I dreamt  the most elegant, the most graceful girl of the Worlds.
She had my hair and your lips.
And inside her eyes I could see our soul glaring.

Where do I find a poem?
In the space of a blink,
Between heartbeats,
When idle or moving,
With family and friends,
In a cemetary,
At school,
On a beach,
On-line,
On a bench, sitting beside me.
In the four seasons,
Beneath the blue, black and starry canopy,
In the wild, sapian or worldly,
In the arts and prophets,
Crawling on the floor,
When I'm cooking;
And, when I'm not looking,
A poem will find me.

What we had was good


I'll find one that's *better

It's hard not to love you
And I know it should be easier now that your gone
But in truth it has only gotten harder
It's like you have knowingly trained me to miss you
And all this hot weather has got me wanting to take a swim in your eyes
Craving the affection I never really received
I imagine that I know what your lips taste like
It's like watching someone eat something you are allergic to
And you have never had it yourself, but you imagine it's wonderful
Loving you was the easiest thing I ever did,
Even when it was hard it was easy
Loving you was like breathing
I am watching you fall in love with her and
I am watching her fall in love with you
And while I am watching you fall in love with each other
All people can do is ask me if I am okay
This world is no place for people with hearts
Not when we give them away so easily
And yet knew this and still loved you
I loved you anyways

I am a
broken vase,
this is my face.

Pure glass-- frozen shut.
Do not touch me--
or I will cut.

I am easy to love and
easy (very easy) to hate.

I sing you, with my voice, to sleep,
and
your voicemail sings me to sleep.
It evens out. I often say this.

Love isn't the same here.
Love here is full of cigarette smoke and
fruit, kissed by flies before it's ever
touched by my lips.

And yet, for some reason,
I don't miss the love there. I don't
miss the chase, or the brazen looks.

This isn't much of a poem, it isn't
written in the
style
or (as my teacher would say)
with the artistry
of a true poem.
But it is my two minute poem for
you, even though you will
not read it.

& holding on.
never felt so strange.
what's giving to me?

to know they've walked away.
alone.
conquering lands.

into me.

into me.
they chant.
sevens divided.

a blue wash of lust.
embracing me.
fileting me.

butts on softer notes.
ghost kids searching.
for death still burning.