I wish I could believe
That somehow you were still here
But it's just too hard to stop the tears.
I cannot find a happy place,
'Cause everywhere there is a hole.
And everytime you are not there,
There's a falling in my soul.

I wish I could believe
That any moment now your feet
Would come crunching down this path.
I cannot stop the tears from falling
Like the cold, black waters of Merrimack,
And there is no comfort in this crying
When I keep wishing you were back.

I wish I could believe,
That you were sitting next to me.
I thought sitting by this stream
Would stop the streaming of my eyes,
But my sorrow cannot be sated,
When what was sweet, now is hated.

You never know what you have till it's gone,
But you've already left. It wasn't long
Till my heart began aching, and I'm so **** blue.
I can't remember how I would get through,
Or what things I used to do
All my life before I met you.
It must have been a solid hour
That I stood and cried in the steaming shower.
"It's not like he's dead," I had thought then
Before I realized, "Anything could happen."
Stupid tears, hateful thoughts, please go away.
I have no motivation. It's been only a day,
But it feels like it's been ever so long.
You don't know what you have till it's gone.

Maybe there's nothing left in my eyes,
Maybe I'm finally too tired to cry;
Either way, my face is now dry
And the numbness is setting in.

Maybe I've been shivering too long,
Maybe the wind isn't that strong;
Either way, the cold is gone,
And the numbness is setting in.

Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow,
Maybe I'll get used to the sorrow;
Either way, the pain will all go,
With the numbness settled in.

The virtue of the anchor depends on the strength of the rope.
        Many a ship is dashed ashore
        Whose metal smith has proudly swore
        No better weight was seen before.
        But alas! for the snapping rope.
Hope, like that two-hooked weight shall brave the darkest storms.
        But she is useless to the sailor
        Who, without faith, will quickly fail her
Whose shallow buckets won’t avail her.
Alas! For the weak-willed rope.

I danced in the rain today
It washed all my cares away
But I soon realized
When I went inside
That the feeling wasn't permanent.

You know I don’t believe in soul mates
Because there’d be too many ways
A person could ***** himself over
And be unhappy for all of his days—
Then what would happen to his mate?

You know I don’t believe in soul mates
Because some people may never be
Good or holy or mature enough
To be worthy of matrimony.
So what would happen to their mates?

I do not believe in soul mates,
In one person being your destiny—
Because we’d never find that one
Among the fish within the sea—
And what would happen to our mates?

No, I don’t believe in soul mates.
Even though God brought us together,
And it feels like we’re made for each other,
I could be happy with many another.
What would happen to your mate?

Well, I don’t believe in soul mates,
Even though our powerful Lord
Knew from the beginning of time
You and I would strike a chord.
What would we do if we were mates?

I said, before, and I’ll say it again,
Despite what my experience claims:
Soul mates? Oh, they’re not a thing!
But… what about twin flames?

Darling, are you a lover... of poetry?
Or only a lover simply, of me?
What I mean to say
(If you care to hear)
Is I'll write you a poem
If… you hold it dear--
But not only dear for my sake,
Rather if you truly appreciate!
Because if not you, then at least I
Appreciate a poem, by and by.

Darling, are you a writer, a poem composer?
Because I am not a poem-opposer.
What I mean to say
(If you don't mind the trouble)
Is I love any poem,
But when it’s from you, double.
And if it is bad, then I, for your sake,
Still the thought would appreciate.
Because if not you, then at least I
Love getting poems, by and by.

Today I love you more than I can say,
Quite like I loved you yesterday.
Who knows what feelings tomorrow might bring,
But today my thoughts center on one thing:
I think we're compatible (we're made in the same batch).
Sometimes it seems we're a heaven-made match.
But playing with matches never ends up well:
What starts with a spark turns into hell.

Today I love you, I love you so much,
And I can never love you enough.
Every trouble that we overcome
Brings us closer. But there's one
Problem. Yes, the word is out;
I must confess: I have a doubt.

Today I love you--I love you more each day.
Oh, how I wish it would always be this way.
But the fears that whisper to me sometimes
Refuse to give vent to better love rhymes.
And so, my dearest, if I see it clearly,
When I'm hurting, it hurts too dearly.

But at least for today,
I love you, I love you, I love you.

It’s a lovely morning
Though the clouds hang low
The world a grey canvas
And sprinkled with snow

It’s a lovely midnoon
Though the plants are gone
And the birds flown south
Along with their song

It’s a lovely evening
Though the air is cold
Darkness taking over
The setting sun grown old

It’s a lovely nighttime
Though the stars do sleep
And the howling wind
In every crack it creeps

It’s a lovely fam’ly
In this cozy home
Laughing by the fire
Where seeds of love are sown

I want to smile through the tears,
But I haven't cried for many years.
I don't want this numbness anymore;
Is that too much for me to ask for?

Thinking I was gaining control,
I locked away my precious soul.
You don't realize what you're choosing.
When you numb the pain, you're truly losing.

If you shut your eyes against the darkness,
You also shut out any brightness.
If you smother your feelings and **** the pain,
You'll never feel real joy again.

Like, what even are you?
No way in a million lives
Could I dream up someone like you.
I can’t even begin
To comprehend what the actual heck
(Heck heckin’ heck)
Kinda glitch in reality ARE you?

I can’t even—
I can’t even open my mouth and begin—
You!

You!?!?
I get so excited,
I can’t poetry anymore
(And I swear I’m usually
Not too bad at poetry).
But I want to say something!
Because you deserve to have a million words said about you.

Baby, I can’t even say,
“I still can’t believe this is real,”
Because I’m still stuck on the “this.”
What is it that I can’t believe?
What even is this?
What even are you?
The word amazing couldn’t begin to describe you!

I’m kinda afraid to say the rest…

“I feel like we’re made for each other”?
Can I really say that?
No-no-no—
It’s much too soon.
Maybe you aren’t real, or
Maybe you are
But I hit my head on something.

I’ve gotta be insane.

I’m-I’m crazy.
“This” is crazy!
YOU are crazy!

Hot ****, you are crazy.
I could eat you up.
How is it that you drive me wild
Just by being you?

I wish I could capture your essence in a bottle
And strike it rich.
“Lizzie’s miracle drug.”
Except that makes it sound super addicting
Or sensual,
Infatuation-al,
But that’s not what I mean at all.
I just mean I want to tell the whole world
How amazing you are
Because I want them all to appreciate you, too.
But I don’t even know where to begin
And every attempt keeps falling flat
(And falling for you).
I mean, how many stanzas have I written already?
And this is just the prologue—
Monologue—
Gutentäg—
Ratlin bog!
(Sorry, I needed to make sure I can still rhyme.)

They say love lost is better
Than never loving at all,
And oh My God, I know it must be true
Because even if “this” crashes and burns
I’ll never be the same—
Never!
Even if it breaks my heart,
I will always be that much better.

Oh Lord, I’ve gotta be a fool.
A fool in love.
A happy, foolish fool.
There isn’t even a part
That’s careful for my heart,
A part in my gut that says,
“Slow down and think of all the ways
This could go wrong. Be prepared!”
Oh, there was a time when I cared.
Heaven help me if I care now!
Yes, I want to take it slow
But not as a fail safe. No,
I want to take it slow
Because— for “this”—
I want to do this justice.

If that’s God’s will, then,
Glory hallelujah!
Only then,
I can’t believe this is real!

Whisper away the waves,
Sing slowly to the sea.
Put love in a glass bottle,
And send it here to me.

If other shores should find it,
If it's cushioned in their sands,
I hope the chorals crush it,
Unless it reach these hands.

But what I wish and what will be....
Is chosen by the changing sea.

Mary, lead the way and I'll follow,
Carry the light and lift my sorrow.
For I know this wretch will never rest
Until I lie in your Son's loving chest.
Mary, mother most dear, most blessed!
Until I lie in your Son's loving chest.

What am I doing with my life
Going nowhere with my lies
Hiding envy behind the door
Holding anger and even more

I want my friends just for me
That's no place that love could be
I count others' gifts instead
And think too much inside my head

I can't remember when I last
Had a true and honest laugh
Could be their fault, could be mine
I'm a misfit - and that's fine

I just wish I had the smarts
Or lack thereof, a social heart
To be myself without the fault
But make friends as sweet to salt

Each night before I go to Sleep,
A decision has to be made in favor
Of one method or another
To help make that precious name a reality.
Some nights I try the one hand.
At least then my tossing and turning is natural,
And if at last I decide to embrace the Open-Eyed World,
I can.
Other nights I try the other.
The drugs paralyze me for endless hours,
But at least amid my nightmares I'm not conscious
And the next day I can think that I've tasted Sleep.
Every night the decision must be made, but I've come to realize,
Equal mass of skin and bones, neither hand weighs better.

Compared to Home, what is Rome but
Many imposter stones, who flaunt paunches,
And chiseled jaws, and abs thick cut
But never earned. The fountain launches
Water "non potabile" from a fishy gut,
Or seems to. Yet the endless craft
Is effortless, since the secret is the pressure
Merely directed. I admit I laughed
When I saw the Fountain Naiads who lure
Water horses and lizards into their fray,
For each is doused, but the one for sure
Is so angled that she must need a bidet.

Compared to you, Rome can only boast
Of satisfaction in her sweet "pasticcerie"
And hot coffee, when your French toast
Is bettered with bacon. Italian cheerie
Exists in the smiles and sweet abuse
Of the street vendor, who starves his family
To make you an offer you can't refuse.
Just today I bought a scarf of cashmere
Which came from India. And although
The tag said China, I have no fear
That he'd sell me Nylon for twenty-two euro.

What is Rome when compared with thee,
But arches which soar and crack and fall
Never to be moved nor fixed. You can see
The lazy layering in the Forum floor and wall.
Caesar makes a triumph below his arch
While trodding flesh arches on trash. And
The river never ceases her acid march,
Hoping to carry away less from that land.

I'm weary of this twisted world
Lacking virtue and moral
No one's perfect but this extreme
Is a nightmare, not a dream

Despair is closing in around
Not a person have I found
Who wants person over flesh
Everyone's demanding ***

Many years have I spent
Watching for someone unbent
But such a soul I cannot see
In such a world we are not free.

A morning shore, my lover's eyes
Drift into the morning skies,
And honey clouds above his face
Swirl ever round with wild grace.
A gentle touch upon his hand
Reveals the treasures in his sand.
Thus beaming with a wond'rous glow,
Is the gorgeous smile I know.

Lest his surf and sea and sky
Be lost in the ebbing tide,
He built a fortress strong as stone,
The outer walls of his bone.
(Unless there was some higher art
That formed his body and his heart--
God's handiwork at its best
For his gentle soul to rest).

Of handiwork, the best creation:
His hands at work! My adoration
Is great for those, which enduring
Winter snow and summer pouring,
Were weathered like white oakwood.
And while his handsome hands could
Wrestle (and so hard they toiled!),
Their touch never could be spoiled.

Their touch speaks of so much more
Than all the waves that hug the shore,
Than all the winding prints of feet,
Than all the gentle winds that greet
The sunshine caught among the boughs,
Than all the swirling sand in rows,
Than all the shells the bright beach wore--
Their touch speaks of so much more.

My lover's glance, and all his looks,
Are worthy of a hundred books,
Yet even such could not convey
How precious they are. Though I may
Illustrate something somewhat near,
A shadow is barely right or clear.
But one thing I see clearly:
We're "rab ne bana Di jodi."

I hate myself so much for this

I'm in this vicious cycle, see
The current pulling under me
I feel so numb and lost at sea

Sometimes in the ebbing tide
You can hear my lonely cry
Yet all the boats that come by
Leave me there alone to die

I hate myself so much for this

Some ships seem to understand
And come close with outstretched hand
But just to feel the wind and sand

The truth is, the fault is mine
I knew the dangers of the brine
But ships beyond the shoreline
Drew me in like fishing line