I wanted words; you gave me conversation

I wanted smiles; you gave me laughter

I wanted music; you gave me symphonies

I wanted dinner; you gave me daydreams

I wanted flowers; you gave me gardens

I wanted your hand; you gave me your heart

I wanted friendship; you gave me love

I wanted the stars; you gave me the night

I wanted everything; you gave me you

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.

Let me tell you a story about an object, a rumbling, roaring object.
Sometimes, it screams.
Sometimes, it flutters.
Sometimes...
it doesn't know what it wants to do,
But it follows me everywhere. If there's one thing it is sure about,
it's that it doesn't like to be ignored,
But it is.
It makes these noises like a rhythmic chant,
repetitively calling out to me, yet here's the catch...
I don't know how to answer.
Everyone has this.
Everyone knows this,
But everyone inevitably ignores this
because they
Hear the screams,
Feel the fluttering,
But they don't know what to do.
However,
It's when this thing aligns with somebody else's
that all is made right.
We dance to a beat, our personal drum line. Sometimes,
we dance to the beat of somebody else's drum, but this is not wise.
It's when we dance to the beat of our own drum,
this screaming, pathetic thing,
that we find our true place,
and it's when our drum happens to rhythmically align with another's drum
that we begin to know why everything didn't make sense before now.
And so, we dance.

...My hardened heart has been awakened.
The broken grounds will begin to quake and
within the crevices between the faults,
Your rushing water will flood....

a lot can happen in a year, maybe four;
a lot can happen in an hour, maybe more.

talking is fine, but can you take on the risk?
now, i’m not just talking about an ordinary task.
whether it be a lifetime of love, the love of your life,
or one particularly special night,
it all comes down to this:
a right
of passage, a race.

who’s better?

he’s taller, but he has the nice hair;
she’s blonder, while she tries not to care.
he can’t dance, and he won’t try;
she won’t admit to the tear in her eye.
he knows what he wants, and he knows nothing;
she tries to distinguish a little bit of everything.

stop it.

there’s no winning the race yet because his shoe is untied;
she can’t stand and go face that finish line.
he tripped and fell, but so did she;
the other guy ran, only to fall to his knees.
stop panting and collect yourself- just breathe.

a lifetime led to four years, and four years to that day;
she ran and chased too many check points along the way.
afraid of being alone, she asked too many times;
afraid of dancing alone, she asked, but was still denied.
him, him, him, him, he who was possibly that sacred hymn:
one he wondered impatiently,
another he pursued contradictingly,
another he fell flawlessly;
however, no he was to be lawfully,
but only so rightfully.

this is no lifetime, but only
one evening not meant to be lonely.
the only way to win is to face them directly in the eye
and have every question answered. why?
because this is that special night,
senior year, and you have the right.

step back, step up, have courage, calm down.
ASK her to a quaint place in town,
but before she even knows you’re listening,
just as both your hearts are quickening,
surprise HER with that special something.
if she knows, you may think you blew it,
when really, this whole time, she probably knew it.
it won’t be easy, but if it comes from the heart,
there’s the finish line. all you’ve got TO do is start…

ya know, sometimes Poems Reveal Oblivious Messages...

It’s crisp, it’s sweet.
It’s soft, it’s bitter.
It’s all these things
Because it’s winter.

It bites, it burrs.
It quickens, it slows,
It acts like a cat,
A creature that knows.

A hug, a kiss,
“Hello”, “Goodbye.”
You want to hold on,
But also to cry.

A time, a tick,
A whisper, a reason,
Yes, it was fun,

For only a season.

Upon the dark night, striking three;
A tick representing each step in time,
but time overwhelmed by a trinity
of peace, and a plan greater than one's wildest dreams.

As the trees clap their praises unto a summer wind, and
waves flood the skies with their roaring rumbles of exaltation,
a bird sings unto the dark night her song, unique, sweet, and free-spirited

Another beauty upon the night, a tulip,
blossoming, not fully grown, in admiration of this free spirit, the bird.
The tulip observes from a distance the song the bird sings

A praise, a never ending thankfulness
"Thank You for the trees,
Thank You for the waves,
And thank You for me," the bird sings.

In awe of the song bird, the tulip longs to grow, to blossom, to fly, to sing;
Oh, the joy, the praise, the song she'll bring
when fully grown to exemplify her thanks to the three

But, Hold! The clock ticking three, a breath He takes.
The songs of beauty the bird once sang
are silenced more than a whisper

Oh, dear, wilting Tulip; she wonders,
"Why?" she misunderstands, "Why has the bird's song been hushed?"
Oh, so joyful with praise, the songs she sang,
but now unto another Audience, unheard by the flower;

However, the sun rises, the flower realizes,
A new day is upon her. The trees clap their praises unto a summer wind, and
Waves flood the skies with their roaring rumbles of exaltation,
Just like any other day.

Partaking in full bloom overnight, grown, she hears the call of three:
You're unique, sweet, and your free-spirit will sing,
for the steps of time past quicker than the steady rhythm of that clock ticking

Fly free, song bird,
Your legacy will only grow sweeter with time
As the bloom of a tulip smiles and praises the One unto which your song once thrived.

A question? A response.
He leads her onto the floor.
A thought? A wonder.
"It's crazy how someone-i(m)p(e)rfect-could feel so perfect in this moment."
A move? A dance.
He sways her into his arms.
A desire? A plea.
"If only he realized-finally-
that I only wanted this moment."
A pause? An end.
She sighs...

A question? A response.
He lead her onto the floor.
An action? An excitement.
He didn't even know.
A move? A dance.
She wanted to be in his arms.
A smile? A plea.
She only wanted this.
A pause? An end.
Thank you...

When I look into those green eyes
all I see are stops signs sayin'
"chill out and breathe."

When you look at me,

it
seems

like this world is slowin' down, but
my heart keeps beating.

I can't
breathe.

The butterflies are way too much, yet
you keep on speaking

I don't believe you understand
how much I wanna hold your hand.

You call me beautiful,
well, guess what...

You're beautiful too.

Don't you think today is a beautiful day?
It rained, but that's okay.
The weather doesn't define a day, nor a book its cover- Wait, scratch that, reverse it... Oh! But my words don't matter!

Whatever other cliché you can think of, it still pales in comparison to the glimmering, glittering, glistening giddiness I heard in your words, like a small child after indulging in his second juice box.

I felt it in your smile, though I couldn't see it. So strong, it broke through the foggy break in an unforgiving sky. It was the kind of feeling so strong to radiate through my flesh like building, blistering, bubbles about to pop in a *** of boiling water.

Oh, but the sun was so bright today!
Its ultraviolet burn into my skin... an exhilarating feeling, like tears at the end of a good movie, without an inkling of sadness within a thousand mile radius, like puddles after a cleansing drizzle.

My, what good weather we're having, wouldn't you say?
It rained, but that's okay.

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?

And she jumped
She jumped out of her comfortable, plush launching pad
And she tried
She tried to set every fan to crosswind towards
And she hoped
She hoped that, when she jumped, her cape would carry her
And she fell
She fell onto the shagged carpet, on her hands and knees
And she did
She did all of this, yet she moved on to more fun
And she went
She went on to ride her bike, more confident in her peddling, than jumping
And she knew
She knew that the ground was much safer

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.

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.

A jack of all trades and a master of none.
What does this mean to you?
I have my hands in a thousand cookie jars when I should have my hand in one.

A jack of all trades and a master of none.
What does this mean for me?
I need to survive financially, yet I urge to have some fun.

A jack of all trades and a master of none.
What can I mean with my talent?
I don't know where I'll end up or how,
but out of all of the possibilities
for a future... I need...

I See a picture,
Dear with color bright.
Its whimsical strokes,
A smooth, but lovely, Sight.

I Smell the paint,
A sense not faded yet.
Like prints left exposed,
With the trail's fine Scent.

But underestimated, the Tool,
And ability to express
The ideas my head
Conjures as a coordinated mess.

Yes, the paintbrush,
Much simpler than I,
Yet it works its hardest,
While I don't even try.

“Why does she write poetry?”
“She must be in love...”
“I wonder who she’s writing about.”

My words are more
than mindless infatuation,
though they lend themselves
to this tendency.
For instance, I wrote this
in less that 5 minutes,
because “love” isn’t the only
motivation to my poetry.
Don’t underestimate
the intention of my inspiration.

Funny how easy
Loves appears to be, until
It laughs with the other easily
Reconcilable "maybes"
That devalue your first "hello".

First, it began as "hello".
Little did you know how
Interested he would be in you, but
Reflecting on it now, you see how those
Tender tendencies weren't exclusive.

Finally, all you have left is "hello",
Like every other girl he knows.
Inevitably, you're one of many
Recycled pretties that thought
They were more than another "maybe".

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

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.

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 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.

Hands unraveled
Brutal freezing
Frigid heartache
Hardly easing
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

Hold me closer
Never ceasing
Take my hand
Forever reaching
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

On your shoulder
Feel me breathing
Touch my heart
Forever pleading
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

Let’s be bolder
Take me dancing
Feel the rhythm
My heart racing
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

For my last word
Hear me speaking
Love is here
But I’m still seeking
Because I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover



See me tremble
Ice cold breaking
Heat misguided
Feel me shaking
Know that I am
Just a helpless
Star-crossed lover

What's a sentence?
A group of words and thought?
No, silly, it's not.

What's a novel?
A group of sentences and plot?
Not really, it's not.

Then what is this,
With books upon it's shelves?
That is the doorway to the lives of many who dream to no longer sit by themselves.

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.

Well, hello! We meet again.
I’ve brought you here today to inquire about your likeness.
No, I’m not going anywhere, yet.
But I do want to inform you on how important you are.
Compliments are just a formality, but you’re pretty,
Despite the chains that hold you back,
There are keys to happiness and you’re one of them.
I wonder, though, how even with your colorfully streamed
Shimmer, how you still manage to get lost…

But no judgment here!

Without you, I’d be stuck more often than I already do.
Please consider how much I appreciate your companionship
On those many exhausting rides, and casual strolls.
Now, if you’d excuse me, we gotta go, or we’ll be late.
Please don’t get lost again.

And these are the things we don't always see:
The hour spent walking, the trouble spent curling, the struggle one has in knowing.

And these are the things we don't want to see:
The blisters from hurrying, the burns from perfecting, and the tears one has in breaking.

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.

I need to write.
I need to express my ideas in a way that make sense.

I need to write.
I need to dissolve my thoughts onto paper, no matter how intense.

I need to write.
I need to share the knowledge I've obtained and make an impression.

I need to write.
I don't know in what form I'll create this, but this is my intention.