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.

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.

maybe I am bedeviled by thoughts of you everytime my mind slips into the abyss, maybe that's the reason I don't tap into it the way I used to.
But If I told you how I felt, it'd get swept under the rug.

Suppose my eyes burn behind these creme- thick glasses everytime I see you, suppose I hate the silence and fight the urge to burn my surroundings with the heat behind my eyes.
But if I told anyone what I saw, it'd get swept under the rug.

Imagine I listen to music and hear your voice, so I claw my headphones out like they were ice seeping into my skull and freezing my cranium with words oh so soothing as a double-edged blade sinking both ends into me, Imagine a tear escaping my eyes, voice raising in a blatant attempt to ease the pain.
But If I said a word about what I hear, it'd get...... well, I think you know what'd happen.
Lets dig under that rug, four feet by four feet area of infinite emptiness.
Half of my life has been hidden in there: emotions, mental, thoughts, pains, lusts, curiosities, questions, intents, past, present and future, all have been hidden under that rug.
It's stitches are one with my soul because it has so many of my confessions that it absorbs part of my soul.
I trust that rug more than I trust some of the hoes I claimed to trust from day one.
I trust that rug more than I trust some of the friends I've had since meeting.
That rug has an affinity for gaining people's trusts, like me.
That rug produces more positive vibes than power chords produce energy, and yet we wonder why something being swept under the rug is a bad thing.
I sweep myself under the rug because I know I'll be safe there. I know that with all the thoughts and emotions I share, that with that safe haven, I am assured.
I rest under the rug, I cry under the rug, I sleep under the rug.
As it is my home.
And I love it's sincere serenity.

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.

If I get to wish upon a rose tonight
All I want is to see your golden eyes.

I love the way your skin dances in the heat with not an inch of sweat while daunting your perfection.
I love the way your eyes glisten as you catch a moonlit grace from heaven, so beautiful you offend the sun.
I love the way your body sways as your hips swish when you know I’m watching. You’re too seductive for your own good.

But if I could wish for anything, I’d wish for you to drop the act.
Take off that **** make-up, your skin’s beautifully dark brown, don’t change it.
Get rid of that girdle, dear god those his curve without it.
Take off that wig and those fake nails, baby girl, I know your nails look tacky, but your imperfections are perfect so tell me why you need to look like someone else.
And of all the things, take out those blue contacts, for though I know the true color is brown, I can’t see the façade when your contacts are out. I can see naught when I stare at you
Nothing but your golden eyes.

@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.

Winter cherries
My heart is one of warmth and color, but a rarity in all aspects.
Like winter cherries
Sweetheart swarms in sudden bursts of imagination, stopping my heart and purifying the air with each breath she takes.
Never has the silence sounded so sweet as when it comes from her.
Never has invisibility been so noticeable as when she does it.
Never will I be able to share or distribute such a purity as she has.

Her chill is so obvious that there are no boundaries to the conversations we inaugurate. We ride the waves of giggles and chuckles that we form, playful arguments made and led into deeper conversations never finished.
I love the way we converse like buddies yet everything about us speaks of distant strangers. I wonder does she feel the same.
It’s something in the way her voice shakes or the way her eyes dart through mine when she looks at me. It’s something about the way she smiles in a way that shows she’s fighting it.
It’s her personality
It’s who she is.
And I’m shocked to say that I’m being struck down by her energetic placidity.
I wonder more about her than any other possible that I’ve ever known. I think of what she’s like and how she’d treat me if she knew me more. I wonder what I look like in her mind and what I look like out of her mind as well. I wonder how much she thinks about me, if at all. And the only answer I get is that of cherries in calmed snowstorm
Stems filled with white crystals as light as air itself when alone, yet at the collected fruit they weigh tons.
Falling in slow motion as the last crisp it could bare falls to a rest on its ruby red outer shell.
Frozen in air as I walk past and see it. Only wondering how long it should stay before it succumbs to the inevitability of gravity.
And her voice cracks my concentration.
It falls.
But no noise shall it make, it shall stay as quiet as the snow itself and remain a music in my mind.
The befalling of her voice
The falling of winter cherries.

My dreams dance around me like shadows dance around fire pits: swishing from side to side in so seductive a manner that I am mesmerized by their show. She is a dream to me. Dancing her body of lust around me in an effort to taunt me into submission, and I dare say I'm willing to submit to her.
There is an energy that she lets off that chokes my breathing when I speak and slows my reaction when our hands touch, for she is the kryptonite to my superman, and I willingly dive into her piercing crystals.
From the flick of her tongue, I know she is willing, come, butterfly, I will teach you how to soar as covers fly over over your body and your mind races with the pleasures I intend to lay upon you. Tell me that your mind doesn't get lost in the lust and I will tell you how much I'd love to prove you wrong.
Oh how I long to taste your seduction. On so many an occasion I had fantasized our connection as you paraded in front of me, dancing like shadows around a pit of fire. And I would savor the sight and enjoy the release of my love that ensued once my mind became clearer and my surroundings become empty.
My young goddess of lust. Might I savor your flavor and enjoy your skin like I wish? Perhaps one day when the timing is right, I shall take you down like I have countless times before in other realities and give you the taste of pleasure you pry me for.
Maybe one day I'll pull your head back by the hair and inhale your fragrance as I begin to devour you slowly and enjoyably for the world to see. Maybe one day I'll have you lie in front of me and open yourself for my exploration.
And on that day, I want you to know that you turned me into a beast of lust as built up like the seed I would eject into you.
You have turned me into a creature addicted to your skin. Addicted to your tongue. Addicted to your lips. A monster addicted to your ***.
You shall see my broken bonds as I tear your clothes, you shall see my shattered chains as I ram you with the anger hidden inside my brain and the frustration hidden deep inside my soul represented by the bite of my serpent.
And I shall abuse you.
Perhaps you'll respect me once you get a taste of the hell I had been through chasing you. Maybe when your back is bent, legs gaping and body frozen stiff by the fear of my lightening strikes will you see how willing I was to please you.
And not until I tear you apart will my flame of evil lust be extinguished. Not until your body is red from my pinches, not until your breast ache from the pull of my lips, or until the bite marks I leave you with begin to ooze your sweet nectar of red tears, not until then will I let you go. Even then, I may lick you clean once more and send you into the world a purified being.
You are a dancer in my eyes. A dancer of shadows and a product of the pit of fire from which you were birthed. But once I have your skin in my clutches, the only fire you'll recognize is the fire in my eyes as I make you moan the world away and the smoke brings tears to your eyes.

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.

Gasoline lies drip to the ground with each part of your lips
Drenching my heart in the foul odor of deception.
My own anger at you is the match
Struck with each false tale.

Bloated with the taste of sickening liquid lies, my heart catches aflame.
And I burn my anguish away.

I can taste the unfaithfulness on your lips.
Your sensuous nibbles do naught but solidify my fears.

You’re a liar and a heartbreaker
But right now, you’re all I have

From the depths of the ocean in your body, I always tend to find the geysers of satisfaction.
Breaking your body down in ways that make the profession of love minor to us both.
When we speak, the words flow like waterfalls that chip away the ice around your frozen soul and bring the heat of a thousand ages under frost now freed of the gymnophoria, the mental ******* that society does to it.
You are opened.
My cocoa skinned Cinderella, chocolate to the taste and caramel to the senses.
You are my forbidden treat that I indulge in with inconsistency, and when I leave, you always melt into the hands of evil habit.
Tears in the eyes of which I had only known happiness, story upon story uncovered on your emotion and the only thing I could do is ****** comfort you with the sailing a sad ocean.
I never did tell you I loved you, and now I regret it.
Maybe if I would’ve said that word, that rope wouldn’t have ended around your neck.
Maybe the wry smile of mischief wouldn’t have been replaced with the scowl of a year in love’s drought.
And with the tears you cried for me, I made my armor, an armor of strength I got from pushing you away, covering my shoulders in snake skin and play the role of deceiver, for as you know, all us snakes love the rain.
You would clasp my picture and cry as if I had died, thinking too much of me and directing me message after message after message until my inbox and voicemail were full, and I ignored you.
I pushed you to it with my promiscuity.
“No love for the loveless”, they said. “All hearts are equal in the eyes of god.”
I tried to return your call last year, but I only got the voice of your mother, maddened in disgust and rage in me and crying when she saw the caller ID with a heart on it.
She told me what happened, and I dropped the phone and cried.
This is the love rain: the rain that only emotion can inspire, for I thought I felt nothing for your innocent soul, but as it turns out, you were my everything.
And losing you to suicide was my worst mistake.

The fantasies are endless for me, ever the tease is the feeling of mutual love and loving that I fall asleep to the dream every night..

Body rocking happiness as we love each other's minds to a lull, bodies compressed into one as we made a new form of delicious.
It's clear I was ***** minded. My lips tingled as I watched her toes curl and listened to her voice ask for more. ****** after ****** until her voice hit a high note and It would chill my spine into a frozen jut into her once more before my breath became shallow and I would look down at my prey.
I would see that smile and lick my lips in excitement, more than ready to allow this round to end.
She would turn herself over and let me grab her cushion as I gave her the most I could without tipping over and closing my eyes. She would breath heavily into my pillow and hiss between her teeth, clutching at the covers like they were the only thing to keep her from falling.
The feel of her body would be enough to motivate me to continue until i heard louder moans from my baby, she would giggle at me and beg me to end it for her.
But I would make the little devil wait for it. And with a smile I'd tease her essence with the sweet words of linger that would let her know that I'm in it til her end. And then I'd tease her body
ever so softly
ever so firmly
until I would make her body shake uncontrollably and she would move on me, faster and faster until I would have to grit my teeth and regretfully ask her to slow down. But she wouldn't listen. She would have it, and she would have it now.........

But before the ******, I would always awake from this dream and sigh. My mind might be slightly *****, but a ***** mind without action is simply a mind that belongs to me.
A mind filled with fantasy

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

If she lies once more about where she was, I swear I might hit her.
She’s playing with my emotion, a force she’s never extracted from me before.
And It bothers me.

If she lies about why she smells like cologne again, I might get on my knees and cry.
She knows my delicacy, yet she still is determined to melt my silicon soul.

Jilted presence, ever-present guilt in her eyes, I can taste the sweat of betrayal on her cheeks.
She has broken my spirit and my longing for love.

If she breaks me one more time, I just might leave…. But I always come back. She has become my only reality, the only thing I’ve really claimed to love. And I’ve given her so much power that now
I need her

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.

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

Lilies Dancing in the winds of blown bombs over my crashing city of delicacy.
Body craving pleasures produced by electric dedications.
Mind venomous as snakes in the grasses that run over my colored flowers of perfection as they slither hideously toward me, trying to get a sip of the inner being known as me.
Thousands of feet trampling through my serenity like I am the grounds in a war zone- no harmony.
Chilled through the bone as I see the smokes of blazes flow through the air with a menacing perspective.
Glazed eyes as I stare down an enemy I can't see, fighting the feeling of being crushed like the grasses beneath his feet.
I must fight back, I must get out, I must get away.
Thrown fists and black sight, heat so strong yet so clear and crisp that it could've been produced abnormally.
A body cleared and a soul freed, yet us stuck on the earth are still being crushed by unseen force like flowers in a field
Shattered Irises

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?

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

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

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.

What if we got lost tonight? Tell me, would you be glad to be with me?
Because there’s honestly nobody I’d rather be with than you.
It’s just something about you, baby girl, that’s got me wondering if I could know you a little deeper,
If I could be a little closer to you,
If I could be a little louder with you.
Tell me what your pretty eyes see when you look across the table at the image of confusion and chaos known as me. Tell me what you hear when my voice cracks in the morning as I laugh at something stupid.
I’m so numb right now that I can’t think of what I’d say to you, my lips trying not to curl as I notice you bite your lip. How is it that you can’t see you’re taunting me?
Your beauty so noticeable and your purity so undefined that you make children purr, crooning like kittens cuddled into blankets in your warm grasps.
My god, you’re so beautiful. Why am I falling for you? Soothing voice that sends chills through my spines as my body shakes off the dusted burdens of past loves, making room for only you as I readjust my nature to fit yours.
What is it about you, wonder girl? Two years older than me yet an eternity apart. You’re quiet yet speak volumes in your eyes. Sweet and sensitive nature and a Latina sashay about her, yet you see nothing but pure inexperience in her eyes.
Nothing but pure outcast.
We are two, yet we are similar. And I’m drawn to her because of it.
Senior seduction unintended yet ever so real it should be a shame, if only I could get her to even remotely look my way.
She is my phantom, another thought in my mind that might never be fulfilled, another dream at night never turned reality.
Talking in her face and making her laugh at corniness, kissing her lips and looking deep into those pretty dark brown pools, feeling her warmth as our hands connect and her head rests on my proud shoulders.
I will be forever haunted by the dream to feel that love.
To feel a reaction of two cold souls making heat from snow.
To feel the emotion so long cursed and so long denied.

To feel Her love.

The feeling of falseness in the eyes of spectators is so apparent that it makes her feel like decoration flowers.
Petals glistening with passive aggression as a feature rather than a flaw.
Stiff neck as a stem that never shrinks and always flaunts the tantalizing sensitivity of her femininity.
Sensuous skirt that wraps around **** legs like two grassy leaves wrapping around a sassy stem.
Like a rose, she doesn’t respect time. She is beautiful and wants everyone to know it.
But she knows it’s only a face, she knows everything that everyone finds beautiful will wilt away and she won’t be so pretty anymore
She knows that her delicate red will grow older and that her body will shrivel. So she replaces it with more false faces. Plastic pieces perpetrating personality. She is no longer a rose.
She is a decoration. For though she holds onto it, her beauty has respectively faded.
As she is no longer true.
She has kept the rosy figure, but the ***** of her life has faded.
And that which was beautiful will never be beautiful again.
For nobody wants a dusty rose.

I hear voices in my head that guide my actions. I'm not crazy, I just like knowing somebody agrees with me.
Around the age of 10, these voices came to me in an attempt to make me forget about all my struggles. They were there through the thin of my lips to the thick of my Gluteus and stayed ever-present through the first feelings the spark of love.
And once that spark was extinguished and I began to shame my body, my voices calmed me and quelled the rising need to escape the gloom. They told jokes. And I laughed heartily, kissing my palm and placing it to my forehead as an offer of complete infatuation with the voices.
But it didn't remain that way. We began to argue in my mind, shifting my action into chaos as I began to realize that my brain had become a cave harboring a snake like a zoo. So I stopped listening.
I didn't want to hear them anymore, I wanted them to shut up.
But they never did.
At times, they would get very quiet just to yell at a rate to leave ringing in my ears, and I would cry at their pains.
By mid-puberty, I had grown accustomed to these shouts. I had even learned to ignore them. And most of the loud voices began to disappear.
But One remained, a single cage to my canary. A bite to my jugular and a constant reminder of the sickness I claimed in my mind.
He only came around when I was upset, and he’d always etch me into actions so regrettable that he didn’t realize affected him as well.
He wanted me to die.
For years I combatted him, cursing him into a withdrawal but then speaking up a weakness that would inspire his powerful words and presence again. Oh how mighty his power over me was.
His very voice sent chills through my spine and blood rushing through my veins. His tone turned my blackened skinned the color of used, sopping wet coffee grinds. The bite present in every consonant he uttered made my ears pop with unease as if the pressure grew under my eyelids.
He was my demon.
After my second attempt at love had fizzled he had been the one to tell me to slash that tire. He was the reason I bit Jamea’s lip and drew the taste of rich blood to my tongue hungrily as if vampiric. He was the reason I spent so many nights up crying in fear as I would chant “What’s happening” or “what am I doing”… or “why am I still here”
His counsel became sadistically acceptable, nearly sexually desired to me as the depth of his voice boomed with close proximity to my heart. I could feel the warmth of my body grip the chill of the air and I’d chuckle like a school girl.
This became my reality, a bubble of sadism sautéed with fear and drenched in disgust. He would addict me to the taste of blood, the color of death. He would introduce me to the feeling of pain and the emotion of anguish.
And I began to love it. I would press pen tips to my skin and draw the sweet nectar of my essence.

Of course, no one understands me. They say I need help.
Maybe they’re right
But every time my mind becomes aware of the hold from him, he soothes me with box cutters and cuddles in the warmth of my skin’s openings.
I’m in love with his deception and his truth. I love the life he has given me and never again will I complain when I hear
the voices

Cinder flamed ashen skin covers my lips as the thirst grows in my ravaged brain. I lick them and the wind soaks up the moisture.
The heatwave of my body is made aware in my eyes.
I blink yet the sights don't seem to register.
I speak, yet the words don't escape my vocal chords.
I feel, yet the tangibility isn't confirmed in any aspect.
Emptiness is made a factor.
I found out sorrofully that I couldn't connect with the caged bird, I thought I understood why it cried, but my meaning was incorrect, my thoughts were that of a loveless loner ready to embrace the freedom of the cage in its heart.
I was thoroughly incorrect. Why does the caged bird sing?
It sings because it wants others to feel its pain, it has nothing to do with perserverence.
It sings because through song anything is possible, through song
It finds its escape...

I think you refuse me simply because I don’t give you any reasons to.
I told you I didn’t care about your past or about your afflictions
I told you that I would accept your flaws and show you love because of them.
I told you that I would respect you unlike anyone who you’ve known.

And yet now I’m the imperfectd counterpart of whom can’t receive love.

I guess I’m oxymoronic.
Because I’m so eager to accept the flaws of people who won’t accept mine.

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.

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

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.

What's such a pretty girl doing with a stranger between her thighs and a camera in her face? What demons in her closet has she failed to embrace? What led her to this hallway of ******* that has her life hindered this way? doesn't she know that she's only a phase meant to fade away from the industry she's chosen?
As these thoughts enter my head, my lust always stays frozen. It leaves me wondering where my life is headed, hell, if she ran out of options what the hell is it gonna be like for me? I can't go into the adultery industry, so what will become of me? I hate to say it, but it made me sad laying there with a hand in my pants and my brain in high gear. There are no simple solutions for me in life, and I started to understand that.

Jay

I know a mind that heats up hotter than the sun and a body that can become a brick
I love her dearly, but in truth, I think her head is a bit thick.
She’s an adventurous soul with a warm heart and a mind that’s faster than the draw
A perfect being and sure sweetheart, she has no single flaw.

The party wherever she is and personality unmatched in all,
she’s a singular creature of complexity
A compilation of personalities yet one of her own,
a chameleon with surprising dexterity

The embodiment of physical beauty,
When she walks by, people notice
Needless to say, I would be extremely guilty
If I didn’t let her know this.

A crush is a crush, and a love is a love
But a friendship is something much more.
A wish is a wish, and to miss is to miss
But there’s so much that the both of us haven’t explored.

I know a mind that heats up hotter than the sun
In the body of a wild child
And I know someone who I won’t forget
Because she’s always making me smile

Jaylene

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

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.

No emotions.
No pains.
No love.
Just emptiness. Maybe it was heart break, maybe not. But I'm chill with it at first...
Then my brain goes numb.
and my body quivers in public, me trying to play it off. But I know what it is.
My emotions, my anger, my love
all coming back to me.

Take me to the place where lovers play.
Where the word love is on the tongue of each person who passes by and the jitters of emotion break us down and build us as twin towers of faith and infatuation.
Roll me down a river of finality, telling me sweet things in order to keep me close to you with little lies that make me love you.
Show me the tip of time and take me past it. Let me now that I’m a possibility for forever and that I’m forever going to be close to you. Show me that I’m wanted, that I’m needed, and you don’t want to change that.
Kiss my lips with sincerity and whisper your thanks to the lord into my ear with a seductive air. Because your voice is so beautiful and your lips so sweet that you take me back to times when we first courted, times when the deepness of our love was judged on how many tics the clock made when the phones were on.
Take me to the most sensible form of tenderness and let me teach you how to surpass it. For the threat of love is my only danger, and I remedy the fears pragmatically.
Is it ok to admit I’m in love? Tell me now, because I’ve been burned before. I’ve had the knives of deceit stab my heart before, and I didn’t like it. So Let me know how far our love can go before I need to jump ship.
Tingle my soul and make me shiver with the electricity generated by your feminine touch. You always start the wonder every time our skins connect.
Take me on a journey that sends me into Neverland with you by my side. I could care less where we go, so long as we are together, it won’t register which direction I’m walking in. show me that pretty smile and tell me it won’t matter to you either. Take my hands and lean in close to me, catch a breath and let it out slow just staring in my eyes.
And I will know where to take us.
You take me to the place where lovers play.
The little bit of space where time doesn’t agree with its surroundings, the place where we could stay an eternity just thinking about how we could spend our time together.
Lover’s land.

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...