I am love, I am hate, I am future, I am fate.
I am all things that form under a summer’s night: hot sticky reality being shoved into the face of those that believe themselves exempt from it.
I am what light shines on and where trees grow, I am the nature that makes life possible and what makes society go.
I am a shark to those who bleed their prey, and a dove to those who accept my nature. I am a kiss to those who need one, and a fist for those who deserve one
I am Human- the biggest mystery of them all.

Who is she?
She is an angel with a dark side, yet as light as her skin-tone. She’s on to the next like pages in a novel, a being of enchantment. Poet once again meets poet, only, there’s no back story to this one, nothing more than coincidental interest by one party, my party.
Does she know? Probably not, and I’m too shy to mention it, so I’m forced to speak in short intervals. It’s something about her. Something about how the way she puts her headphones in, or maybe the music she listens to. Possible the way she giggles or her reluctance to splay out what she’s thinking. It could be our opposite natures.
It’s something about the way she pushes her glasses up when they’re down, or something about how she looks in black.
It could be something about our short convos, or how much her nature reminds me of another. Perhaps it’s her known social signature or even the way she talks.  
Or, the truth is, I don’t know what it is, I just know she’s got my attention, and I know I want hers too.
I catch feelings like baseball players, find potential love like scavenger hunts, but they don’t lead me anywhere, they only look good in my mind, but this one is different. This one might actually be, might actually begin with an intimatic courtship and end with a breakage rather than a separation.
But how could it?
How could I possibly think of things that might never even be meant to be? How selfish of me to decide without her knowledge. But I’m desperate for my heart to run like it used to, desperate for the feel of what love can be. I lived off of expression, expression didn’t live off me, but now I’m running out of fumes in an empty tank, Abandoned on the side of a road less traveled yet worn and torn by those who dare travel it.
And of those, I am the last.

Why can't I?
It should be easy, simple, really.
So why isn't it?
It's me.
My faults, my ideas, my muses, my inspirations that keep me awake at night when I should be sleeping.
It's him, reverbrating through my brain until I can't breathe with anticipation. Why can't I focus?
If only these feelings would back down...
But then, I wouldn't be human.
Am I?

There’s a satellite touching my head as I think about you, I’m higher than the atmosphere can catch.
I can see your hips moving, almost swishing as you walk away from me, head in the clouds even then. I can feel the heat of your kiss as caress the small of your back, showing my intimacy with you as music plays in the background of this milieu, us dancing in unison, slowly moving from side to side, hand in hand and minds on one thing…
Love.
More specific, our love. We love like that was all we could make, we held hands like if we didn’t they would fall, kissed like if we hadn’t, then our health would deteriorate. We became the other and the other became we. We became us, your became our.
We were one once more. How chill and mellow we were. Our love beat at a tempo that only our hearts could follow, our emotion a symphony all its own.
Maybe you, like Maxwell. I’m in love like T-pain, influenced by all that is around me and even more so by those hidden from me. I call it love, but really, all I knew was that I didn’t lust you, I felt more than one emotion. I was tired of you, intrigued by you, enjoyed you, loved you and wanted you. I felt you to be the one. I wanted you to be my favor to myself, I wanted you to sweep me away in reminiscence and happiness that would ensue from it.
I wanted your love.
If I may ask, can I have it? Can I love you? Can you love me? I know it seems foreign to you, but it’s just as foreign to me, yet I can distinguish it from other emotions that I’m feeling. I feel a difference with you, you are a difference, and I am truly intrigued now.
I’ve never had a love as sweet as yours, never had someone as close as you later did. But now I’ll never forget it. I can’t stop with my reminiscing of what it was, what it should’ve been.
What I feel is an amazing issue, what I want to feel is a completely different factor. But what I want is for you to give it to me.
Your heart is my pillow, my heart is your bed. I am an open book love, and I pray you browse my pages.

Naivety
I put you on the back-burner one too many times, and that has influenced me in the present day. I still think about it, about us, though the intimacy I was building for you is long gone due to the busyness of my current schedule.
I can’t reminisce like I used to and can’t afford to live in the past anymore. My life has moved to a carpe-diem pace and I’ve become one of those that I had dreaded to become.
A normal.
How naïve of me to be so trusting of things I knew I couldn’t control.
How Naïve of me to believe that my decisions, all made on spur the moment emotion, would lead me in the right direction as oppose to just the direction I was facing. I’m a sucker for it now, learning languages just to express my love in a different tongue, learning dances to woo you into my arms, creating the flirtation I used to have so that I could chat us into a truce, oh, how Naïve I find myself now.
Truth is, the past still haunts me, but my ghosts are mere shadows of me, I’m not effected. I’m hunted by my formers, but I’m a tough quarry, I ***** with anything that seems to be changeable, making me a prime target of changeless society.
Naivety
What I found myself to be when I daydreamed of kissing you, our lips touching and sending tingles to my brain, sending what I would know as one step closer to the final intimacy. But now that step has been postponed, the staircase to heaven out for repair, and I’m stuck in a purgatory of my own creation, one filled with Irony and shame of idiotic past.
Naivety
What I think when I hear someone’s prayers for a soulmate, they don’t work, they just hope, and that’s unjust. Yet it be just my luck they find theirs while I stay here, sinking me deeper into my apathetic and pathetic state of being.
Naivety
The thought that runs through my mind when I think of what I’d ask you now-
Who were we?
Were we even an us, love? Because though it felt real, it was merely a half in a love that required one-fourth.
What were we?
Were we truly lovers? Sure, I loved you, but I never got to say it, never got to express it fully, and that causes an emptiness to echo in my heart. I find it as a settled score: My emptied heart in exchange for your torn and broken one.
Where were we?
Don’t be confused, baby, was your love in the past with another, or were you in the present, thinking of me, smelling my cologne as we cuddled in public, holding hands for the first time, making a display for gawking passersby that we knew? I still chuckle at that to this day, the faces peering over us as we walked, hand in hand, toward a destination to close. But I was too timid and I hadn’t opened up all that much, you were unknowingly initiating me in gradual changes that only you could’ve unlocked in me.
Can I say this to the future? My past made my future, yet my future will eventually become my past. My present isn’t the gift that I desired, but it’s a gift that I cherish regardless. It is my circumstance and my own personal Irony. And so I love it as I love you- the one with the bright smile and dark skin, the one with the chuckle but the sealed lips, the one with the shrug of shoulders but who herself wouldn’t say a word in compromise.
Naivety

I'm ****** like sensuazonia, yet a moral in my own right. Well, to be honest, I don't feel like it. i feel like I'm empty inside, growing more and more so each day. But why? Is there some kind of escape route? Is there some way that I can get away from it? It's consuming my soul at such a rapid pace that even my sprinting soul can't escape like marathon, I must endure like a prisoner of war until my savior arrives, but I don't feel like I have salvation imminent, I feel like I've been stuck in the box so long that I've become it, and now removing that bond with my captivity is harder to break as I rip the cardboard from around me and break the flimsy ***** that keep me pinned in this location for the longest. Where the heck should I go? What the hell should I do? You see, this is what arrives in my mind each time I start my breathing at its regular pace. But then again, what else is there to think about? I could think about the past, but where would that get me? Where would I possible be able to traverse that I haven't traversed when I was experiencing it as present. I miss the past and its people... it's past me, the me that though unwhole, was content with what, and who, he had. I'm alone in the world that I created, how's that for Irony? I can feel the pressure of those wishing to detach me from my reality, their arms reach far, wrapping around my waist in an embrace meant for lovers, but pulling so savagely that I'm forced to do naught but succumb. Hell no, I have to fight, that's who and what I am, but alas, My vent ends now. Brain running drier that the desert's air, dustier than the abyss known as desert sands. I feel empty and now with my words gone, the feeling is even worse.
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