Who was he to you? The one with the track jacket and Iphone 6s. The one you swore was a step above me while we were dating and the one you swore wasn’t a problem while we were together.
Why did you leave me when my mind was on the verge of self-destruction? I always gave you the closeness you needed when you were on the edge of oblivion, couldn’t your selfish *** have backed me when I needed it most?
If what we had wasn’t love, what was it? There’s no way to tell you how much I feel you were a waste of time. The image of your body under mine sends a chill of intimacy imitation to my brain that is promptly shot down like black kids on white streets.
When the dumpster in you begins to realize how much trash it literally contains, will you please lose my number? I lost everything because of a guy with a better body and a better phone. I can’t tell if you’re serious or not, but regardless, when things don’t go your way, don’t pick up the phone your parents bought and dial my digits. I’m going to show you just how many of the ***** I lost about your emotion.
Why did it take me so long to realize this? Day upon day, month upon month, I was lonely and you pat me on my shoulder to tell me I’m being a drama queen. I forgot my emotion and am publicly blank, so I hope you got your “tall dark and handsome” boyfriend that you always wanted.

I’ve grown to like her body, but can’t fall in love with her mind.
We’re not on an equal playing field, no love for the lover, but it gets odd every time we talk.
So we stay quiet.

Originally, I could make love to her mind while we gave thoughts that pierced the order of the world’s system, but I can’t even sense a happiness anymore. We’re no longer a pair, no longer a connection.
We are mismatched.
I feel it, but can’t touch it on my plane of existence.
Raindrops drum on the base of my window sill as I write to the winds, words not flowing well enough so I force them as I force my tears back into my skull.
I’m a timebomb- limited and dangerous, and, sooner or later, I’ll explode.
I taste something bitter between my lips as I make winds flow around me. With my thoughts on my sleeve, I begin to feel
Swooned.
My winds block out the sounds of her
Tears wash away her long lost kisses
And my aching heart throbs enough to get rid of the pain of the thought of her nails on my cheeks as we stared into each other’s souls.
I gave you my heart, love. What was it you planned to do with it besides break it? I wanted the love that you could provide, I wanted to hold hands and speak sweet nothings, I wanted to argue about dumb things and hear you claim to hate  me before we’d make up and become best friends again.
But I was wrong.
Maybe it was bad luck, maybe it was Karma, but I was wrong about you. You weren’t the fantasy I thought you were, you were a chip in my armour that I had no clue about. You were my freedom, but you revoked yourself.
You were my love.
And now, love, I’m afraid we’re in a state of afterlove. I love you, but don’t and so forget my words of sweetness, my ****** jokes or, as you put it, quirky personality.
Your space in my heart has been revoked.

Alicia, Alicia
Reminding me of a once blissful time. I wonder if you ever think about it. Living a life of laxity and becoming a being of chill from attitude to soul.
You are so beautiful. You remind me of the possibility of our probability your name a legend in my heart.
I still hear your voice telling me goodbye the first time, just smiling with books in your hand… I never stopped smiling that day.
But only a year later, you left for good. I don’t blame anyone, I understand you had to go.
But I want you to know that I watched you walk out that door. I felt solemnity in that last hug and could taste your tears when I kissed your baby brown cheek.
Alicia, Alicia
Where are you now, baby girl?
What’s on your mind and who do you taunt now?
I must have a problem falling for phantoms, for when I finally open up and show my real personality, she always slips past my numb fingers and away into the dark.

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

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

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

Honey droplets form at the edge of somber eyes
Tears I long to leaf away.
She is angry, same as always
Because her love has gone astray.
But what she doesn’t know is that love don’t go,
It simply fades and appears.
Yet she can’t see when she looks at me
That I can erase her fears.

You must not love a poet.

A poem is the formation of love in written form, even when chanting or venting or raving.
A poet is a being of emotion whose outlet they’re constantly craving.
You over-look me simply because you see that I am volcanic as lust
And you know that for my love/lava flow, I can turn a heart to dust.

But I still lust you.

A trigger of feeling, a headache of horror, we are one and we are the same
A body for ***, a mind for intimacy, being of love and beings of shame.
Heated in chill and frozen in warmth, we are lust, ***, and passion.
Thus I offer you as a poet, here, I give you my attraction.

Honey droplets form at the edge of somber eyes
Tears I long to leaf away.
She is angry, same as always
Because her love has gone astray.

I know she's worth my effort by the look she gives as she smiles me off. Maybe it's just a crush but it's something I'm willing to follow, and so I'll do it with the utmost sincerity.
The way I look at her is the way I'd look at goddesses of her tier, and as one, she gets the power of change over me.
The things I'd do for that woman, the things I'd do to keep her pleased and content with me,
the things I'd purchase,
the things I'd endure,
the things I'd force alive...
I would make her my boo.
I can see us walking now, holding hands as I cherish her warmth between our palms, in a heaven formed by two mentally equally yoked individuals attracting so much attention and love that those before them become jealous.
I can see us kissing and smiling for no reason, only connecting as physically as we do through the mind.

My Boo
She is my myth and my truth, my life and my breath, my brightness in death.
My love.

Sometimes I wish I was the brotha from the boondocks. You know which one I mean: ***** with the swag *** afro and intelligence that keeps his enemies awake at night. An attitude that just screams "don't **** with me" and, just like a broken toilet, he don't take **** from nobody. Yeah, I wish that was me sometimes.

Brand new night

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

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

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.

My phone rings at two in the morning, it can only be one person.
I listen to her newest trouble with him and hear her sobs in my ear.
Only when the sun stung her skin would her tears dry this day.
She would wait for him, listening to him lie to her and she would cry to me about his mistrust.
She never broke that cycle, though she was a broken heart.
The next night doesn't change, she cries about his newest issue and how she wishes she could leave him. But she's too close to him to see the possibility of even her own words.
"Leave him", I said, "he doesn't deserve you. Any man would rather be dead than play with your heart." I told her. But she wasn't hearing it.
I was tired of hearing her sob stories, I wanted her to do something to get out of this. No more anger, no more crying, no more sorrow, only happiness.
I wanted her to see a life without him.
But she didn't see that vision, so I had to let her go. But I couldn't, I would always stay her shoulder to cry on and she knew it. So the cycle continued.
But now it's five in the morning and no call....
I take it as a sign of happiness and let it alone.
Now its seven and I'm confused, she would've called by now at least to wish me a good morning.
it's nine at night and I call again, wanting to hear her voice again, but she doesn't pick up.
I call again, in a panic, she would never reject my call. I call again and again until it's nearly eleven PM and she still doesn't pick up.
My phone dings with the notification of a facetime request. I pick up and just stare at her.
Eyes blood shot
dried lines of tears on her cheeks
and her mouth pursed in a way to show she was about to cry again.
She doesn't look at the screen, she only puts her head down and lets out a deep emotion felt sigh before speaking.
"I love you too much not to have you here at this time. I'm sorry, please forgive me." She says.
What are you talking about? what's the problem, why arent you picking up the phone? All these questions and she doesn't answer one. She only puts the phone down and levels it so I can see her. A gun is on her bed now, she picks it up and raises it to her head. I'm screaming now. I'm trying to talk her out of it but she cries and pulls the trigger in front of me.
I jolt up in shock. My fear taking hold as my eyes pour water and I can do nothing but yell and cry.

It's six in the morning, police find her body on the floor of her apartment with all evidence pointing to her suicide.
She was broken. Her mind not her own and her love to one who played her one too many times, she became a killer.
They found her, but what they hadn't known was that she had killed another that night.
What they didn't know is that she was heartbroken in every possible way and that her hunger for revenge grew everytime she saw his face.
What they didn't know was that she was too weak.
What they didn't know was that she couldn't survive the broken years.

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

The 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

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.

Imagine a time and place where all movements are stopped,
Where all beings are controlled by your feelings and your thoughts.
Where anything is possible and all around is green,
And where whenever you speak everyone hears you talk.

Alright, that intro was terrible, but I suppose I wanted to say
that the silent magic you possess, it takes my breath away.
Not intentional or forced at all, it’s just your sophistication,
It brightens tunnels in the dark; it can run monsters out of basements.
And it captures attention from others somewhat similar to you, for you shine a light that reverberates its way through us all, and I don’t know how you do it. My name is earth, you must be flora because I feel like we grow together. That’s why I try to speak when I see you. Granted I’m shy and people make me nervous, but for some reason I don’t have the same reaction around you. You are a question to me of which I have no answer, and when I try to ask, I fail to speak.
Perhaps it’s just stupid emotions, but I feel something in my mind that I can neither explain nor understand and it’s driving me crazy, so I’ll ask here: what are you like? Who are you really? What’s on your mind? Where are you from? Mind if we talk? What’s your story?
These questions are endlessly popping up with no answers, you’re a mystery and I’m no ******-Doo, so I’ll stay forever wondering, forever thinking things of you.
But maybe, just maybe some time in the future we will understand why
Such a beautiful spirit stayed silent and such a beautiful spirit stayed shy.
An angel I found in a school of shadows, a halo brightly over your head.
Only you cleared my darkened mind, only your answers can clear my head.

My skin is soft and my mind unexperienced.
Like cotton right off the stem.
And when animosity hits it, I tend to be unprepared for such topics.

My body goes through constant cycles of supposed purification
Like the separation of the cotton from its seed and the bleaching of its fruit.
So when I realize my impurity, I tend to reject myself. For I feel that others would anyways.

My blood runs through my organs, and is altered in my heart
Like cotton being twisted to threads.
I crystalize like cane sugar as it drips off its heat made daggers, and I crush to dust under the weight of every decision that I make.

Generation or creative expression

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

I want to say hi to her, I want to tell some stupid joke.
But any glimpse of her eyes gets me paralyzed faster than medusa.
How would I be able to speak if I can’t talk around her?
So I just make her poems that she’ll never know exists.
I spend time fantasizing about how it could be or how I wish it was, but I never speak and any time she’s around, I turn statue. I articulate words with such a finesse that it surprises even me, and then I don’t release the “Masterpiece” to anyone other than the beings in my head.
And yet, I wouldn’t  have it any other way. No, believe me, baby girl, I’ve played the game before and I have a knack for losing it. So I just stay stationary, watching her smile or bite her lip and then looking away fast out of embarrassment at my faith in such an infatuation.
I know it’s crazy, but I guess that’s truly what I search for, the cycle of crush and quiet.
Crush Crazy

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.

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

To us, it is a legend of love
To us, its arrow is mystical

But in truth, he has no magic bow
It's just the thought of the arrows that makes you think that.

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.

Blackened eyes for the sights I'll never see.
Red tears burst from cuts in my hands.
I am a victim of a darkened reality.
For I am different from my kind, and I am different from Man

My heart is still warm when it’s handed back to me
I guess it wasn’t enough to guarantee a love.
Who knew love would be so expensive.

I wish I had some intimacy
I wish I had that feeling of decadence again.
I just want to feel the love

My hands shake too much
Spoiled with the spell of calm that came over them when they would grasp a counterpart
A counterpart now missing

My tongue would savor the taste that stayed on my lips
Spoiled by chocolate sweet kisses
Kisses now missing

My arms used to ache
the feeling of someone in between them continuously
But now they hang by my side and keep to themselves, lonely.

I just miss the security.
The luxury of the life
I miss the taste of affinity that still bubbles on the cushion of my lips
That time when my heart was in decadence.

Is it bad to want? Because I hunger for attention.
I just can’t show it
I want the attention off someone, but my mind reminds me to be distant so that I don’t make a fool of myself/ But I end up spacing her away so much as to not only hide my wishes, but also turn her eyes to another.
Do I feel a jealousy?
No, to be honest, I don’t feel that. But what I do feel is a regret that I can’t be myself around such a free spirit.
I feel as though even if I try, I can’t be the person I am around such a crowd of people.
So I put on my facades.

I’m not rushing for love, just its attention and closeness.
I hunger for an appreciation that I can’t show I’m pining for. Thus is the only dilemma I truly have.
I’m caught in a myth

Why are you here, my dear, sweet former interest?
Once, you were one of whom I wished to gain affection from, one I would have ultimately decided was worthy to love.
Once I could touch your cheeks and press closely to your body to remind you of how beautiful you were. Once I was able to listen to your conversations as raindrops formed over the both of our heads, making mad dashes to distract us with chilled wet bursts of falling adrenaline.
But it was nothing to us.
We would’ve been inseparable, body and soul.
You see, I knew that we were opposites. I knew that our minds would never match and I knew that we weren’t really going to go anywhere.
I knew this, and I kept going.
Why?
Why did I tempt the forevers and cause a tip in the balance of respectability? Had I really thought I was going crazy over you?
From body to mind to *** appeal, I thought you were what I could honestly think about…
I thought when you decided to give to me your body, that you were giving me your heart as well.
In my innocent mind, I figured it was a form of love.
I couldn’t and still can’t understand the grasp of how wrong I was, and just like casserole pans in an oven, when I try to reach for it, it burns me.
I figured we could let it ride like a joyride, I didn’t understand that you targeted me simply because I was a taboo to you, not that I was a good person, but I was just a cute face in this ugly world.
One finger to your lips as your other hand slinks up my inner thigh like a snake easing to helpless prey. Do you realize how confused you kept me as my mind fantasized about us talking, sensualizing, bodies making friction as we made a *** that had everything to do with love? Do you realize that I actually fell as opposed to your simple spreading of your legs?
Why did you have to change from what you were? Why disappear only to re-appear as a changed individual who I would willingly resent at any moment? Knocking at my door as I think of never talking to you again, I wish you to forever leave my life now.
So, please, unwrap the hand that has ensnared the key to my heart and give it back to me, for I get it now.
   You’d never use it anyways.

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

My dream is not distorted, but I do not see your sin
My eyes must be blinded by the position you’re in.
You’re my dream girl for life, I’m crazy for you like I’m crazy for love.
You toy with my mind so amazingly that I know it must be love.

You are an attempt for me to find knowledge of self through someone else’s efforts. I know your name as being synonymous with mine. We are a life our own, a chilling realization of how easily we fell.
Or tripped.
Do you see the same emotion through your eyes, or is this one-sided? Please let me know. Because I’m in love, I’m in lust.
I’m in heaven.
So show me that my heaven isn’t a mere mirage

Dream Girl

The sun’s light drips off of my body like bright water
Liquid essence falling to the grounds by my sneakers and bathes the pavement.
I’m at a burn in heart.
The life drains from me slowly like needles in veins, but it’s not a medical extraction. I can feel something rising in me that isn’t being elevated. I feel the fear of change but the excitement of anger.
I feel hate.
Who do I hate? None, but I somehow still feel it. Empty words with a full mind, blunt remarks with a sharp intent. A passive aggression beyond comprehension.
I feel her hands on my cheeks as we kissed before she left. I could feel her love as she says she loves me, but I feel I’ve given her too many chances, I feel I’m in a situation of double jeopardy. So I let her go.
And I haven’t bounced back.
Now I miss my honeybee, but she can’t know the emotion dedicated to her or the power she unknowingly has on me. She can bring me to the ground in a matter of seconds, and yet, she stays to play with pityness and pride stings as she flaunts her new lovers.
And so I melt like metals in a furnace.
They say a man isn’t supposed to cry, they say he has to be as strong as steel. But I do cry, and when I do
My hard tears drip off of my cheeks like
Dripping silver

How many punches can the human heart take before breaking? How many strikes can there be before a person is down? Maybe she could tell you.
She’s a player, and I’m not talking baseball. She plays with hearts, she plays with emotion until the emotion is drained and you are most vulnerable. She is a demon of heaven but a hellion angel.
Wonderfully wizardry but her spells send a mind into self-tension.
And I have been bewitched.
Bewitched by her fragrance, by the taste of her lips, by her mind and what I thought was the real her.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was actually hypnotized by this beauty. Maybe she wasn’t who she was, but I would’ve thought I was who I was supposed to be.
Who Am I? Who was she? Where am I in this world of deceit and trickery?
A chef of misery, cooking up a fresh batch with every new victim, so sensual yet so senseless
The touch of duplicity.

Dust—press play

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

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.

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.

Hush….. can you hear that?
It’s my heartbeats every time she comes close.
I wonder if she can hear it when she passes. I wonder if anyone else can.
When she’s close by, I sense it, I sense an impending nervousness and the calm as we talk.
I wonder can she feel it too.

It’s just something about the way she moves, something about the little details of everything about her, she has me mesmerized whenever our eyes match. Hard to imagine the images that appear in my mind when our eyes lock, and I always see her. When they replay in my memory, I understand. For only angels can wear halos.
I wonder what she sees.

There’s something in the air that makes each word she makes as palatable as ginger ale. Her voice is so mellifluous that it makes my spirit hunger for emotional stimulation. I imagine long talks in sunset milieus. I imagine deeper conversations that I rarely have anymore and crippling displays of imaginative love that I’m not even sure I’d be able to provide. But with every thought, the air gets sweeter with released thoughts.
I wonder if she tastes it too.

Green apple goddess, cherry cheeks of cherished charms, her flavors speak of delicious intimacy. We constantly contrast in such distinct ways like flavor and spice. Her graceful decadence contrasting with my cinnamon smile and cayenne complements.
I wonder if she identifies the fragrance.

She is a tease to my brain and a testament to my imaginative nature, but I’d love to toy with her senses the way she toys with mine. Sending her brain racking the walls of  consciousness trying to categorize me based on those she’s known. Yet our individual uniqueness’s make us stick out to one another. I ponder her intentions, as pure as they seem, and I always get the same idea. The Idea that she’s the embodiment of me.
The embodiment of my curiosity.

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

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