the book of love is transcendental
unreadable
blurred pages and scarred notes
frightened edges and scrambled sentences
on phone screens.

the book of love has music in it
songs and playlists we listen to
when the people we love don't talk

the book of love is long and boring
all the upset, angry words we've heard before.

the book of love is tired
of being read aloud.

i used to miss god.
i used to miss feeling like there was something bigger
twiddling the dials
and pointing the guns
orchestrating the earthquakes
creating symphonic tornadoes and landslides.

when i first lost him i missed him
but now i scoff at the idea
that something or someone has planned out the crazed track of humans
a goose-chase in the snow
little fox tracks that overlap
unable to telling who's going or coming.

if anyone is in control he is a madman
playing a fiddle
stroking his bow across our backs
as tormented, we dance.

there is no rhyme,
nor reason
there is only the flawed decisions
our ignorant and selfish brains churn out
minute by minute
second by second
ruining everything around us.

i like you because i was taught that you are too good for me
and am blessed that you look at my face a little too long.

there is no real connection.
you're ******* boring
but i let you talk to me
because you are
pretty

sometimes i wonder about you
if you're still where i left you
like my room at home that i leave for months at a time
are you still in the same places
waiting for me to come back
sleep in your bed
lie in your arms
cut myself in your bathroom
burn my wrists on your couch?

i look at the pieces i can still see
and wonder about talking
how you do talk to a ******?
like you talk to anyone?
i should know
of anyone
i was with you
for so
long
before i decided
that i was worth more
than a **** that i didn't even want.

fat girls have it rough.
girls have it rough.
we feel less than human
so unlovable
that even if a man rapes us over and over
but says that he loves you
it's okay
because
he loves you.

clearly
he ***** me
in
love
the purist
form
of love -

lust.

love is just an excuse
to get what we truly want.

The scorned heart shies from love and care
Scattered by too lustful a lip and hand
Learns to take the menial wear and tear
With bold eyes, brass knuckles, and diamond stand.
How does the muscle learn once more to exercise and share?
When does it remember how not to feel ******?
With swift fingers and wet lips love soon loses its flair.
Quickly flows the fire, and unplanned
Swift is its destruction and biting is its snare
How lonely are they that fall prey to its tumultuous sand!
Little frightened defenses crop up to eat their share
Strangling any flowers and sweetness that lay unmanned --
Nothing protects the gentle heart from this discourse,
Men oft take what they desire ungently, and with force.

so ardently
so passionatly
so often you voice your feelings for me
it's always been what i wanted
but you've caught me too late
too unwilling to reciprocate
even if it were chris
i would change direction
i would sever ties
too immature for love
too small
too frightened
too unsure.
i wish you would let me be.

still wear your shorts to bed sometimes
******* the hole in the side.
i don't connect them with you anymore
except for the few times i catch myself in the mirror
and remember staring at myself in your sliding doors
wondering when i would be brave enough to get away from you.

the pain is dull
like all the white ridges on my arms and thighs
but the boy in shakespeare class
wears your cologne
and monday, wednesday, friday
every breath i breathe in class
is
frightened.