Thunder’s crack has nothing on the noise of a wailing heart; a wailing heart is louder.
I know you.
You are vulnerability
If you are the sky, I am the grey that clouds you. I am a two part nightmare of anger and frustration, closer to the heart and far more contemplated than love.
Do you know me?
I am a double dose of bad weather, one strike of my blade causes sparks to appear, and the downpour of my tears causes drought to cease and oceans to overflow with tasteless, clear nectar known as my emotional essence.
I am trouble
Do you know me?
I am as false as silicon ******* but with an intention so real as to throw my mind into limbo. True intent meets darkened heart, I am as bad as a lover.
Do you know what it’s like to kiss someone’s lips over and over again, but wish it was someone else instead?
Do you know what its like to build an intimacy with someone on the basis of a “practice” for someone else?
I do
And the attention I give that thought is enough to spoil children. I am a lost cause, but a just one in all respects. I am a forbidden detail. But one as pivotal as the next.
I am confusion.
Do you know me?

Is it the way her hair flows as we kiss in the winds of autumn, or the way we touch by a lake of moonlight?
Whatever it is, I’ve been caught like I was falling, and I was indeed.
I felt she was special, felt she was an inspiration to me more than just physically, more than just emotionally.
She was an extension of my spirit and a personal angel. She was a piece of me that fit the place of the one missing…
But now my puzzle is no longer complete. Now my soul feels funny, so funny that I can’t identify the buzz that is apparent.
Was it the fact that I knew it would happen or the fact that I hoped it wouldn’t that makes me feel this way?
Do I feel comical or pain? Hurt or hilarity? I’m stuck somewhere I’ve never been, walking the wild woods with warmth slowly seeping out of my fingertips and collecting into the darkness as my body grows colder.
But I am a factory of warmth.
This is why I feel this way. Not broken, but still rebuilding. Not hurt, but still heeling. I am confusion’s worst nightmare, but constant lover.
I am a rock in the middle of the pond that breaks the constant flow of the water around me.
But I am the sole rock to do it the way I do, and so regardless of how the water breaks, I still feel empty in such a large pond.
I am the embodiment of dangerously delicious curiosity and tantalizing intrigue. I challenge the forbidden and go against the normality simply for the hell of it.
But I’m still just a kid. And like any other
I still need love

The feeling
To whom it may concern.
Caressing the curves of her hips has been long thought about.
Dancing to the music she makes.
Hearing her voice as we bicker or chat has been long considered about.
Listening to the breaths she takes.
Oh, listen to me going on. I’ve been fished in like trout, finding my hook like song writers, and yet I still take the bait with each passing day. Is it literal connection or mere intrigue of infatuations? Am I just ranting when I speak of her perfect imperfections?
She is an addiction as sweet as chocolate, but one so healthy as to compare to spinach, and I’d love to sample that intimacy. She’s a flower dancing in the wind, unaware of the forces provided, but yet opening her petals as the rain lets a staccato of drops down to nourish her.
And I watch as this little flower grows. And I develop a feeling.
A feeling that goes beyond love, reaching a plane that love can only lust to achieve. Beyond a hunger for attention and reaching into the very depths of my heart to pull out the emotion.
Reminiscence.
She is my future memory and my present past. A thought constantly on my mind, a form ever in my head and an opinion intended for gain. She is everything I lust, and yet lust doesn’t seem to be the word.
When she speaks, fireworks in my mind tell me to pay attention, forcing reactions out of me that I can only pray were subtle. When we match eye contact, my heart skips two beats before going back to normal, freezing my body in the wish of a romance. When she laughs, the tune replays in my mind, one of the things which I would love to hear over and over again.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, of all the fairer that roam these halls, tell me why it is that I choose one of whom I know the least, one of whom I struggle to speak to and stutter when around. Starlight, star-bright, tell me on this fair night, why I’d love her, though I wish I might, when we connect in so many other ways.
Giddy, graceful, gorgeous girl, with a side of personality unexplored. She still remains a mystery that I realize I may never solve. But it doesn’t deter me, in fact, I’m rooted like oak, mind twisted like tornadoes as I continue my last daydream of you.
Once again, you are my wish.
Once again, you’re on my mind.
And once again, I pray that someday,
You Let Us Love
~The Feeling

Brand new night

New lovers every night, their memories strewn about my heart
Like poppy seeds.
Constantly changing in a never- ending rotation cycle of light and dark
Like day and night.
We meet, greet, know, and immediately love. It makes me feel good to have the attention at times.
But I never quite keep it.
Even when I have it, there’s always something wrong.
I leave her for her
But then leave her for another…. And then have that one break up with me.
It makes me feel
Tempered.
Makes me feel like even when I find my counterpart, there’s something that’s missing or holding us in a place where secrets may be common knowledge, but then common knowledges are secreted.
Everyone knew. Friends, parents, and even complete strangers… But the only person who didn’t know was me.
Is this a curse?
I open my heart for yet another, memories strewn over my soul. And once again, I think I know love.
But yet again, I fall short by mere millimeters and crash down back to the reality of my situation.
I’m desperate for a recreation.
I knew love one day, and maybe will one day soon enough
But I’m still on the edge of my mind contemplating who shall victimize my heart again in the toxins of the addictive chemical considered romance on this
Brand New Night.

Dust—press play

Dust
Unwanted fragments of a greater item. I am a fragment of dust to life, but not a nuisance to myself or anyone else… So why do I feel unwanted?
Play
Several explanations for a relatively short word. I could simply be joking around, but I don’t feel so comico at the moment. I could be addressing an issue through performing arts, maybe even enjoying some sort of activity like I did when I was a youthier youth.
Press
Could be the media, could be a motion done involving applying pressure to something, could be an action when applying pressure to someone.
I am a partical of dust
Forced pressure surrounding an otherwise struggles form
Addressing issues noted as things rarely cared about.
But that’s not where this poem’s name came from.
I seek acceptance like a homeless dog, but I still have some sort of vibe of emptiness.
Like Air.
Though the air isn’t empty, the air is teeming with life that we literally couldn’t care about. And so it is with me.
I am
Dust
Press
Play

Your words are like a hidden key,

They unlock secret parts of me.

I might be your fall, but you’re a pick-me-up to me. I might have written my way into your book, but you did more, you illustrated your love clearly, you displayed it so publicly that it was somehow secreted in front of my own eyes.

Your ruby red cheeks provide a window into your mind, indicating what it is you think when I speak: happiness, anger, fear, contentment.

Your lips provide a physical contact point for us to meet, connection yet no wifi needed, communication yet no cell towers, A commitment between two invisible entities, a communication between two hearts.

My eyes betray my emotion as your cheeks betray yours. What study is it that requires me out of your head? What history is more important than that of our own? What pit is so deep, so dark as to keep the sun away? For, love, tell me this, and I shall change it faster than a bad tv channel.

Your worries should fade, for they are nothing but spiteful superficial seeds sown by one who claims to dis thee. Hateration is a disease, but, my love, when one is as beautiful as you are or as sweet and mellifluous as you, you must accept that you attract it.

Taking note of your existence is like being in a building burning and continuing your business, ergo I always do what I can to let you know that I see you. I love you, I loved you, and I’m loving you to this day. So may our loves last as long as our kisses, and may our kisses last as long as our intimatic energies can remain stabilized.

Baby girl, if there’s one thing I would tell you right now, it’s that you truly drive me crazy.
Don’t get it confused, I was always crazy, but you drive me more so. You push me past the levels of my normal mind and force my creativity. You open my vocal chords unexpectedly and take on information as if you were the processing unit of a computer.
I feel I can tell you anything and everything and you wouldn’t judge.
I feel like I can do nearly anything and you won’t keep a grudge.
But, who knows, maybe I’m wrong. Could it be that you’ve got ya boy kickin’ the back of his heels with the tips of his toes? Could it be you’ve got a brotha blockin’ thoughts of thots that you think he’s got?
You said I had too many crushes, said that that was a problem. But you also admitted to having crushes even though you were taken. How Ironic.
But you also said you were pained in your past, and you said you were interested in the intimacy of someone who could provide it.
Well, I can’t make any promises, but I can at least try.
I was a rusty spirit before I met you, and, no lie, baby girl, you’ve destroyed that layer of rust and brought the poet back.
Unknowingly, you gave me an inspiration.
So I can’t wait to talk to you, can’t wait to hear that pretty voice with the southern accent, or see those pretty eyes brightened with an eternal flame that not even your past trials could extinguish.
Can’t wait to be with you again.

Love letter 22

Ok, so maybe dreams do come true, maybe I am a romantic at heart and maybe I am a little hungry for someone’s attention.
It’s in human nature.
But now I don’t know what to say. It’s like one minute you’re a quiet thought of a possibility, and the next you’re more than that, you’re a possible in my world of confusion.
I’m so confused. What’s happening to me? Could I be tripping again? Lord, please don’t let me fall this time, please let me ride out a storm to a quiet peace that is true intimacy.
I want to hold the heart of someone whose heart is already given to someone else… I want to be the center in a double circle, but I know I’ll cause problems.
I want an intimacy, one I’ve been secretly searching for since the last, but I know the outcome. I know what will happen and I know what could become of another soul that ripped a hole in my chest with the separation severed by force.
I don’t want that.
I want her, but I don’t want her heartache, or the responsibility of knowing that I caused it. Call me lazy, call me cheap, call me crazy, call me weak.
But one thing you can’t call me is untrue.
So Maybe I’m tripping, maybe I’m falling for a girl with the issues of one who shouldn’t be allowed to stress over such things, maybe I’ve fallen for a broken soul that I believe I could fix, maybe I am the broken soul that needs a fix. All I know is that I might be forming what I dread and desire.
Maybe I’m adding to the heat of my heart.

Is it true that nowadays the value of a man is in how many women he ***** on a daily basis?
Is it true that nerdy is only good when it’s a vulnerable female rather than a young boy trying to actually get somewhere in his life?
Is it true that women consider themselves ******* and that being a “lady” is simply for the old or stuck up hoes?
Excuse my vulgarity.
Is it true that if I were to back into, *******, and ******* on you, you wouldn’t mind? Hell, it’s a dance, relax.
Is it true that if I were to come to you as a true gentleman, opening doors and kissing on your hand rather than trying to **** your face off in the first 15 minutes, you’ll deny me, not because I’m not a good guy, but because that style is dead?
Is it just me, or am I holding on to a time of the dead? Is it just me or are we in a time of complete confusion?
Is it true that If I were to show you intimacy and go deeper to showing feelings of actual love, you’d simply consider me a boyfriend and not actually a counterpart?
Where did it go? What happened to the times when a love was formed and built rather than packaged and given easily? What happened to the times when you’d say “girlfriend” and think of love and consideration rather than just the title itself? What happened to actually loving your counterpart as apposed to simply having them around you?

I have no secret agenda. And for that, people feel bad for me.
I’m still in my gentleman’s valence, and for that, women feel sad for me.
I don’t keep grave secrets lest a grave robber dig up my past and show the skeletons as if they were fresh details rather than a forcefully faded memory.
I wear my glasses, freshly cleaned for better sight, and yet I still can’t see.
I can’t see what everybody else sees. To me, I see a nice guy, a guy that’s lucky to have someone who's lucky to have him. And I don’t flaunt this…………. But apparently I’m oblivious of my own visage.
Apparently I’m a creature of pure evil and disgust for the better things of life.
Apparently I’m perverse when I smile at people and apparently I’m old fashion for opening doors for people.
But in all my aspects of supposed incompleteness, I recognize those that judge me as confused souls just the same as me. For one who shows no respect shalt not receive any, and yet I still don’t receive any.
I can’t stand the feeling of love lost, and yet I feel it every day. I feel the emptiness crowding around me as if I were in a trash compactor. Why is it that nice guys finish last when we started the race? Why is it that If I show no respect, I get more respect from the people I wish to earn it from?
Why do women like fuckboi rather than knowledgeable counterpart? Why am I alone in a world where I know for a fact there is someone who thinks like me?
Why do I even care what anyone thinks? Why am I still looking for a love that I’ve professed not to care about? Why is it that even under my circumstances, I could care less about what’s to do about any and every one of my flaws, giving the same belief that love accepts all flaws?
I tell myself to stop sometimes so that I can look at myself, but even when I look in the mirror, I see broken shards of glass appear at my imperfections. And for that, I know what the meaning of change should imply to me.

This one goes out to the regular ladies. The ones popping pimples in mirrors and not worrying about make-up in the morning. The ones who say forget about their friends and go out exploring.
The ones who give kisses to random associates and giggle about it to their friends later but make sure somehow not to confuse him with emotions he had to create to start a feeling. The ones who keep the quiet ones closest and the loudest front and center.
The ones that pay attention to me, smile sometimes, and move on. You have no idea how it feels to be recognized once again, and I’m loving you guys for it. The ones who play with their hair in class, no ***** given about what you say to them about it.
This one goes out to the girls who keep a low-pro and just go with the flow, speaking only when spoken to and giving  false smiles as an indication of how little they are interested. To the girls who have a shyness that needs to be broken, but no party animals can claw through it without her unwilling will,
This one’s for the loners, all alone in a world that they refuse to abandon, sheltered by a reminiscence that doesn’t break through the storm of becoming current again. Those who were beginning something by themselves and ended up with a partner by the end, we know and we’re happy for you.
Now, I only named a few that this was for, but truly, it’s for all those who want it to be for them. I just want you to know that you’re not alone, ever. You’ve personally got an angel who knows what’s going on with you. A guardian if only you let them through,
And I know this, because I am one of those guardians, and I’m willing to serve and protect any who declare me employed for the task.

By the love in my heart, I never meant to do you any wrong.
In all my meaning, I intended to curb your appetite for love to the best of my intentions. Only, the hunger for it in your heart was so voracious that, even if I were to have been around enough for it to have made a difference, I couldn’t have sated you. And I humble myself to that fact.
By the heat of my body, I never meant to miss you. I thought what was past was past and that I could escape it by running. But I’m out of gas on an abandoned highway and your memory stuck behind me, willing to show its presence but not to pass me.
By the chill in my soul, I never meant to abandon you. Sure, you brought out the worst in me, skipping classes, cursing more, using every knot of energy to find different ways to connect to you, but you also brought out the best, for if it wasn’t for you, I never would’ve figured out how pivotal human love was to me. I still crave it to this day like junkies and needles.
But I can’t feed.
Let’s admit it, I say everytime that I won’t find someone like you and that I’d stop trying, but I always do and then treat them the same way I treated you- with contentment, but a sense of caution, not too close to be intimate but not far enough to be distant. And then I leave. It’s my schedule, my signature of leaving a trail of confused and broken hearts behind as if I were smashing glasses.
I’m sorry for the pains that I might’ve caused you… You all, for there’s more than one in the works whenever I’m foreman.
Brianna, Sarah, Katrina, Sade, Erykah, all of those who I believed I left confused if not alone. I was unclear of intentions because I didn’t know what my intentions even were, I was winging it like birds on their migrations. And now I’m stuck in a reminiscent past like tires stuck in muddy earth.
Am I allowed to feel such empty emotions? Am I allowed to feel apologetic even if nothing was deemed wrong? Wronging all of those who come to me like grading papers, but still in the field looking for a future counterpart, my next meal as if I’m a vulture.
And for that, I can never forgive myself enough to rise over it.

If I died today, tell me, who would care? As far as I can see, I’m not so special.
If I were to claim love for a person, who would accept it? And thus I stay crowded by thoughts of regrets in everything I do.
If I were to disappear tonight? Who would notice? Would I just be another milk carton mystery story, or would I actually have somebody desperate to find me other than obligated family?
When I say I care for a person, tell me, will they care back? Will I have their attention like they have mine or will it be another one-sided relationship?
When I get injured on a sharp edge, knife or otherwise, who will put a bandage on me and giggle at my clumsiness? Who would be concerned at all?
In my desperation to find my counterpart, I’ve missed many an opportunity with many a nice girl. Why? Why did I play with their hearts the same way mine was before? Why destroy a good soul?
In my desperation for attention, I’ve sliced through many an attention-needing associate, many a person more deserving of it than me. And for that, I’m truly sorry.
If I apologize for a sin, who would acknowledge it? Who would even notice the way I feel or the guilt on my face?
No one that I can see.

Our bodies pressed together as we danced the invisible square in the middle of the school hallway. Moving from side to side as the piano's melody infiltrated our ears through the headphones. We swayed slowly, softly, keeping with the pace of slow-quick-quick that was required for the box step. Her arms were around my shoulders, my arms rested on her hips as we swung slowly, softly, going about the hall as if it were a grand ballroom and us its only occupants. I looked her in the eyes, the emotion on my sleeves that were hugging her hips. She looked back, smiling as if she were enjoying herself as much as I was. I couldn't help it, I had to whisper to her, had to break the trance the music had put on us, but had to in such a way that the moment would be filled with no regret, filled with the trueness I had kept in my heart.
"I love you." I say, smiling as if I had no clue of how ugly my smile were, smiling as if I were happy with more than just my grades. Her eyes glistened against the shine of the over-head lights. She smiled her beautiful smile and took me into a euphoria that was so blissful that I imagined I felt heat rising to my face in a blush.
"I love you too."
And with those words spoken, she leans closer, arms running down the broad of my back and hooking there as she lay her head on my chest and slowly rock with me, easing from left to right, slowly making our way in a giant circle in the middle of the hallway. I knew this was it, I knew this was what I had been looking for: a feeling of love to replace the feelings of longing in my heart, the feelings of lonely in my soul.
Left, right, left, right. We swayed in unison, her hips matching mine as our circle broadened with the music of the piano. I kissed her forehead, prompting her to look up at me as if we were sending mutual signals. I lean into her, hands lightly swishing her hips a little further, pushing against her own momentum, and kiss her tender lips like I had never kissed before. This was what her love had done, this is what my longing had done, we were one in the same in a world that only matched stride with cheetahs. We were the difference, we were the exception to the world as we softly went about the hall rocking and rocking, lips matching and not mismatching for long periods of time.
And then the bell rang, stating that it was time to go to class. But we paid it no attention, we stayed where we would remain for only mere seconds before the herd of students could overtake us. She drops the earbud and grabs my hand.
"Please, for me, remember this moment. Remember the moment when two unlikely souls set each other free, the moment when the heavens looked at the both of us with favor and brought us a match in emotion." tears escaped her eyes.
"though it may be my last time seeing you like this, I shall always be here in spirit," She continues, "but don't hasten to bid me farewell, love. Please, take the punishments of this tardy and stay and dance with me. Just sway." and with that, I continue our sway, placing my hands back on the sides of her hips as the students walk around us.
And we swish, hips moving as we make our own music with our foot-falls, matching a rhythm that we both find pleasurous. Rocking and rocking, swaying and swishing. I lean toward her once more, bidding her farewell with just one last kiss. Closing my eyes as our lips connect, right hand coming from her hip to stroke her cheek.
But when I open my eyes, she's no longer there. I'm alone in a hallway as my schoolmates pass around me, strange looks shown evident in each face that passes. The second bell rings and I open the door to class just in time, tears escaping as I look around the room at those who could never understand what I had felt.
A love that was lost isn't a blessing in comparison to the feeling of never being loved, in fact, it is a curse. So I have always remembered my beautiful hummingbird as she was, a free spirit and a free soul, but a part of me that I can never retrieve again.
Is brea liom tu, forever and always.

In her beauty, she doesn’t see her looks.
In her intelligence, she doesn’t see her smarts.
In her swagger, she doesn’t see her appeal.
But the fact that I do is bugging me. I barely know you, don’t know your name or any of your light skinned tendencies. But in that same aspect we are close. Where are you, Ms. Magnificent? Where is the one I want to love? Peel your shyness back like wrappings on the gift I give you: the gift of heart.
I swear, I fall in love with her every time we converse. In the moments we mingle she is always who she is meant to be. She must be an arsonist, because she’s starting a burning in my chest and an ache in my intentions. Thus her powers could very well bring me to an end.
She’s an open book by all means, but only she can translate her pages. Only she can tell her story without giving any twists that she didn’t intend. She is an affection unlike any the word has ever seen.
Her eyes- brown by all accounts, seeing through the soul as if the soul were translucent, she sees deeper than microscopes can dive.
Her hair- steady changing color, but never ceasing to amaze: red, yellow, black, brown, blue, colors in a rainbow of deep concentration.
Her smile- captivating to say the least. I find myself wishing her the best at the most random times. Her personality is one that fits mine so closely that I’m curious. We are close in soul, so why not close in attention? Let me concentrate on her like she’s an assignment, let me love her like geeks and gaming systems. Let me know her like I know passwords and let the same be said of her about me.
What is a crush?
I admit, I feel squashed to admit this, but I’m falling as if sky diving, and she is my parachute. I’m once more questioning my own comprehension, could she be the next in the line from my heart? Could she be the inspiration of many a poem to come if I play my cards right? The answer lies only with the question, and the question lies with her.
What does she think? Is it that her mind and mine are on different planes of the oblivion of existence, or is it that I’ve blinded myself from any flaw of hers enough to reject even her own objections? How could she not see it, her grip on my unaware heart? How could she not see her beauty, as obvious as it is, or her interaction with a crowd of comrades who indeed love her deeply?
Sugar sweet cream colored craving, let us parlay poetic fantasy until we both run out of things to say, let us intimate until we both forget the meaning of the word and show an infatuation that brings jealousy into the hearts of those who witness. And once we are done, let us restart again and again until the nights fade and final goodbyes are in order.
Let us speak. Let us smile.
Let us love.
~Emily.

A special decision as if she’s being pondered. She’s a wonderful surprise to one who is scheduled.  
And she’s special to me.
I love her, Yes, I truly do. But I’m afraid she won’t feel the same. I’m afraid she’d deny me because of something else, or perhaps I’m inadequate like microwave meals. But the thought of me being so inadequate forces me to try to improve for some unseen reality.
What is my reality, though? I’m afeared of what I don’t understand, and yet, I don’t understand her and I’m so intrigued. What is it that’s happening in my brain? Is it that I’ve figured her subconsciously and can’t access it consciously without thinking of harder questions.
Can I call this Irony or can I call it fear? Can I call it infatuation or love or maybe even intrigue?
Or can I call it ridiculous and call it a day?
Figurative thought.

A good world is what we live in, but a racist country is what we are. Let’s admit it. Racism is the American way, it’s found itself in more than one faction of life.
Black children slaughtered in the streets by those supposedly trying to protect them: Police, others, “concerned citizens”, all there as an enemy to a people meant for peace.
And it’s remained that way for decades. Decades? Try centuries. Why for America not change her ways? Why for such a lost people be judged and labeled for their not knowing any better?
Why is it that a black boy in a school can be picked out of the crowd like cherries in a fruit cocktail, and be subjected to such redundant behavior? Why is it that dark isn’t seen as beautiful? Why is it that we catch hell like ***** in a baseball glove? And why won’t this world change?
My people, the good people, have been led astray, taking away our little progress and turning it against us like a machine of war. My people, the black people, have been taught the art of self hate from their former slave masters, we have been taught that the darker the uglier but the lighter the better, as it still shows to this day, and this mindset disgusts me.
And when I close my eyes, I see nothing but the faces of those killed, far too many to name, and yet even after years and years, no justice wrought and no tears spared from the eyes of family members. And yet the injustice continues where murderous policemen still roam the streets like hyenas looking for a fresh **** in a ghetto where nothing but torment already can be made.
Where is my peace?
Where is my brother’s peace?
Where is my sister’s?
Where are the leaders of my people with the same skin-tone, why are those available already sold out? Why am I being used even when I don’t know it? Why am I living in a hell made by a people whose whole purpose was to torment my ancestors.
Times have changed, customs accepted and new stereotypes made. Now anyone can say “*****” and it not seem racist because it’s the thing now. I’m sorry, my brotha, I had no idea such a thing could trend. Now ****** foreplay is considered dance, dry-******* your nuts off is considered a “trap dance” and this supposed trap is exactly what it’s called. But yet we don’t complain? Rise up, my black brothers, arise my young sisters. For we are at war with a beast of our own creation, and that beast is seeking to obtain our inner guts as a fulfilling meal if we don’t do anything about it.
Rest in peace, my fallen comrades, for as this war progresses, I will soon join you beyond the stars of the mind and under the ground of those who stomp to battle against a foe who challenges us all.
Washington 10.10.15

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.

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.
No stanza

Weaknesses
My weakness is sweets, but don’t get it twisted, no food is found to weaken me. But a sweet personality can, so can a sweet smile, or a sweet touch. Basically sweet people are like sweet candies  of different cultures, and I shall be a proud cultural culinary taste-tester, moving races like NASCAR in motion.
My weakness is money. The all mighty dollar isn’t so almighty to me, but what it can do is. I long for the materialistics of life that money can bring, and the attention it can get you from supermodel brides or low-key bed warmers. I like the feeling of being wanted and tolerated regardless of what I’d do and how I’d do it.
My weakness is power, for, if I held the power of a man’s life and spared him, he’d be loyal indefinitely, and that would be enough to satisfy my needs to feel loved. I’d have a friend who felt indebt to me, and that feeling of needing to accommodate would change my view on what was real and what wasn’t.
My weakness is attire, for you see, when I walk into a room, I want to draw the eyes of those watching, hateration rising in their veins and jealousy shown on there face. I want the Black haired beauty with the short red skirt and open-toed stilettoes with the dark purple toe nails and thick hips to come my way and think lustfully of me, is it a crime to desire such reactions?
My weakness is body, for I love a girl who can take care of herself. Long hair, manicured nails, teeth that aren’t begging to be drilled, it’s a weakness I have and can’t seem to fix. But then again, why would I desire to fix it? I’m not asking for perfect like a conceited rejectionist, or wanting more than what I can give like I was lying to myself, I want someone who can keep up with themselves before even attempting to keep up with someone else.
My weakness is *** appeal, because whenever she bites her lip and looks in my eyes, I can see rockets shooting through her glass lenses and aiming at me. But once I smile back, determined face, cute features and as much appeal as I can muster, explosions happen in her body that causes goosebumps to pepper her flesh like shrapnel in a war-zone.
My weakness is skin to skin, after all, it’s my right to want to be loved, why not demonstrate it by holding hands? Why not live past the edge and on the tip of existence like birds on a powerline? I am careful enough and she’d be loving enough that no vibes of failing would even cross our way.

I have an emotion of desperation at the moment, missing love and desiring it but at the same time rejecting it and wishing it not exist around me, a conflict within myself like a caterpillar in its cage of a cocoon.
And I must get out.
I feel held back by strong intangible arms that are relentlessly squeezing the life out of me. Oh, help me god. But Its roper around my neck isn’t dropping me, rather dangling me with enough life to torture me with the feeling of emptiness, a feeling of no love gained yet none to be lost in the first place. Ironically, I can’t die from the misery and can’t escape long enough for my blinks to bring me back to the hopes of an alternative reality.
Every girl I pass by has a feeling of gymniphoria, but for what? I couldn’t imagine even if I wanted to, and yet it’s merely an attempt of my soul to gather the remainder of my dignity and ****** it toward my brain in a way to flaunt it enough for me to feel it sink into my brain that I am strong enough to fight the feelings and live past it so that I can thrive once again on my former levels.
But I can’t get on this level like Kevin Gates, I had to work down and back up but down once more, and here I saunter godforsaken. My voice in a constant crescendo as I yell to the heavens for their attention once more. Hear my ******* pleas, hear the small voice as it raises and sends mountains into a judder as my wounded roar reaches its ****** and shouts passed heaven directly into the space inhabited by my thoughts.

Kiss after sensual kiss leads to what I would find as an inevitably ****** placement between us, that avenue of lust which we mutually entered once we were on the same level of thinking.
I lean into you, inhaling the intimacy second after second from your tasty lips, biting your lip and running my fingers through your hair as my hands ease slowly down to your neck, caressing you and easing down farther and farther until I'm caressing a breast.
Call me crazy, but I think I'm in love, or at least its unmistakably destructive premonition. Lifting your shirt and kissing on flesh, making your toes curl under overwhelming chills being sent from your abdomen.
Easing back up to you, I can see your eyes, I catch them and keep them in place, letting you know full well that I intend to enjoy you fully.
And you let me.
Easing down and absorbing your figure, kissing and tracing down your belly and easing into a certain heaven before coming back up and stripping you down gently, making you smile at the gentlemanly figure that you call yours.
Can I love you down? lying you down fully extended, can I get onto you as if we could share the same space against scientific belief?
I ease into you slowly, only speeding in a way as to show my own urgency isn't priority.
And we make one. easing into your form, our bodies become entwined, become one at last.
suppressing your pleasurous scream with my own warm kisses, I allow us to combine again and again, and become one once more as our nerves and hormones take over in this ritualistic connection.
Made love? we make emotion. Stripped bare and enjoying the ****** pleasures given us, ****** after ******, kiss after juicy kiss and scream after luscious, pleasured filled scream until we finally reach what I like to call climactic end and level up in our relationship. At last, though we are still levels away from the final intimacy, we are closer than we have been before, and the closer we get, the deeper and more sensual our encounters are.

Fresher than the sky after a rainy day, us was found strongly subdued in intrigue and properly shawled in ****.
Higher than hippies can ever attain yet the ocean envies our deepness, back breaking as if our love were a tile floor that doubled as a bed at night, yet we are still comfortable. Still striving for the placement next to the historics and enjoying the wait, the ascent toward remembrance and the ascent from stupidity as we learn each other like Spanish class.
Let me know you, let me feel your energy. Why? Well, why not? I'm an alienated settler, so I suppose I need closeness? Or better yet,
I need you.
Why are you looking around? Move the stranger in front of you so that you can see my finger pointing at you. Yes, you, I need you. I'm interested, curvy swaying hips that deserve my caress, **** luscious lips that deserve my attention, she's a love-starved apparition that's deserving of the meal that I feel I can provide.
We are instruments, feel the beat of my drum, ba-da-da-dum-di-dum-di-dum, the sound my heart makes when you talk to me. The sound I hear when I know I'm ****** to make a fool or myself in front of you. My love, we are satire beings, embodying principles that we formed in a sheepish state when our fantasies were formed and our dreamy hopes became lost wishes.
I thought I knew love, but I didn’t know you, so what I knew was the fact that truth and lie could be twins at times. Right and wrong could be cousins.

Cinnamini cocoa goddess with a chocolate friend so dark as to tint the soul and leave me salivating as my sweet tooth acts improperly. I’ve been snagged, giving smiles and yet my eyes betray me, they show my interest clearer than the highest definition.
She’s got me tripping on my own feet as I try to walk confidently toward her, holding the air like rails as if I were a wobbling infant talking the first steps of my life.
Step one, I stride up to you in a way that sends chills down your spine, shivering your body when I touch your arms and slide up, my fingers making it up the triceps and easing onto your shoulder. Step two, kiss you and make you see how much I’m in love with you.
But step three?
What step three? Usually by this time I snap back to reality realizing that you’re still in front of me, body burning the air’s nitrogen around thee. So savage a **** yet so classy a manner, I tingle in my lust of you.
I just want to be known to you, I want you to see me as a being that is close to you, intimately, physically, whatever’s accepted by you. Can I do that? Can I be accepted by you as maybe a friend or more? It’s a possibility that any ad everything can go wrong, but **** the odds, we are in ourselves against the definition of odd, awkward beings that need each other lest they go crazy from neglect and withdrawal.
I speak in intonation when around you, the rise in my voice is for every time your eyes connect to mine, yet the fall is for all the moments that I can’t see you, three desks away and yet it feels like an entire galaxy of space between our adjacent seats. But there isn’t anything I can do to control my urge for your assiduity. Call me greedy, as I feed on your attention like a moth feeds on fine linen.
And I’m hungry for nothing more than you, no one other than you, call me critical, but I can’t savor anyone but your flavor. Your taste, as distinct as it is, is still a one of a kind, and I am addicted to the one of a kind flavor.

People can find perfectness in imperfection and be content with it. But why is it that I can find a problem in perfection and it eat & gnaw at me until dealt with?
Something's wrong, something's definitely wrong, but what is it? I'm not sure. Oh, goodness, why is it bothering me now?
I can express perfection, express imperfection, though I don't get that feeling of me putting up a facade. And yet I yet that feeling now.
This place is great, recluse, sure, but sweet nearly to completeness. And yet, I find there is problem in perfectness.

Generation or creative expression

A mind is a terrible thing to waste according to the wiseman who first said it, but what about a love?
Because now I feel it in the ways that I had forgotten since my last heartbreak whose influence is still stuck on my heart. But you make me forget.
Image dispersed, vision blurred, glasses broken. But I can still see.
You
The only image that makes sense to my distorted senses. The voice to my deaf ears, the cinnamon to my scentless nose, The warm lips of flavor of whom I miss whenever they're away from mine, and the sight...
A lover worthy of my heart, the heart of a god, the loving nature of a goddess, and the rock-solid trust of a soldier at war.
the goal of my movement is to love you. The real you, not the marrionette you throw in my face as a facade to the true you. Open your heart and let me feed on the energy you burn in your ways. For I am a wispering willow and you, my love, the conversation.
I am draconic and you the flame I breath, the heat I create, the fire I make. A recreation of a desperate scramble in which I would gladly partake with you, but be straight forward with me. The bush is beat, not beaten, and I am open to truths.
A shy soul looking for the love of which I want to supply. Redefining love with what we make and showing the sun that its heat is nothing to that of which we let out when we burn our flames.
Flirtatious, a spirit of whom I was and still am. I have a heart though, and that heart is a fragile being of which I am growing, and I know that you can relate. A deeper bond between man and nature that can't be displayed by those around us, only we can produce the image.
A new generation, the thing that you are destined to bring in at the hands of god himself as he blesses you and showers you with the beginnings of a new world order. No destruction, no war, no new inspirations of battle nor struggle, just
Clear
clearer than the very water you drink, clearer than the air you breathe and the sounds that breech your eardrum. Clearer than the mind of the buddhist who has achieved enlightenment, a wide space of idea and philosophies in my mind of which the only answer is Y-O-U.
You
the generational question of which I still cannot answer. The sad song that plays in my mind during the lonely times, the warm bed to my tired soul. It's you, my answer to a major problem in life, the last piece of the puzzle and now I may once again be complete.
My generation, your generation, our generation. The last foundation of a crumbling building, we, the platform of which it stands on and all others following in our footsteps in order to keep themselves afloat in a world steady sinking, sinking, sinking in it's blind shuffle for power. Let us support its heavy weight for all others and hold hands to keep ourselves from going under.
Love, found, once lost, lost once more, and found once more.

I'm here now alone in the oblivion once more, alone in my world of desolation, a particularly similar scenario. Can your remember my first day? I woke you from what I thought was a nap so that you could go to 6th period, I didn't know you were already in the class. Oops, sorry, but you know I only meant the best.
Can you remember my confusion in the halls, you smiling at me, saying hi, and me believing it was to someone else? I remember, and, no lie, I kind of miss it.
Do you remember me acting tough when dude snatched my papers, or being cool enough to do his guy's ISS letter so that he was credited a leave of it? I do, can I have that again?
But though this place is bigger, though there are more people, all I see is more steps to take, and more strange gazes to avoid. Fair enough, I guess.
I can't expect to find what we had, Bri, can't expect to find a crush like you, Daja. But what I do hope to see is a phase of the continuation of the poetic chronicles, expect to keep going.
I'm not stuck in the past, I'm just reminiscent, I remember you both in ways that forced my creativity.
Baby bri, my poetic queen and dancing goddess, though pretty not many found you, you were beautiful to me, poem after response, making my brain steam. Thank you for being there.
And, Daja, the silent vigil, seeing through the soul by piercing through your eyes, you made me feel things I had long forgotten. You made me feel infatuation, you made me feel want. For the first time in my life, I grew up. You did this, and for that I thank you too.
Brianna, I can't explain it anymore, I may have a poem, but you have a name to me, something that even I lack to myself. Do you wonder what I'm up to? I sometimes question why it happened the way it did, but I think an answer has become apparent.
Daja, did you know how sassy you really were? You were my definition of a jazzy subconscious, jamming old music that was classic and quietly contemplating what I believe were personal issues. I don't know what you thought, but I have a confession, that poem I gave you? That was the wrong one. In reality, I had a personal one, but I was too scared to give it to you. So I switched it, hoping that the picture christian drew  for you would fit with it. But I realize now what was to honestly happen, I now see why I saw you in the first place, why i knew you.
The two of you, the Angelz of Autaugaville, misunderstood at times but completely understandable to all. One passing through "Love"  like a tunnel, switching positions continuously, but a romantic at heart. And the other, an invisible, what are you thinking? What are you feeling? what are you seeing? Sweeter than soft grapes and a voice as smooth as honey. A spirit I could read and a reason I couldn't find. You two were my wisdom angels, you helped me grow to be who I am at this very moment, and for that I'm continually grateful.
I love you both, though I'm probably forgotten, in any context you'll accept.

Tonight.
Where the hell am I?
what's going on?
I can't tell anymore. I feel like I'm in the middle of a spiraling atmosphere. I sink into the couch like a black hole and stick there, smiling at passersby as they look at me and smile in confusion and disconnect of my thoughts
Smile no more, I'm uninterested in petty conversation, don't feel like cutely arguing with the brunette by the grandfather clock, spilling whatever's in her cup on her bra, forcing looks from perverse passersby. I'd rather be chilling on the computer typing a poem in the middle of the dark in a room with no furniture and listening to music that I can't relate to.
Smiling at the crowd as my spirit warms enough to politely leave, I stand up and blink. Immediately, the vision of the crowd disperses, I see nothing but the light emitting from the laptop on the floor. I look around, blinking more.
Where did they go?
Where am I?
I'm back to the start, back in my unfurnished room, alone in the dark as the street lights shine in through the cracked blinds. I shake my head in realization. It was a mirage, nothing happened, all of my insistence on leaving was for an event that never happened.
I shrink to the floor and lie down,hand on my head in frustration. I want the scene, I want to want to leave from somewhere rather than not be anywhere. So I pick up the laptop and tap a few keys, sending me to lover's land as I effortlessly type more and more of stories long forgotten. I wish It would stop, wish I could stop loathing in self-withdrawal and become more than I feel.
**** these visions, **** these thoughts, let me slip past them and get comfortable, let go of my mind and allow me to become less concerned, let me be lonely in mind again.
Leave.

I fell in love with a profile and a personal text, does that make me weak? I fell in love with a personality rather than a person, does that make me a statistic?
I’ve never been able to form a real physical bond, yet I’m intimate with intimacy, I’m contained by caresses and blessed and blissed within a warm kiss.
I’ve wanted love from you for a while, kiss the forehead, munch the lips, tasting the love spawned physically between us. What would you think of me if you knew?
What would you say if I kissed you right now, locking lips with my love and making a show of stroking your long black hair? What would you say if I told you I loved you and wanted what was best for you? Would you listen to me, love, would you?
I long to be heard by you. Apple cinnamon, sugar sweet, so sweet to bring a pain to the heart of a double-crosser, so sweet as to bring any man to his knees in submission to you: a ghostly figure, luminous dark eyes, yellowish pearls as teeth, body fit for who it was meant, and a love as strong as the chemistry that keeps our hearts pumping and our minds alive and well.
I want you, I desire  you, I am in a state of infatuation so deep under myself it gets hard to breathe, but the only one who can help me out of this hole is you.
Let me be your poet, I’ll lust you in words oh sweet as to instantly cause cavities.
Let me be your infatuation, I light a spark in your heart and tend it until it roars into a flame, then into a fire, a fire as hot as to melt the shackles around you, around your soul.
Let me be your love. This I beg of you. I want to be your everything, your anything. I want my name to be synonymous with “heart”, I want to cause jamborees and jubilees in your mind by simply saying the phrase I’ve meant for so long to say.
I love you.
I do love you, so let me. Let me be the light in the dark tunnel. I don’t mean to open this to interpretation, I only mean to pray to be around and help you through.
Let me love you, let me love you, let me love you. Sitting as I am, with my mind in disarray, this phrase is all I can repeat.
I am bare, love, and you clothe me.
I am pained, love, and you heal me.
But I am lonely, and as of this moment, I anticipate your cure once more.

An association of two souls that makes them feel less vulnerable to the outside world. It's a different type of commitment to musiq soulchild, but some take it further.
Will you ever marry a buddy? Depends on who she is, what her motives are, and what yours are.
think hard, who is your real buddy? What do they want? Are they worthy to be yours? Are you worthy to be theirs?

@The Jacket.
Love, can I treat you like I treat my jacket? Taking you wherever I go, showing the love I have for you through my sleeves and tuning you to my body, pulsating throbs of my heart as our two frictions force reaction.
I want to have you close to me, heavy hood be your hair as it sinks close to me, covering my neck with loving protection, covering my shoulders with your arms entwined with mine as if we were truly one, covering my length and letting me know that we are at a temperature of comfort and ability.
I want your body to clothe me, zip up tight and never let go, hugging me with all the comfort in the world and lifting yourself as to be a silent watcher to me, a shield to my being from the enemies that threaten us.
I want your hands to be the pockets, close yet separate, deeply rooted as if it were your faith placed near my sides. Holding me as I hold you.
I want our love to be the zipper, running through both our forms, creating a new feeling, making a new being, forging us.
Yet who are we? Who are we to claim to be so close in cloth yet so young in mind, so strong in emotion and so weak in body?
We are the very fabric of nature, hooking to machines that form the sewed outlines of other such fabrics, forming the earth and inciting war among our emotion.
We walk through the public proudly, you clinging to me and I, chest puffed like a bird in mating season, acquiring a taste for the strange looks and stranger people who deem to judge us based on their understanding.
Hot weather, cold weather, mild and comfortable weather. Rain or snow, sleet, hail, or hell’s heat, I intend to keep you close, as you are more than cloth covering me, you are the being caressing me, kissing my spirit and cradling my heart in the warm grasps of your fabrics, pressed closely to my chest in an attempt to make me feel better about myself, hiding my form so that none shall see what I deem stay hidden.
And I shall love you, I shall do all that I can to keep you safe and keep you near, mend you and wash you, clearing your mind and body of the impure, soaking your fabric and drying them out once more. Tonguing your soul while hugging you back, rubbing your threaded flaws and letting you know that they are necessary, that they are noted and left as forgotten. Unafraid to dawn you and worthy to criticize yet keeping grateful to have you when the nights get cold and my soul needs your warmth.
The world is a cruel place, and it gets worse every day, which is why, my love, I want you to be my jacket, and I shall be yours.