A Smart romantic knows, that the heart hardens
when it’s being fed off from fantasies. And the
void isn’t punishment of sins, perhaps it’s directed
to the ignorance of man. It’s agony to feel defective
at all times. In trickling and laughing dust, is where
our measure is, a thousand years to live, when one
meets their lover and immortality is blessed upon
when the two go on, deeper and become illuminated
by their own love. (Who's the killer, me or you?)

i know my worth, that i'm better off alone.
i know that u will try to come back soon,
but all u will hear from me is a dial tone.

i don't need u, forget everything i've said.
i don't feel u like i used to -
u are no longer plaguing thoughts in my head.

i had to let u go & make room for the new.
we had fun while it lasted, memories for days,
but that's not the path we were meant to live through.

u would have only kept playing the same games.
pushing me away only to reel me back in:
self-serving tactic for u - me, it only shames.

i'm finally loving myself, allowing my heart to set u free.
i hope that one day u get what u are looking for,
and i'm sorry for u that it's no longer me.

too little, too late - u won't be the only one realizing my worth.
i don't mean to hurt or disappoint u,
but u aren't the only soul i met in my 'rebirth'.

You love me wearing glasses
You said my dimple is cute
Noone noticed, but you.

I love you wearing black t-shirt
I said your scar is cool
Everyone noticed, me too.

You said i'm not fat enough so that you gave me a lot of UNHEALTHY food, I love it but I hate you.

I said your room aren't messy enough so I put down all my things all over your bed, and over the room. You hate it but you love me.

A warm hug, I appreciate.
A simple kiss, you did it.

But a deal between us is like a huge-high wall separated.

she feels the absence of anyone touching her,
imagines what it would be like to have
that pretty boy
touch his velvet lips to hers,
imagine what it would be like to feel
his magic rub off on her
to have his words
circulate in her head until she's drunk off his poetry.
she knows
this will never happen,
knows he will soon see into her abyssal soul
realize the cuts run deeper than the ones on her wrist,
realize her storm is
a bit too wild for him.

for a beverage i find so conventionally unattractive,
your whole milk movements
make my insides cream in the way that elicits a sleepy,
satisfied smile from your furrow.

see, that's a joke that might make you smile.
enduringly grateful for a companionship
overrun by giggles in such variance.

you see, my darling, you are such a unique
You i am eager to reconsider the habits of my I.

loving you has fallen into my lap much like
a sticky, nap-seeking toddler,
and all i want to do is wipe sweet cranberry juice from your cheeks.

let me work the expectations and necessities
from your bones in the hum of my bedroom.
jersey knit and dust and candles.
you never mind my mess in the same way I cannot
mind the delectable tang of your sweat,
and i know how you like to taste mine.
all the ways one person should love another: simply and humanely
are strung between your fingertips.
let me untie you.
you write me on graph paper,
crooked teeth and vivid nightmares scrawled
between the rigid blue hue.
you write me in cursive, poorly, and i am shivering
imagining the ways your l's loop between the squares.

since our convergence, i drink less.
no inhalants burning my lungs, less meat on my plate.
cosmetics sit and gather dust because
really, who has time for such things and
i just might be bursting with the tender way
your lips brush against my cheeks. such a
warmth.

i despise to give you any credit, my love,
but assurance in my person only grows
by your guidance, patience and example.
nauseating, perhaps.
but luck has graced me, and i am oh so very sure
i will never forget the shape of my face between your hands
because truly, and quietly, i am learning.
that's all i can ask.

your hands are always on my neck,
cradling my cranium like a moonstone,
instinctively sometimes, like your brain
hasn't quite caught up with the fingers rhythmically
kneading the tender flesh like my muscles are a problem
that your hands already know how to solve.

my head is held surprisingly high next to you,
you unorthodox preponderance,
and for the first time i am deeply touched by how
little a Them can scratch the surface of such a
transcendent and radiant Us.

you are fluent in languages i am sure
i will never wrap my fingers around,
yet every phrase slipping out
between your swollen lips
seems just for me.

we make love like music and i would sing so softly
to the hush and grunt and ache of your body when it meets mine.
your rhythm is so nice beside my melody
and i want to keep hearing all your renditions.

i am only a little bit ashamed of how these words sing for you,
a collection of vowels in a way i find distasteful.
a language that is simple,
begs no extensive vocabulary and simile to express
how tender your eyes are, like my favorite moon,
and that i never get tired of talking to you,
or hydrating you.

i hope you never read this poem, or consider it.
i hope all this brilliance fades upon your departure.
i hope we lose touch.

if not i'll have to face the unbelievably unbearable uncertainty that
your You might be just as good for me as my I you.  

that i might want to be quiet with you,
for long drives and difficult times and
even nights that i don't want to be anyone at all.

that perhaps you hope for the same.

that we just might be the same kind.

Forever was just
an excuse
to be
close to you.

I
Love
The
Colors
And
Smells

Of
Warm
Cinnamon
And
Ground
Beans

Muffins
And
Green
Tea

The rustle
Of
A
Newspaper

The
Quiet
Clicking
Of
Keys

Gives my
Weary
Heart
A
Break

And
A
Safe
Place
To
Be

consistent contradictions
gambling away my
happiness to the gods,
or the devils,
i can never tell which
i can never tell which
witches are good
and which ones are bad
and i'm on the edge of
glory and humiliation.
consistent contradictions
of a woman whose heart
is not in her body but
within another's, whose
home is june and whose
jail is the present
presently prosecuting
my own **** fingers
for falling and failing
and fumbling for the
light switch
for faltering and
sweltering in the heat
of heaven or hell
i can never tell which.
i can never
tell
which.