I guess you could say that I get jealous easily.

I'm the type of guy that will break out in a sweat when my girlfriend talks about something she hated about her ex.

My hands shake at the thought that she probably said those three exclusive words to another guy, and maybe even meant it.

I'm sorry to the ex that I punch in the nose because you say, "Hi", to her in the halls.
But in truth, I'm not.

I feel rage bubbling in my stomach like magma when I hear his ******* name, that I can only guess you've tried on in the past.

My knuckles ****** themselves when a Facebook memory with his face shows up.
Smirking at me like he knows how much it makes me want to grab his throat and squeeze till my fingers break.

But once I'm inevitably left all alone, then I'm the ex-boyfriend I want to slaughter with all the black contempt that sticks in my throat like blood.

So I guess you could say I easily get jealous.

~S.C. Kelley

People write such cliche poems.

True love that goes on for lifetimes.

A gray city in the rain, colored only by the music of life.

Hot coffee entrenching the soul with warmth in the crisp autumn.

The perfect snowflake landing on the nose of his winter angel.

The smell of northern pines after a heavy storm.

Her unparalleled footprints in the sand with each angelic step.

Tailgate stargazing on an ideal summer night, hands intertwined.

But isn't that what poetry is all about?

The most heartfelt descriptions about the broadest of beautiful moments?

~S.C. Kelley

Your infectious smile,
Like a drug with uncontrollable side effects.

That real, genuine laugh,
Sweet like damp pines.

Those piercing, beautiful eyes,
Sharp enough to rip through my chest and suffocate my heart.

The lips that drew me in,
Like rosy vines tugging at my soul.

Your fine brown hair,
That tangled my mind with absolute rapture.

Arms of ivory gold,
Wrapping me safely with false bliss.

Your angelic body,
Tailored so perfectly to mine like destiny.

A soothing voice of honey,
I could listen to for hours with a simper reply.

That is just the beginning,
Of what makes you lovely.

Only the start,
To a story of your undying loveliness.

~S.C. Kelley

Love is like a book in many ways,
And you are the author.

There is a beginning which can be shaped in many ways.

A middle or present which is carried out based on the first chapter.

But whether or not there is an end is up to you.

If you write the rest of the book good enough,
Then the rest of it never has to stop.

If it's the perfect story,
It can be written in volumes.

Each letter spun together,
With the heartstrings of a desperate lover.

Every word written in care with tears,
From her heartbroken cheeks.

Every paragraph dripping,
With the eternal hope for the future.

Despite the low point of some chapters,
There will always be a turn of events for the better.

This creates a story that can go on for thousands of lifetimes,
Like that of the love, he holds in the highest esteem for her.

Love is like a book that never ends,
Only if it is true and pure.

~S.C. Kelley