Isn’t love what we think it is? You have me falling in love like a trap-door, and I’m all yours once I re-enter. You are my space, everytime I’m around you I get blank that way you may fill me with your tales, with the memories of you and I, us and we. Plural life as if we were words, but in a way we are. I can go down a list of adjectives that describe you, yet only one word describes us.
Infatuated.
Our souls are two blades curved in on themselves, yet when they are placed together form the sacred symbol of what we find as love. Irony in it’s purest form.
You refuse to cease to amaze me, so grant me this one favor, when you hear the voices of your past, think of my voice, my walk, my face, my hands, my love. I will forever miss what we will have when the days are done.
You place me in a garden of echoes. I hear them wherever I go, so is it safe to tell you that you are my garden? Is it safe that you know that your voice is like a lullaby to me? Because it’s true. Without the mellifluous voice of intimatic emotions biting on my ear, I can’t function correctly.
So I always miss what I have, what I may lose one day, but I always remember that an echo isn’t an echo until it is found once more by the ears of the one that had sent it’s vibes askew. So I’ll be waiting, my love, until I find your voice becoming my echo.

my generation spans miles at convenience stores, backing eachother when it comes to the video games and electronics that keep us combined in ways meaning friendship in real life, and best friends in virtual reality.
Yet my race keeps itself in a way that makes us look destined to destruct, to love each other and then spit in the face of our loved ones as if we were meaning disrespect.
Why?
Why is it that a poet can understand things in different ways than other people yet the thoughts be the same? why is it that one can be brought to tears and bring up gender as if it makes a difference?
I haven't a clue, but it makes a soul hurt, it makes thoughts begin to wonder and minds to ache in contemplation.

My heart is like an animal, and you, my love, the tamer.
You are the very glue that holds me together, and I think you know it. From the first time I saw you pass me in the hallway, I knew that our souls would somehow connect, and you were to be my other soul, my other part, a new me.
Did you feel it too? Did you know what it was I was feeling? Because I felt like you did. From your shy laugh to your sullen conversation, all of you intrigued me, and you didn’t even have to try. I knew I was probably a few numbers down on your list, but this wasn’t the lottery for us, we were meant, and ironically it took longer for us both to recognize it and shorter for us to separate, yet still be together in spirit.
When I saw you that day, and you saw me, I knew the flame was reconnected as if it were fed into the very pit of which it would burn and multiply for all eternity, a new born flame for a newly forged love.
We are the fire
I the flame
You the fuel
Yet neither is effective without the other, for what is a flame without its fuel? It’s a mere spark, one whose heat may be felt for mere half instances and leaving a forsaken light to show its treachery. No, that wilt not be us this here day.
You and I know what this is; an intermission to us is actually a life-time to the world. Let us glide on the wind that we produce through the rotations of our natural axis, rotating around each other like dance partners, yet no sport do we see this as.
You’ve asked before what my hidden intentions were, and I was honest with it, I have none. Yet because of the cracks in your heart and the chips taken off of your acceptance and pride, you refuse me. But I’ll be patient, waiting for you like the crops wait on the sun for their nourishments, but don’t keep me waiting too long lest you drive my soul away from you.
Now do you see it? I am truer than a fable told by the witness, you can put trust in me. But no, you don’t see me the way I do. Over time I may be able to break down your barriers, but not at once. And when that time comes, when I miraculously pass your tests, I want you to look me in my eyes, smile that beautiful smile and speak to me.
“My love, his love, her love, their former, my current, and their never seen future. Love me like I love you, for now that I see into you my air is lighter and my courage raised because I know that I have you backing me no matter what. Thank you for the love, for without it I would not have managed. Kiss me like you do, that way I can feel your heat adding to mine as if this were addition.”
And I would kiss you. I’d watch you bite your lip as if you were confused and make you believe what you have seen, the true love of a king, a god, a lover, your lover. That one that sees you as a friend that is closer than the rest will ever get, that one that keeps your secrets passed the grave, past eternity, past indefinitely and all the way until the end. Your shoulder filled with the tears you cry and the confessions that you spoke. Your necessary outside view in every situation you require me, and your third-party vote against whatever you deem unfit for you.
Love me like you do and we shall be fine, for your delicious love is all my taste-buds have ever, ever desired.

a distant memory is considered irrelevant, yet all a thought is is a formulating memory.
That's what I call this, a memory and the making, as you are you and I am I, I'd want to remember you for the long run, and keep you close to my soul

None shall cherish what was never meant to be,
none shall challange what was and what has come.
None of my lovers have ever loved me,
and I'm in a pit of lonely I can't escape from.

I was once a more free soul, only concerned about what I was ding and where I was going, but then my paradaigm was  shifted. Luckily, I leapt out of bordom and made personality my mistress, bending her to my will and following her as she lead me through the section of my life where I needed her most.
But it all changed.
It was al taken away without a goodbye or even a subtle wave of longing. I was lonely again, stabbed in the heart, left lifeless as if I were a physically dead body.
What once took over me as a feeling of annoyedness with the public has forced a want out of me, a hunger for their attention. And I'm sad to say that that hunger has fueled many a regretted act.
vent to me, a poem to you, random word structure to those who couldn't care. They'll never cherish my words, never try to feel where I come from, and I wish that they might.
But alas, you can't capture everyone, so I stay close to home, praying that those who can understand me continue backing me with the love, the love I'll always continue to be thankful for, the love I'll always

Cherish.

Classic fairytale love is what it was to us. You being the spoiled rich ******* the block and me the poor, lonely expresser who stole your heart as if I could live off the mere heat of it.
We were fated, middle school crushes, High school sweethearts, college lovers. Our closeness judged by the length of time we spent together, and as college kids, our making love was sweeter than honeysuckles, more spiceful than Spanish rice. We had a poetic passion unlike any the world had ever seen
But your love for me wore off fast, you’d acquired a taste for un-sampled  cuisine. That would’ve been fine had I not found out on my own. I found out about them, one or two would’ve been bad, but Six?!?! Do I bore you? Don’t try to wiggle your way out of this, it only hurts me more.
Your voice gets tighter as you ridicule me for my actions, but I can’t hear you anymore. I don’t know you, I fell in love with a love and a lover, not this whorish display in front of me. You yell louder, climaxing my urges, I send a jolting hand fast across your cheek. I already feel the guilt and regret, tears spilling from my eyes, I get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness.
You forgave me.
And somehow we ended up making love that night, only, it was no longer love. My regret fueled me, but I didn’t want to touch you anymore knowing how many hands do so in my absence. Now I thought we should go our separate ways.
We stop speaking but remain on friendly terms as you continue your cheating barrage on  your new lovers. I still have feelings for you, but the betrayal has me cornered in a pit of emotion that’s  steady pulling me down, down, down into an aggressive element.
But we are still friends, right? So I’d like you to come to a show that I’m making, I intend for it to be a wild ride. You watch the crumbling masquerade with painful eyes, the other audience members leave in shock at the agony of the destructed art. The show was a disaster that destroyed any chance at a career I had. You consoled me, filling my head with sweet words and fantasized hopes, keying in my engram of you.
We ended up in bed once more, bare bodies spent as we fell asleep. All it took was a moment of weakness.  I leave you momentarily to doze as until you fall asleep, crazy thoughts run through my head as I stare at my **** body in the bathroom mirror, a body that had been reserved for you. I tried hard to suppress the urges again, thinking of the good times we had and the wonderful love we made, but it wasn’t helping, It was only making my shy, sweet mind turn vicious.
No, don’t make me do this! Screaming in my head as a homicidal idea takes over my conscious mind. She had nothing to honestly do with this! But my rationality ebbs as my snapped heart seeks its retaliation. My world begins to disappear around me as the urge takes over. I am sensually invisible: no hearing, no sight, no feeling.
But the sensation seems to last only seconds before my senses snap back on and I discover what was to be…
What have I done !? Two slits where your cherry-wood brown eyes used to be and the guilty utensil in my hand, a knife, colored crimson all the way to the handle. I panicked in my guilt and got on my knees. No repentence for what I had done, too late and too heavy a burden to apologize.
But there was one way I could make my wrong a right, I could second the wrong. I could join you on the other side and remake what we had. The idea only flashes in my grieving brain, but it’s enough to make me settle on it. I put both hands on the handle, thrusting it heavily into my belly and commit my own honorable seppuku.
Passion killing is what they called it when the authorities arrived. Two long time lovers, dead before the dawn, I was influenced deeply by my mind, and my heart was betrayed by it. But now I guess we both know the extent of a betrayed Poetic Passion.

The country.
A little girl, forced to the ground by police twice her size. What was she doing wrong? What was the honest reason for it? Why did they see her, out of the entire crowd, as a threat severe enough to be rough-housed?
A little boy, playing with his toy pop-gun, like we all have, but the police claim to have feared for their lives as they drive past him. They turn around, in their car, get out and open fire. What was it that made this little boy look like a threat? Did they honestly believe that a child would chill in his own yard, fully exposed, just aiming a random weapon at random people?
A chubby man, ever hungry of tasteful things, has brought about a new hunger for the rest of the minority world. How can you honestly say you feared for your life, mister officer? He said he couldn’t breathe on several occasions as you strained the life out of him in front of multiple witnesses.
A poor man, looked homeless, running from the police. No weapon, no fight, just natural fear of someone who’s afraid of the trouble that’s been brought them. They shot him down in broad daylight and got upset at those who shouted their disapproval of the actions.
A church for the community, welcoming all with open arms. No security checks, no guards or peacekeeping officers. Just a church who wanted to praise the lord in whatever way they could. A homicidal maniac came through their doors, sat in a bit before opening fire with automatic weapons. How can you call yourselves warriors of god if when your own life’s at stake you beg and plead through five reloads instead of taking the actions necessary to neutralize the threat? Many died that day in carnage, and their families weep with te rest of the world wishing them a rest in peace. Right after the event, you want to forgive the killer? You mean that the blood splayed by your kin means nothing to you? The death of men women and of all ages means nothing to you?
Don’t feed me that “God wants peace” Line anymore, I’m tired of it. He gave you hands to put together in prayer, yes, but he gave you fists for protection. He gave you a voice to shout in his name, but it’s also a mouth for raising the battle cries of a raging spirit waging war.
You see it only as the “Peaceful” Light, I see it much deeper at my age.  People wished this man a speedy sentence to the nearest clinic to clear his head. Take it off, I say, for if this sort of insanity causes ****** then he needs to be lobotomized.
The list of events is endless, literally, I merely touched the surface in an attempt to shed a light on what it is.
Some say it’s not genocide, some say it’s mere coincidence, no my brotha, no my sista, running into an old friend is coincidence, finding a penny on the sidewalk is coincidence. This is by design, whose, I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean there’s no design in affect.
I have a solution for these plans though, it’s a hard call, but a solution that’s inevitable.
Separation.
Re-build your own communities, my people, and stop ******* it out. Stop spending so much money at the neighborhood walmart and grow your own **** food. Stop living off of welfare and make something out of yourself other than a tight pants street-walker imitation.
Pedal money back into the community instead of once it hits your hand you spend it at fancy stores knowing that you live in the housing projects, knowing that the car you drive isn’t yours and isn’t paid for. Become the gods and goddesses that you are truly meant to be and revive the ancestral Kings inside of you and revive your communities.
The simplest way to end hate is to get away from it, and once we get our own back, we should do just that.
-the justice has spoken

Anyone who knew her last name knew the fire she set in the heart of the expresser. I called her Bri, girl wonder, the original poetic queen by her own words. She called me her poetic god when I was first getting off of my feet in expressive poetry.
I took it slow, like a freeze-frame of which I’m not too proud of. If I may, I’d like to sort of explain what was happening in my position.  A beautiful day, cirrus clouds, December Alabamian weather. I was leaving, never to return or try my hand at our love again and all I wanted to do was show love to the one who’d declared she would desire it from me.
Insane.
Insane for thinking that a request of which as simple as it is can rearrange the very fabric of time would be accepted into the universe and granted to me as a blessing and a step forward in lively progress. My last wish was a simple kiss.
But it wasn’t meant to be.
Why? Why something so harmless as a that would put so many barriers before itself in an effort to avoid it is beyond me, but what I do know is that it haunts me to know that I missed my opportunity and let out an emotion of neglection, and I hope she didn’t create a feel of aggravated rejection In her heart, for that wasn’t my intention.
She, my dancing queen, right? Shier than the sun at two A.M, too self-conscious about the smallest detail yet still flawless, true poet by accident yet a poet all the same.
This woman’s worth, like Maxwell. The worst like Jhene Aiko. But my ribbon in the sky like Stevie Wonder, basically a symphony of emotion that I played a part in. I, a master of ceremonies in her play of life as she expressed herself and wrapped me in layer upon layer of unknowing intimacy.
Why? Why do I always fall for your type?
Why did I fall for you?
I can’t explain without uprising the controversy in my heart, the controversy growing in my soul,
Love.
What I believe we were trying to achieve before the divide, the main reason I sit on the couch listening to love songs and counting my losses as they compare to my blessings and curse the time that brings turns in events, buildings to the ground, men to their knees in submission to the will of it.
Love
What I would’ve said if I’d had time to show more of it. You are the ocean to my sea creature, the grasslands to my herbivore, the nature to my nature, a perfect fit through connection.
Thick lips, wide hips, dark chocolate skin with a clueless soul, I was the gateway in progress, the channel for the guided ship. You made me find myself better, closer, more accurately, and I will never forget you for it.
Not everyone is meant to keep in contact, but our souls are entwined within a universe all their own, a dance floor to you, a laptop and forum for me, completely customizable, and a warm embrace where our worlds collide and create the aftermath, the afterlife, of which all shall witness the greatness of such a creation.
The abdication of a king, the separation of a natural pair, the things that we must live through, so if you remember me, When you remember me, think of the possibilities, the unknown realm that we never explored.
Brianna
The heat of the fire I kindled in my heart, the girl who left the mark of possibility and opened my mind.
My first queen, my billionth girlfriend, but first pending love. I gave her her credits and accolades once more.

@Un-named
Stop talking to me as if you know what you’re saying, you and I both know that you’re going through a motion that you never asked for. I feel the presence of a ghost everytime I pass your cold, and life-left form, but you never died, just grew colder and colder until your soul could no longer stand the chill of your frozen form.
And you know what you did, you broke me with your withdrawal, although money was never involved. You went around, scaring me with your promiscuity and crushing the very last thing of a soul that I had. Why? Why hurt me in that way? Why spit in my face as if I were the enemy in an ongoing, unknown war. Why? What is your synopsis? You know what, nevermind anymore.
I could hear the future on the first day I met you, it kept whispering in my ear words that I had constantly pushed into the back of my mind, letting your beauty take over my eyes and fill my brain with the fantasies that you placed there. You toyed with me, with my heart, and for that I must admit I am sad to be around you. You made me vulnerable to a disease that I had never ever felt before, but you dubbed it love, I dub it lust, ****** attraction is all we had, you didn’t want more.
But I did.
I wanted you.
Why couldn’t you accept that? If you were scared then you should’ve said so, hadn’t I showed you my easy-going nature? I never should’ve went with you to the movies that day, never should’ve played your silly games, never should’ve even acknowledged that you existed after the first mistake. Were we a mistake? That was the simple question I had asked you, was it really that hard a probe? Did it really require more than a few seconds of thinking? Well congratulations, You’ve shown exactly how you feel.
I’ll get over it, sure, it’ll take time, but I will, and you knew that which is why you played me so close like that. No, I’m not running back to you like a track-star. I want my way, you want yours, yet only one of us was willing for a compromise, Why? For god’s sake, Look me in the eye and tell me what you thought was the problem. No answer? So typical, I figured you’d exit on your own agenda once your motives were fulfilled. But before you go could you please lock my door back, I was writing before you ruined me and I intend to do so even after hearing this news. Too much has life placed on me to force me to comply with the demands of the god that I have sworn to love, yet everything seems to play me like a drum-set.
Love is war, lust is peace, yet one is perpetual and one is meant as a façade for the true meaning of what the other is supposed to offer. Not straight-forward, but still as ***** as an arrow, nevermind what we say, the world is our journal, hear the poet’s wounded roar.

Thoughts

My thoughts are constantly changing, sometimes thoughts of an old girl, sometimes of an old friend, some times of a moment I let slip away into the oblivion that I call my atmospheric spaces.
I think of her now, and it’s almost been 7 months, and how exactly she changed my view. I think of them now, and wonder what they’re doing and hoping all is still well.
Do you think they still remember me? With most of the signs I picked up, all is usually forgotten at the end of the day, mutual friendly love is sizzled in the scorching heat of the quick moving sands of time.
Frustrated
Can there be any other word for it? A personality of sarcasm and subtle sweetness, a heart of pure gold and a soul that speaks tales of happiness, trial and sorrow.
Truth be told, I miss ‘em. Nearly everything about them. They were my real first look into the outside world, into a space beyond my own and into the universe beyond me.
Am I missed?
Perhaps now, but to know that I’m still a thought floating around that building, a clear question on a few minds and a few intimate memories is all that my heart wants.
I want to know that I am thought of, that I did leave a mark on the empty canvas they call Autaugaville, that thepoetic in thepoeticjustice is still un-forsaken and that my mind hasn’t been replaced with that of another. That although people come and go, I am still in the forethought of all those who saw who I was.
Again, these are just thoughts of mine, but they weigh heavy on my heart. So I want you guys to know that although you can be annoying, you can be pretty fun too. I love you all like the funny family that I had never quite had and let you all know that you are ever in
My thoughts.

The deep is the hole I fall into that has me in submission. The escape I find in the day, that keeps me sane in small doses, but drives me crazy in large ones.
Crazy for you
The deep is you, the only thing I think of half the time. Kissing your legs, ******* your toes, biting playfully on your neck, showing you my love for you and your body. Slowly caressing your curves and gently rubbing on your flesh, exploring you.
But it’s more than ****** love.
You say it’s ***, I say it’s intimacy. You say it’s foreplay, I say infatuation. Yet we’re on two of the same plane.
I poetically break you down like a pro, weakening your resolve and opening you up to options. Making you moister than weather, come with me, we’ll rain together. I’ll show you the pride in my heart and you’ll show me the love that I have needed for so long. I’ll show you my soul and its intentions, but only if you show yours as a consolation to my open and honest ways.
After I leave from a day of tension and anger, can you be there to greet me when I get back to you? Will you kiss me on the lips and welcome me back to the excitement I desire, the flames that I require to heat up my fire again?
You tell me ****** activity is what drives me, but that’s not how I see it. I see it as us bonding in a general way. Not reproductive, not recreational, just us two. But you still don’t believe me, and I don’t know why.
Ask me something about you, what’s your favorite number? !5. Your favorite movie? After-earth. Favorite tv show- shall I go on? Your favorite past time is cuddling up with a kindle and watching old re-runs from years ago. But yet you say I don’t know you?
I’m in too deep, it’s too good to end on a low note, my voice is low enough to carry the tones as low as you need it to go, we’ll get higher near the end, and hopefully I’ll ascend with you. I call you my lover, but you’re much more than that, you’re my counterpart, my other form placed in human. Baby, we’re nearly the same.
And it scares me.
Scares me that when you feed off of your own insecurities, you’re feeding off of mine too. Would you be  a bad parent? did you look good enough at prom? do you think people remember you when you step away? Stop thinking about it, love, come back to me and let’s live in the present like new pets in gift boxes.
I love you, ok, and regardless of how much it freaks you out to hear that word, it’s the truth, and you know it is. Do you feel the same? I don’t know, but I want to find out, before you drag me deeper inside.
The Deep

You.
I know you more than you believe I do, I’m afraid, so what you say has already been affirmed or denied by what I know about you.
I can feel that you’re hurting, but you won’t tell me what’s really going on, I’m not sure if giving up is an option that’s not worth the risk.
I’m afraid that you might hurt yourself, or worse. Is that such a bad thing? You don’t talk, you don’t eat, you don’t cry, you don’t bathe, you don’t think. You’ve nearly convinced me that you’re an addict of some sort, and it scares me.
I talk to you nearly everyday for the next few months to chill you out after rehabs, after your second and third chances, but you relapse severely again and again like you don’t want to quit. I cut you off and you cut your wrists. How can you resist? You resist me, the helper of the haul to you, you block me off as if I’m not wanted. But regardless, I’m here, like it or not.
I love you enough to care. You disappear for days and come back higher than the skyscrapers that I believe you imagine about. But when you come down hard into my arms you find the sensibility to cry at yourself. But it could be for my sake only, but it’s not working, I’m losing sleep over you, your health deteriorating, you’re stealing from me like I’m the enemy, but I’m still the only pillar that your castle has to stand on, and regardless of how hard you push, the weight of my position keeps me glued to you so that you don’t fall any harder.
But you won’t listen to me anymore, you’ve basically fired me from your life, who am I to complain, but then, who am I to comply? I know you want it, but you need me, and so all I can honestly do is pray that you don’t overdose on your pride or anything else long enough to get help…
I’m too late, they’ve found you once more, bruised, beaten and stuck in the clouds of your mind, laughing at nothing and speaking gibberish that even you probably can’t understand. Dying, beaten, hurting, needing, wanting, having. I should’ve been there with you, holding your hand making sure that the harm didn’t go to you. But they couldn’t give you back to me, they couldn’t help you out of the stupor that you had stooped to. And I couldn’t help either. It was time to let you go, permanently, I’m afraid. Why did you have to go? Why did you have to give into the desire for it? You knew it would only hurt you, why did you do it to yourself, to me?
The thunder claps in my ear as I cry at the grave of the loved one I used to know. Rains pour on me, winds rage, emotions flair. You’ve been in the ground for under two days and I already miss you. I miss everything about you… even your habit. I know what it does, but you’re gone, what do I have to lose?

My attitude has changed, my paradigm of the world has been tainted with the taste of sorrow and the funk of death. I become a phantom in skin, the angel of demons or the demon of angels, regardless, I feel alone and unwanted. And thus I follow you once more, thinking of you with syringes around me, life ebbing and waning, eyes shutting but slowly opening revealing an area of the city that I had never traveled to, a place in my domain that was foreign. I wanted to leave, but go where? And thus, with the face of you in my view and the thought of your voice in my ears, I slip down the road less traveled, following your footsteps once more.
Love lost, heart faded, alone in his own creation. The god has fallen, the wrong path has been taken…

Shocks of pain haven’t the slightest effect on me, You’re the cure to the pains I’ve felt. You’re the one who clears my mind like the backspace clears Microsoft pages. Simple as you are, you solve complexities that the common world can’t handle.
I was lonely once, I had a gap in my chest that wasn’t filled easy, in fact, no mortal could fill it. Only you could, a queen, a goddess I had called you. And you didn’t disappoint, you held out untl the end of the war of hearts, and I’m in love with you for it.
Yet we don’t move, we stay in the same position as we always have, lovers, loves. When can we move on?
I was thinking marriage, you were thinking Quickie. I was thinking whole-hearted love, you were thinking child-like intimacy. But We’ve met at a new point, the point that I knew was an inevitable circumstantial element.
Destruction.
Look at what you’ve turned me into , look at my words and imagine the heat behind them. Look into the lines of my words and imagine them as my eyes. They’re filled with the tears of the lies you had put into my ears. The hopes that you hyped me up to. The stories that you concocted to blind me from your true self.
You were love.
That emotion that I had blindly chased after in hopes that I’d achieve it.  You lied. You told me all I wanted to hear in exchange for me to give my life to you, the emotion that has inspired many a war.
I tried to refuse you, for I hadn’t felt you much. I just wanted to feel special to someone, special to anything other than myself, and you couldn’t do that for me. You didn’t keep your promise, in fact, you destroyed my faith in the world.
Poem after poem I wrote about it, about you, Yet you still disperse with every setup you create, stop toying with me, Fight like you’re supposed to . Stop throwing sand and running, you hurt only yourself.
My soul is crushed, heart stomped on by the boots of thousands, tears absorbed by the thirsty lips of millions, skin digested by the hunger of those now sated. I did this for you, and I do it no more.
No more shall I spend my time, wallowing, wonting to your abusive nature. I spend more time thinking of ou than I do thinking of my own life. You bring my soul to an ache, my eyes to an overflow, my head to a crippling pain and my body to the ground, toppling like a tower struck from the bottom.
Now do you feel my pain? Do you see the internal struggle you’ve caused me? Do you feel the emotion in the mere words I utter? Do you gaze at the water raining over the fire in my eyes? Do you see the physical decay of my form? The form that was set up for love and loving? I’m hurting, I can’t stress that to you enough. My body’s failing me, I’m dying inside and out, and the cause, I think you know now, is You…
Yours truly,

   A wrecked and ravaged spirit.

Sugar is sweet by itself, but even more so when mixed with flavors.
She is the flavor, one I’ve never savored before, one that’s intriguing to me to a point of shear attracted interest, and I believe she knows it. She can hear the interest, can feel the heat of my words, and I feel hers as well.
Heavy conversation? I think not, It’s a natural for us both, whether or not we realize. For we are both expressers, both professing emotion like analysts.
Poets
The Irony of it is that she’s better, but I don’t mind, we are after all different professions of the same thing.
Sweet like syrup, shy like mockingbirds, hesitant as kittens, flow like the winds that blow the currents of the ocean, and as vibrant as a child high on fructose.
Feminine intuition should tell her she’s entering dangerously close territory, but she powers on through it regardless, perhaps with ruby red blushed cheeks, perhaps with a whole-hearted smile, perhaps not. But she has taken it, she has taken my eyes off of the situations, the standards, and placed them squarely on  her.
I haven’t felt the buzz in a long time, haven’t felt the attraction in mere moments, yet they have both been reawakened by her.  What’s going on in my head? Is there something that I’m missing? Indeed, It’s her.
A poet in every sense of the word, and a beautiful fortune more so. Her name is synonymous with soul, her eyes are only described as deepening pools of eternity, smile described as Insta-ready, but is that all? Whoever mentioned it was unjust to her. For her smile speaks more than she. It tells of trial and error, love and lost and perhaps more.
She has lost much, but what she has lost shall be regained somehow, and I pray I’m around to see her dreams be achieved singlehandedly by her,  girl wonder. Taken more stress than the human body should bare and still walking through the hell with clenched fists and a strong gait.
I can feel her presence, sense her sadnesses, why cry? No need for tears of sorrow for you one day, no need for fears or upsetments. I know she knows who she is, and I hope these words touch her, for nothing else shall harm her, nothing shall infiltrate her innocence and take advantage, not with the help of my will and strength, and I give it to her now for her well-being and protection.
I don’t know her as much as I’d like, but perhaps I might, perhaps I might understand her complexities for good and allow them to stick close to me in whatever form of intimatic energy we find, whether friendly or deeper.
A speaker is simply an amplifier for sounds, a stronger voice for a weaker one.  I have been told that I’m the speaker, the strong voice in a world of weak voices, but I don’t see how. She is her own speaker, her own voice may rise louder and stronger than many that have been tried before her, and yet she still hurts. If I could, I’d take the pains away, protect her from what I believe is hurting her. But what if It’s not what I think? What if I’m merely protecting her from what I figured was hurting her and it wasn’t. What if I only end up messing up again? It’s not my intention to ruin the rose by picking it, but to let it linger in the **** patch would allow it to disappear from me.

Normal
The word pertaining to the behavior of the majority of the masses, yet I refuse the title like unmixed blood cells, pushing the average in me back until I’m taken by my higher self, my true form.
But you wouldn’t know much about that. You can’t wait to get home to watch TV or play your video games.
It’s normal.
Higher
Whether through drugs or levitation, getting high is easy. However, the average cannot reach this level, they cannot display this power. Only we can, us being the lyrical miracles that the world has once craved and the world being those around us that give us our inspirations.
Higher.
And I guess I’m a space shuttle. Yet I have felt no high in chemicals, no uplifting in elevators, just the heightening fuel that ignites in my brain. Yet some can’t take the heat of a burning mind filled with questions. But can you?
We are poems, poetry, poetic expressions. But it’s a dual edged blade of which we have all found. We’re all special, from A.D.D to suicidal, we have the experience to write tragedy. From love to loss we have the reason to write about romance. Love, fear, heroics, sadness, strength, all poetic expressions to us.
We are poets
The people who everyone looks at for supporting. Some of us are tough, some of us are pushovers, and some of us are pacifistic. Yet the reality of our gifts open up a new world for us.
We are poems
Our writings speak to our souls, that’s one more connection from our brains to our hearts and the entities beyond. I write about it and you understand where I come, my point of view. My pain, your inquiry, yet to hear it being read is poetic justice to our emotions.
We are communications
No, I don’t mean through phones or emails. I’m talking through spirit. You see a poet down, you help, period, as we are one and the same in heart.  A symbol of independence to those who forget the meaning of the word. But we’re a community and a family, so I love you like a brother or a sister because of the natural familiarity between us.
We are poetic.
Our lives are filled with instances where we simply need to express. Oh, the sweet and sour irony. Our day to day experiences speak for our poetic natures. Whether jamming to Taylor Swift or Tracy Chapman or Migos or even Luke Bryan, musics tell our moods and words tell our stories, our tales, our liveliness and oneness with our selves.
Poetic beings are we, and we are
Poetic

Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results, right? So what should I call it if I do this one more time and get the different answers? Someone forgot to factor in the unpredictability rate of females.
But I didn't.
I recognize how you do, what you do, so please don't underestimate the things done to or by any of us.
We are the angels of heaven, the gods of rome, the royals of England. Shall I go on? It seems needless if you get the points I'm making.
SO to start off, how are you today? Sure, I see you everyday, but that's the point. I wanna give you your deserved space, so when I stay at my table as you walk passed, don't think I'm ignoring you, I'm just trying to give you the space you are due, for I want to preserve this romance like strawberries in the winter.We
are what you seek, but I believe you seek more. WHat is it? Please, be straight with me, my heart cannot bare another user nor another usery. DO you see what I see when we lock eyes in class? Do you understand the concept of MY love? For my love, regardless of long or short, is different in comparison.
I know I've spit this before, I know you're tired of the same words to describe a different game. This isn't me anymore, it's us. This isn't courtship anymore, it's love. Actual love, I've never felt it before, never had it's taste on my tongue nor it's thought in my head.
But you've put it there. The chance for a real relationship!!! Am I really ready? Are you? then get ready, get set, let's go!!!!!!! The race is on, now I realize what the true effect you have on me is.
Now I can tell you how much I love you and how much I care for you, even if it's just a telepathic wish, you will feel the presence of it in  your forethought.
You make me want to overdose on love music, chillin on the bed in complete darkness, just marinating on the words and anylising there meanings, yes you, my heart and soul, sold to me by an unlikely vender, your soul.
So we traded, bartered actually. your heart for mine, a likely trade. But what are the expected drawbacks? No, I'm no skeptic, but I am real, so what are the real intentions of so magnificent a spirit?
I will be yours, for you are mine, but don't hurt me, please. I stay on my knees in prayer of an unbroken heart, yet so often it is. Alas, you are the one, so will my heart be safe? So often I asked that, so often it was answered with the same words, same attitude, yet at first chance they pulverised me as if I were a stone on a stone crusher, so all I ask is for you not to do that to me, my love.

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, it's all on me. Why try to fool me again? My heart's already withering...

I'm sorry, I don't remember you, what was your name? Funny how you can't remember who I am yet you were my world at one point.
An introduction wil sufice, my name is sea, yours must be moon because I'm steady drawn to you while you taunt me with your perfection.
bless me with the smile I'm used to and I may give you the carress of which you've been forgetting so it may jog your memory.
Do you still not recognize me? Perhaps a slight lock of the lips... Welcome back love, I've missed you far too much.
If only life were as simple as the above described, maybe then I might see her. The soul of a butterfly, the heart of a pheonix, yet a love with the strength of a thousand hearts.
She is my counterpart, a taboo to none but I, She.. the... god. My goddess of whom I've been missing. I welcome her with an open heart and a spacious view of her love.
I get on my knees in worship of my goddess, only to thank the lord for her. My personal blessing and I shall pay homage to her every chance I get.
To hold her, you can't imagine. She's the warmth of the sun, the sweetness of a black cherry, the softness of fresh picked cotton, yet ironically as cool as a glass of ice water to one parched and decrepit.
I'm in love, no, yes, no. What's the conflict? Why does it matter?
Am I not a the earth? Is she not a moon to me, or beter yet, an extension of my personal self? She satisfies the need for intimacy better than those before her and yet I can't think straight. Is this supposed to happen?
Mutual love. What I needed, she provided like a mother and child. Yet we're still at a disconnect.
She said we're romeo and juliet, did she not see the ending? or did that tell all I needed to know? I think not. She was a representation of what the heart wants, and the heart wants what it wants.
Sugar brown placid beauty, rest your head once more on my shoulders as we rest in a sunset meant for the long-hall and discuss what is meant to be of our distantly close relationship.
Pray we make it and kiss me goodbye, for when all is said and done no games shall we play but still bet it all against the odds.
Do you remember me? Nevermind colleague, we are in a multi-verse all our own.

I hear angels every time I enter the classroom.  They call from one place, always seeming to come from one particular individual.
The one of whom I would’ve given my heart to at that first moment’s notice.
She was beautiful in more ways than I think she realized, but I hope was well loved. Even though she was my crush, I never really got to know her much.
What I remember about her now is only a distant memory but one that’s cemented in my mind all too well for the archives of my cerebrum.
She was shy, maybe, or just didn’t have much she wanted to talk about. And her name rings in my ears still as I think of the “what ifs” of if she would’ve opened her heart to me, the rocking chair of the earth, eager for love yet slow for conflict.
I, of whom have been known now as poetic justice, she, the backbone of which I stand, boosted, yet she gets no credit, no credibility. I always stayed customarily in my place, wonting, wanting to show her the rare sight of specialness and sensibility that was on my heart.
But she wouldn’t speak to me.
Offer a yearbook picture. No
What about a friendly chat, what do I say? Why is my soul straining to accumulate the same personality that I yearn to show her? Why is it so complicated to talk to the one who stays her tongue and parses words to speak more than one word at speech?
But I respected that, for cinnamon tastes bitter without a mix of sugar .The sweetness she provided and the flavor I had. Yet no mix, the cinnamon stood alone but was still used in the kitchens of life in the sweets concocted by that of whom designed the vision.
Daja.
Black hair, almond skin, glasses made to fit her solemn eyes, and a soul whose presence blessed every room I entered that she was in. I admired her, and still do, for she  was her own center, off the grid yet advanced in every way.
A constant inspiration, I wrote my first published piece in honor of her.
Daja.
The ninth wonder of the world yet the first of such potency to me. She, the one of whom I would think of when I’d hear the word “Perfection”. Yet she spoke little to me.
Beautifully white smile, enchanting gaze of which sent chills up my spine as I matched. One could solve complex equations in her presence by just contemplating her shear brilliance. But she didn’t let herself flourish with the others.
And I respected that.
Lips as full as a child at a buffet, and she parted them little. I’d proved myself time and time again to be a fool in front of her and it shook my morale with every mistake I made.
When I hear her name I think of drake’s “From time” which symbolizes what state of mind I was in when around her.
A queen in the making and a princess by all standards, yet she noticed me little. This deep voice, awkward personality, and crafty word usage couldn’t ensnare her. She was set on her goals.
And I respected that.
But whatever happens in our human lives, I hope she finds all the happiness in the world that she deserves, for she deserves the maximum.
They call it a crush, but why? We were friends, wait, associates by societal standards, yet there was a feel there. Something that affected me even as my last days in her immediate area waned away.
Now I hear angels when I hear her name.
Daja.
The soul of the sphinx with the heart of a lion and the appeal of a peacock. She, the silence with which I was happy to have, the angel in the next seat, the beauty technically by my side.
Daja
The one with my eternal respect and admiration.

eyes are the first thing I notice when I look at you, but that's not all I look at.

From your beatifully tamed strands of black hair, to the bottoms of your sneakers. However, your eyes are what captivate me the way they do.

Beautifully dark brown, round as diameter, staring through my soul the way they stare at open books dedicated to you, the novels of poetry made in your honor even before you were born.

Eyes

the cells that my heart is chained in.

Your eyes

the attention grabbing, free roaming palace where I intend to stay. Swimming in your eyes as if around a pool, and you know I stare, because you always look back.