I wanted to know what your lips felt like
I wanted to know what your hips felt like
I wanted to know how good you'd feel pressed up against me
I wanted to see in the morning with the sun peeking through your windows and onto your face
I wanted to know what your deepest darkest fears are
How you cry
How you scream
What you do when your alone
I want to know your mind
I want to know your heart more than i want to know mine

You burn with an incredible passion.
That stubborn pride, that brilliant
anger, all bursting underneath
a strained composure and your
need to be the tough one. It
flares out from your eyes,
those rebellious chocolate
pools reflecting every word
you choke down. I am awed by
the passion you hold, the fire
that drives your every move.
It is what allowed you to love so completely.
--A tactic I could
never seem to comprehend--
However, love and hate burn from
the same flame, and the hate that
now warms your chest is reminiscent
of the love it once was. I do not
blame you for it. I envy you the
opportunity to feel so fully. I envy you
the hatred that burns in your chest.
I envy the love that it once was.
There is no flame here.
No passion to burn. Only the
cold concrete of thought and the faint
memory of a warmth I could never hold.

Golden eyes
you disguised pain so beautifully
you hid my love notes in your shoes
you thought you loved the girl I used to be
I thought I knew what love was made of
pressed against your car
you smelled just like the ocean
I felt kept inside your arms
I had no knowledge of commitment
I was only seventeen
wanting a body made of heaven
born decades before me
we smoked cigarettes and danced
for hours in the rain
you were as gentle as the wind
I didn't mean to cause you pain
confusion is a cloud that visits
every n o w and t h e n
when I think of nights spent on the phone
and days worshiping your skin
whether or not you think of me
is fine and either way
you were a message wrote in cursive
that I r e p e a t everyday

the belt around her waist,
mimicked your pale hands
forming an "o,"
while your fingertips meet.
though I told myself
my curves are as gorgeous
though your fingers never graced
anything thinner than my wrists
or the neck of your guitar
i felt my cheeks drain of blush
and replace with the color
of the grass
i rather lay in
than jog through
because the only sweat
i'd like to break
tastes like yours
and mine
and ours in a kiss
while your fingertips meet
around each one
of my *******
and inside me

Fragile, this existence,
love...
parading by-

As days count and storm clouds rise...
Beneath me on the pavement
lie the shards
of what I once was, what could have been,
silenced,
as the crowd looks on

Vast collections of splintered feelings
tear at me,
rip my flesh,
purge my heart,
bringing the pain of dying gardens,
over run with weeds of intense sense and truth,
as these faces
grow wicked

Oh how these blooms stare
openly gawking, (perhaps smirking)
as I drop the shears to the ground,
where they stick
points forward,
and the soften asphalt swallows

Nurtured inward lies converge on me
My beliefs chase me,
laugh at me,
taunt me,
like a parade balloon fighting against the wind

The marching band stands still,
there is no music,
only the mocking of colorful floats
shedding memories
like pink tissue paper flowers
to the street

They trample me,
and I thank them…
For this is me,
face down

I don’t know what I am
He says I’m just a teenage girl
I may appear that way
In my party dress and pearls

My flowers in my hair
But inside my mind is racing
Filled with horrid thoughts
And hopeless dreams I’m chasing
And all this time I wasting
Dealing with the heartbreak I’m facing
Remembering my mind is tracing
Such pain I am incasing
Because his lips I still am tasting

See I am not just a teenage girl
In my party dress and pearls
I am much more
I’m a wreck
I’m a sucker
I’m broken
I’m hopeless
In this dark lonely world
I am much more than just
A teenage girl.

I will never be enough of a man
To dowse my saffron robes
In cold gasoline and set it aflame
In buddhistic conviction--
My dreams would scamper
From my burning head to find another,
My flesh would crack and burn
Like old parchment
In rough palms.

I will never be enough of man
To eat buckshot out of
A hollow cold steely gun
My mouth wrapped around the
Reaffirming thickness--
My eyes would dart and then close
My ears would ring and then collapse
Like an old building
Consumed in flames.

I will never be enough of a man
To wrap a rope round my neck
And stare blankly ahead
To seize the day
From God's hands--
My face would bulge
My limbs would twitch
Like a dying rodent
In the throes of cancer.

I will always be enough of a man
To kiss your lips
With my own and feel
Your curves in my hands
And look at the sun--
My trembling hands falter
My eyes can't see to feel for you
Like a blind pianist
Playing the blues.