and I justified the means,
but now my heart hurts from hearing my head's screams.
I'm torn, I'm broken, and my heart has been shattered.
I don't know what to think, as my romantic thoughts scatter.
I can't help that one is so close of the two,
but also can't help but wonder if the One is You.
Eenie, meenie, miney, mo;
why were you the one to go?
Why is another one so close by?
How can you both cause my heart's cry?
The time is not now, so I'll wait for it's end,
but it's difficult when some want to be more than friends.
I wonder if this collision is sometimes inevitable,
but if this is it, how could I feel so terrible?
I don't hate the kindness or subtle ways of affection,
but it feels like that's the surface of this overwhelming infection.
One overtakes me completely, working hard with great intention,
while another barely speaks, and he has all of my attention.
Which love is greater? Is there such a love as this
that can take my breath away with a subtle little miss,
or is it of another, the one who gives me all his time
to sweep me off my feet while the ground is one my mind?
Am I falling in love or caught in it's memory?
Can I call it quits now, or still wait for my legacy?
If I knew, I wouldn't be ranting in a poem.
I just wish I had closure, so I could better know Him.

So many questions
     with so many answers,
          but just as I think I know,
               you make me even curiouser.
So long I've known you,
    your heart, your charisma,
          but just as my words slip,
               you become another enigma.
So what do I do now?
     Can I ignore our history?
          I may never try to get an answer.
               You may just remain a mystery.

Rainy days and dripping windows,
Once again, beside my pillow,
I lay upon my bed alone,
But in a place to me, unknown.

Day two, beyond the first “hello’s”,
Clouds still hover, and even billow,
They say goodbye to each of their own,
They thunder and sprinkle before heading on home.

After their hastened diminuendo,
Most clouds scatter among the fellow.
I compare to them to see how I’ve grown,
knowing rain brings a harvest from a seed that was sewn.

My room is looking emptier than it ever has before,
Got the clothes on my back; boxes are packed, sitting by the door.
Oh, how this is happening oh so soon feels like a dream,
But by the time the week is up, it’s me, my dorm, and the university.

I’m stuck between impatience and time moving too fast.
If only certain moments could hold off and last,
Yet let me be the first to set the record straight.
I know that, in the end, it will all be worth the wait.
I’m not here because I want to relive the past.
While times have been perfect, the idea is too vast:
To stay where you are, red, and not look for what’s ahead.
However, why is the future an idea i’m urged to dread?
While this time is exciting, and often inviting,
I see the circumstance filled with crying and spiting.
No, I’m not scared, or maybe I was.
I’ve learned that I can’t live that way, only because
I’ll suffer that way in this current time I’m in,
And living right now is already hard enough to begin.
I’m not here to sulk, i’m not here to brag.
I’m just impatiently enduring the drag
Of time, of now, wanting it to slow to yellow,
While I’m eager, insisting on life’s green light, “go.”
Time, a constant thing, still looks me in the face
To say, “you think you know it all, but I will set the pace”.
No matter the task, the toll, the race, I’m in it for the ride.
Meanwhile, I’ll tell my impatient indecisiveness that it’ll have to subside.
Maybe time is like traffic. “Do I gas it, or hit the breaks?”
Either way, I’m afraid of collisions, so that’s a risk I just won’t take.

Puzzle pieces,
Pretty pieces,
Punny, pretty, little pieces.

Lovely, little
Puzzle pieces
Play a part pretty places.

Pick apart
The puzzle pieces.
See the playful pieces play

To put together
Punny puzzles,
Purposefully planned and made.

Oh, yes,
Pretty puzzles,
Practically perfect in every way.

Misting sprinkles float right above, then grace the gentle ground.
How beautiful is the intensity surrounding that falling.

Sprinkle sprinkle.
Your eyelashes twinkle
To exemplify the radiance
In the rain dance.

Building trickles take me back to remind me of your town,
Our town, the town we made our own once you set out in your calling.

Trickle trickle.
How do frequently fickle
Memories still glance
To that rain dance...

Intense patter. Pitter patters fling towards my window now.
“Wake up, wake up! You can’t drift now... Gaze upon the sky’s enthralling.”

Pitter patter,
The rain still chatters.
Their numbing little trance
To keep me in the rain dance.

There once was a boy with chameleon skin,
But his eyes told a story the more he gave in.
There was no hiding, as he caught the attention
Of a helpless little star, stranded in the horizon.
Familiar with the longing, she yearned to fall fast;
However, she couldn’t, held by the hurt of her past,
Until, one day, she saw the twinkle in his eye.
“How could a chameleon outshine the night’s sky?”
She questioned her reality, bound by insecurity,
But dared to lean further into his sincerity.
One night, she tripped, and out of bounds she fell,
But she couldn’t help but dance, mesmerized by gravity’s well.
“How silly I must look” she said, approaching the ground,
But all else disappeared once she heard a familiar sound.
His mindful inquiry, she never knew she needed.
Her heart began to blaze, “that’s all I want,” she pleaded.
She couldn’t help but be inspired by the sight
Of the twinkle in his eyes, refracting her own light.
Lightyears of observation presented a reality,
One she so wanted to feel, but could not really see.
She oft’ recalled the hour that her heart was still,
Remembering his freedom, while he perched upon that hill.
There once was a boy with chameleon skin,
But she loved how he shined as he failed to blend in,
So as she saw his heart, she really hoped he knew
That while the whole world could watch her, she told him
“I see you...”

Goodbye, my dear friend, for now.
I’m gone for only a day,
But I know that you know how,
for our next minuet, I’ll await.

Goodbye, my dear ol’ Chickering,
‘Til the next time I’ll sit and then
I’ll listen to your diamond ring
Bless my ears again.

Thank you, yes you, my dear,
For offering your friendly counsel,
For lending me your patient ears
Over years and through tears as well.

Just a day, my dear, lil’ piano,
Until I’ll peer again into your musical window.

I have a friend in town from out of state.
Though, whenever he’s around, he receives much hate.
The people around me share my same profession.
We’re creative writers, who who occasionally seek attention,
but there is one person we don’t want to see walk
down our humble little street we call the writer’s block.

To the boiz...
I hope you’re strong enough.
I hope you can carry this responsibility,
because, yaknow, when you pick her up,
get her Snapchat,
slide into her DMs,
it’s important that you support her.
Hold her tight.
With her feet swept out from underneath her,
she has nothing left to support her
but
you.
If you give out,
someone’s about to fall...
in all of the wrong ways,
and here’s an inside tip...
it won’t be you who’s falling.
Yes, to the boiz,
you know I say this with well meant intentions.
I say this with honesty
and love,
but also with the understanding that
if something is dropped,
It’s most likely to break.
To the boiz,
you’re walking a slippery *****.
Don’t slip up.
Just keep this in mind.

Hum, hum, hum along.
Sing with me (y)our favorite song.
Please listen close, for here, tonight,
You’ll find your comfort in my plight.

Hum, hum, hum along.
Sing if all the words are wrong,
But don’t delay, just hold on tight
And maybe we can sing them right.

Hum, hum, hum along
To every note, both short and long.
Erase your troubles from your sight,
And there it is: your soul’s delight.

Why I cry, I don’t know...
Maybe from the sunset’s glow
Or from the thought of you having to go,
But still I reminisce
And I refuse to miss
A single detail in my remembrance.
Of your eyes from that dance
And the smile in your chance.
I hope it never flees,
The picture that I see,
So I quote the very memory
In my works of poetry,
And as such poetry exists,
So does my desire to list
And (re)listen to the voice that I miss.
There’s nothing better than memories such as this.

So many sleepless hours
And a handful of tired showers
All for a night that’s ours,
A time that is timeless.

And all of the work up until then
Will prove to be rewarding, my friend,
As all of those hours will be forgotten when
Time stands still for us.

Take me past the city limits,
Away from metal, structural rivets.
Down those back roads, through the divots,
To see the dream, but also live it.

Go dancing
And leaping
And flying
And bounding
And twirling
And lifting
And laughing
And smiling
And don’t lose hope,
It’s never gone.
Maintain patience,
And you know you’ve won.

You’re never alone,
So just stop chasing.
One will think you’re great,
Maybe even amazing.

Don’t waste time worrying,
It’s worth the waiting,
And that’s when you’ll feel
Your heartbeat elating.

You’ll get your surprise
When it’s least expected,
Like when he ran through the rain
And decided to chance it.

You never once thought
One was looking out for you.
The unexpected best friend, a gentleman...
Him. Who knew?

I wonder what it’s like to be a balloon.

I wonder what it’s like to be let go in the middle of the night.

I wonder what it’s like to float until I become one of the stars.

I wonder what it’s like to become so indistinguishable that I disappear.

I wonder what it’s like to ascend through the atmosphere so independently and infinitely high.

I wonder what it’s like to drag that coarsely iridescent ribbon to those heights.

I wonder what it’s like to succumb to the pressure inflicted on my epidermis, causing me to suddenly pop.

I wonder what it’s like to feel that reverberating ripple across my skin as I disperse into handfuls of geometric tears.

I wonder what it’s like to float so high, unrecognizable, only to fall apart.

I wonder how painful it is to be a balloon.

I wonder what it’s like to be a balloon.

Sitting on a cold, hard, wooden floor,
leaning against cold, hard, rocky walls,
listening to cold, hard, heartfelt lyrics,
writing some cold, hard, rough draft poetry;
hoping for a little warmth,
like a few left feet on a wooden floor,
sparking like two frictional stones,
while listening to your steadily cool heartbeat
to motivate this rough draft into a masterpiece of marinated inspiration.

Have you ever noticed how when two professionally involved individuals shake hands,
their respective hands remain congruent,
synonymously shook,
right meeting right....

meanwhile, when couples hold hands,
their respective hands remain mirrored,
fingers reflectively intertwined and interlocked,
right meeting left?

Is this a testament to “opposites attract”?
Is this what they mean?

Wispy white brushstrokes break
as rainbow ribbons reach to take
in a dusty, dusky sky
to accentuate snow glazed textures below.

The sun barely peaks over
as centralized cities streak lower
through streetlamp speckled speedways
to accompany westward waving waters

Flaming twinkles,
crystal lights.
Gleaming sprinkles,
flickering bright.

This is the city of stars at night.
This is the draw to a westward flight.
Los Angeles, California.
My, what a sight.

When I would visit Ohio, my grandma always said
certain things in Spanish, as to not flood my head.

I wish I understood that secret life she led
by interpreting her knowledge, I know to have been well read,

But now my striving hunger will never be quite fed,
for now those precious, foreign words are unforgivingly dead.

Oh, how I cry very often, at night while I’m in bed.
Regrets like these don’t go away, so I try to cope instead.

I’ll never forget her loving Spanish ***** (that memory’s never fled),
even though my nostalgic heart regretfully succumbs to dread.