When did you first say "I love you"?
Don't worry, I won't care, I'm just
wondering...who first saw you bare?
Did you ever used to play with her hair
like you play with mine, did she
ever look at you, like I do, and just
think "He Shines" like nothing else matters.
Did your hearts patter as you physically
joined.
I won't be mad, I know you've had others, so
have I, it won't make me sad, but
I'm curious,
when did you first say "I love you"?

And did she ever brand your skin, were
you ever just a bit too rough, did you
accidentally wriggle within and make her feel
like she wasn't enough?
We've made mistakes, in the past, so
tell me quick, tell me fast, I hope we'll last,
but what made your past ones
imperfect?
and when did you first say "I love you"?

Because it's the quirks which make the mirth,
did you ever make her laugh, did you force
her lips to part when she told you to leave her.
How much did you grieve her? Do you still
do? And when you watched her leave, when
she watched you plead, did you mentally
whisper "I love you."

And when did you first mean, when did you first say,
"I love you"?

i have this one friend
that wishes she was beautiful,
that wishes she was skinny,
that wishes she was funny.
she always wants to be her or her or her
and i just want to shake her shoulders and scream
that i'd much rather her be herself.
because it's the best her their is.
- a.c

I used to think you knew your soul mate if their chin fit perfectly into the nook in your neck. My first girlfriend was pretty awesome at giving hugs.

But I knew the kind of woman I wanted to marry the day I watched my mother hum her favourite song while doing the dishes.

I knew the kind of man I wanted to be, the day I watched my father slow dance with my mother to her humming.

Would my son ever watch me slow dance with his mother?

Or would I always be writing poems about leopard print skins and french fries hair.

I carry all these things on top of my heart and I fear if it gets broken they’ll all fall through the cracks.

Maybe I have a flawed perception of romance, maybe slow dancing, humming, dishwashers don’t exist. Maybe gorgeous earthquakes aren’t always heart breaking but ground breaking.

I feel like each second is a grain of sand and the waves are washing away my sand castles one after the other. People always tell me I make the truth the hardest to understand, so I guess what I’m trying to say is I feel like time is running out. And with all the so called fish in the sea, these waves never seem to leave any on my shores.

Maybe I’m too blinded, concentrating on fish when there’re great blue whales around, tiger sharks and even electric eels that we’ll always have a spark.

I’ve been living too fast, but there’s no point finishing first if there’s no one waiting at the finish line, I’d rather slow dance to her humming and maybe in essence we would be the ones that won.

I knew the kind of man I wanted to be, the day I watched my father slow dance with my mother to no music in the living room. I know she eagerly anticipates the day her and I slow dance to my wedding song. I hope this is not another failed attempt of me trying to get closer to that day.

what happened to you?

your mind used to be a cemetery for boredom right next a maternity ward of inappropriate laughter.

you spoke like an owl was perched on your ribs, your wisdom was profound.

but what happened to you?

I named your lips nectar and honey and mine were two butterfly junkies trying to get a sugar high.

I could have sworn I heard  your name in the winds whisper through the leaves lips, but autumn came far too soon.

and when it seems like things want to get sweet again, time becomes a rehab for relapsing diabetics.

you were a beauty among beasts, a rainbow on an oil spill.

But even rainbows can't be out when the sun is not.

Today I breathe, like each breath was a champagne toast to life

Today I walk around with a pocket full of pennies in search of free spirits and  cheap talk

Today I celebrate, over half a billion stories each just over half a second long

We are not always broken

Death, is a forest where family trees fall and no one is around to hear

But life, is a star growing in a back garden under tiger striped sky of night and day.

So I carry my garden in my chest, growing veins and arteries and guitar strings so each story has background music of heart beats.

If I could, I would trade in every well wish for a wishing well and make your wishes come true. Give wells to parched gardens so stars can grow.

Someone once said “What is the difference between a ****** and a coffin? You *** in one and go in the other”

What is the difference between a ****** and a coffin? Nothing, they both carry unfulfilled potential, and we are lucky not to know either.

But if I had to choose, I'll choose the latter. Knowing I have lived even for a second, is a breath worth raising my glass to.

I really want to be shot
to feel excruciating pain at the brink of unimaginable pleasure
to be covered in blood staring at the light at the end of the tunnel speaking words of profound wisdom
to laugh with tears rolling down my face
with coughs of blood interrupting my last address

I really want to be shot
not in the head so I don’t die quickly
but close to my heart so I put my hand to my chest and bleed out slowly
as each pulse escapes my grasp and my life flashes before my eyes
each a fleeting memory never to be recalled

I really want to be shot
as she tried to stop the bleeding, she cries out
stroke her by the face and tell her everything will be alright
smile a midst the chaos to ease her pain
eyes close as I fall into a sleep I probably will never awaken
open them to the warmth of lips upon my cheek
I really want to be shot so I can ask ‘Am I in heaven?’