The worst part
Isn't the pain
Though it hurts

The worst part
Isn't the sadness
Though that's horrible

No,
The worst part
Is the emptiness

That feeling
When you don't see the step
And you fall down

When you try to sit down
And someone's moved the chair

When you reach for support
Only to find it's abandoned you

That is the worst part
Of saying goodbye

•

You are a really good fisherman,



And I am just but a foolish fish,




                                                       ­                      Preposterously bitten your hook,
                                                    With your bait of feigned love attached to it,
  



                                   Piercing it all the way to my heart,


                  Leaving me wounded with all of those prevaricates I've fell for,


But I don't know why,

                            I still love the feeling,

                                         That you've been jumping in gladness,

                                             That you've finally caught me,



Even though I was hardly breathing,

               'Cause you've taken  me away from the place,

                                  That makes me breathe and gives me joy.


                                 It somehow gives me relief,

                 Seeing the auspicious sun,

Brightly gleaming into my beautiful scales,

Not knowing it was just a start of a baleful Gehenna!




                    I should've known all along that it's just an entice!




                              But I am still blessed,


           'Cause I have manage to escape,

                                While damaging and harming myself in the process,


From the jailhouse that you've locked me in.




                                                      ­From then on,


              You've learned a lesson,


  

And use NET instead.



                       © Earl Jane
                         ♥ E.J.C.S.

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
  The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
  None so devotional as that of “Mother,”
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you—
  You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you,
  In setting my Virginia’s spirit free.
My mother—my own mother, who died early,
  Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,
  And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
By that infinity with which my wife
  Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

I finally found the reason why I can't sleep
I was thinking too little of the world
and too much of me.

hey, are you doing anything?
i’ve been reading a lot of poetry and i was wondering
if you wanted to stay up all night again
and when i say stay up all night again
i mean let’s not sleep a single hour
roll around on the floor again
chlorine scented hair
and warm hands
under torn shirts
and let’s go swimming in my grandmothers pool
in our underwear at two in the morning
float on our backs to see the stars
maybe we’ll catch the sun rise just over the neighbors roof
or maybe we’ll dry off
and eat melted klondike bars in the driveway
and i’ll be tempted to lick the chocolate off of your
fingers

hey, are you doing anything?
let’s hold each other’s face
like we’re stopping earth’s orbit
and pretend the sun won’t rise anytime soon

cartographer of my heart
there are days when I will not be easy to read
I will hold myself upside down and backwards
buried beneath bruised knuckles and cheap fear

and yet late at night I find you saying
“you still make sense to me”
leaving landmarks on my skin
signs that say “you are here"
and here
and here

trace the land lines in my palms
and know they will always guide you home

and this is what
my door is shut