i want to be twenty one
and in love.

I hope this isn’t one of those things where
I want to write about you all the time
but I never know what to write
because you’re impossible to justly describe.

I’m starting to feel like that’s exactly what this is.

he didn't walk.
he floated,
he surged,
he danced through the door.
the soles of his shoes flirted
with the tiled floor
as he made his way to me.
i indulged in the pleasure
of watching his eyes
change colors
with the disappearing sun.
he drew in smoke
from his cigarette
and blew it gently
in my face.
i was so in love.

I went into the hallway today to call my mom.
You strut by, in the midst of making a drug deal (I don't miss those days).

I wonder if you thought about why I was on the phone and I wonder if you were worried.

Everything's fine, by the way.
I'm glad to see everything is fine with you too...

Two years ago I learned that you were important. You mattered (I didn't).
You always wanted to **** yourself and
I always wanted to save you.

Two years later I learned that I was important. I mattered (too).
You still wanted to **** yourself and
I realized I couldn't save you.

your heart practices polygamy
and i was just a house guest.

“all you ever did was hurt me.”


wrong. if there hadn’t been any good,

it wouldn’t hurt.

they saved you.

well maybe i want you to objectify me
one more time before i never see you again.

i didn't mean to feel that way,
i didn't mean to let it get this far.

last night i had a dream that you picked me up.
i got into the backseat and you said,
"you can sit up front, you know?"
so i did.
sighed and said, "better than my own
bed."
and you laughed beautifully because
you thought i was kidding.

I love the way you prance up the stairs in nothing but your boxers and socks. And the way your footsteps are so soft that I can barely hear them. Just hushed music in the quiet Sunday afternoon air. Like children when we dance.

I love the way your skin is so warm when you tangle yourself with me. Like there's a fire underneath every nerve. And the rhythm you drum on my legs under the blankets where no one can see. A secret song for only you and me.

I love the way we drive in your truck at night and find a secret place to park. Just so we can jump into the back and share kisses for awhile. And I love that the music never stops. It's always on low. And the moon beams down on us like a proud parent.

I love the way you fall asleep on me sometimes. Not even next to me or cuddled up to me. You've put your whole being on top of mine with your head turned on my chest. Within minutes you're asleep and I trace patterns in your hair to keep you there.

I love the way you gently breathe on my neck because you know that's my weakness. And when my mother calls and you distract me with your lips and the air. I stammer through the conversation, repeating things that don't matter. And I love the way you chuckle after every goosebump rises.  

I love the way you groan when I tell you I have to leave soon. And when I confess that I don't want to go and you whisper back, "Then don't." And the way you kiss me then, tangling your tongue with mine. They battle for the upper hand, and I love the way yours always wins.

I love the way you talk about the future like you've got it all written out in a storybook; pictures included. You know the color of your first sons' eyes and the way they'll shine in the moonlight during the tired nights. And I love the way you think you won't mind the sleepless weeks.

I love the way you shiver under my touch. And when I tease you tracing your trail to the very edge of your jeans you put your head back and watch me intently. And the way I hold the world in my hands for those few short moments. Like my next move decides your fate.

I love the way our hands have to bump three time before either of us have the courage to link together. And when we finally do you rub your thumb softly against mine. And I love the way our fingerprints line up and sew our skin together.

I love the way your name looks. On paper, on the screen of my phone especially at 2am. A two word poem. And the way it feels when it rolls off my tongue catching every emotion on the way out. Then it lands softly in the air and melts there. Too sweet to stay solid.

I love the way your scent follows me. And it clings to my sheets and all my clothes. And sometimes even when I know you're nowhere near a wave of it will hit me and crawl up my skin and fill my every pore.

I love the way you're so unashamed of your fear of scary movies. And you'll paint yourself to me and jump at all the right places. And when I look at you you're peeking out from under the blanket or hiding behind your hand, the one that isn't laced with mine.

I love the way we whisper in the dark. In between pressed lips you confide in me. Well I love the pale freckles on your arms that are only possible with porcelain skin and the shortened breath through your not-too-big teeth when I steal a kiss. And your hair never does what you want it to because my hands are always through it.

Forgive me. I love all and every which way.

i
think
one
day
you'll
fall
in
love
in
all
the
ways
you
ever
imagined
you
would

When you were born, they took your body in both their hands and laughed,
"he's gonna be a little heartbreaker."

Now, I take your face in both my hands and sigh,
“you’re such a little heartbreaker.”

And you are.
With your eyes still so baby blue.

I like your scent more than the smell of
fresh paint and tea
and that says something.

Fingertips to hips
and if I ever forget that feeling
I'll never forgive myself.

I can’t look at the night sky anymore
because all I see in those constellations
is your breath mingling with mine.

Now there are scars on my heart
and all together
they spell your name.

everything is about writing

and if i have time,
(maybe)
i'll breathe.

I noticed something today while scrolling through this website:
Almost everyone colors their profiles in black and white.

There's something strangely beautiful about that.
We live in color through our words.
That is the only way we know.

To everyone else, we look simple.
Just black and whites.

But we know each other.
We see the real color that is

passion.

So many things to remember
and I cannot seem to keep them
all straight.

They are twisting
& turning around each other
only to disappear until
tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will remember and it will come
crashing down that I forgot.

But it will be too late.

The rain falls; I remember that.
And the sun shines, too.
And my god I can remember
your lips.

But these many things -
these other small, little, many things -
they keep me floating.

And I forget them
And I drown.

Isn't it strange how

(on those nights that I
remember to pray
before sinking into
exhaustion)

I always begin with,
Thank you Lord for this beautiful day.
?

And isn't it strange how
no matter what the weather,
or the emotions,
or the actions
of that day
it truly was
beautiful
?

I'm your best kept secret and your worst kept memory.
Darling, don't try to fool me.
All through the day you run through my bloodstream.
And when I sleep, you sneak into my dreams.
I can't wash that ****** tank top because it reeks of you.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
Every day I see you,
and every day I try to forget.
You have branded me.
Don’t try to fool me, darling.
You can’t fool me.
I’m your worst kept secret and your best kept memory.
Keep me there,
and I won’t wash that ****** tank top,
and I will keep you here.

Truer
"Your heart is beating so fast.
Words
Are you nervous?"
Have
"Yeah."
Never
"I am too."
Been
"Really?"
Spoken.
*"Yes."