The world was once flat.
People were once Gods.
Myths were once fact.
Earth was once the center of our universe.
People were once owned.
We once believed in innocence.
Continents once did not exist.

Now we **** for convenience,
Hurt for pleasure,
Cry without pain,
Leave behind those who might burden with their grief,
Inflict tragedies without meaning.
We have been wrong before, why is now so different?
Fact has been proven fiction, fiction proven fact.
What makes us think that we can see now, if we were once so blind?
Knowledge is power, but ignorance is just as.
Are we, or are we not? Can we make sense of our world before it is gone?
That is the one question that is neither fact nor fiction,
Which is precisely why it needs an answer never found.

I've never been in love, but it must be like waking up from a lovely dream.
It's probably something like a road trip without a destination.
I hope it's that feeling in your stomach as the roller coaster is dropping, electricity coursing through your veins.
Maybe it's like a camera, freezing moments that feel like forever.
I bet its something like the glittering embers in the sky, just after a firework burst into a dozen lights.
I'm sure love is like a constellation, where you can connect the dots to create a story.
Love must be like rain drops on a window, accumulating slowly, then racing to the brim of the frame.
I think love is like an eclipse. The sun and the moon circling the globe, in search of each other. And when they finally meet, the world stops to watch.
For me, I know love is a dusty typewriter, waiting for its story to be written.

Do you remember?
every speck on every page that surrounded your mother when you were born.
Do you remember?
the first time your father said you would only amount to something like him.
Do you remember?
every kiss and every hug that your pores have ever soaked up.
Do you remember how to love?
You have so many walls that I just want to tear down....
                                                        ­                                      down....
                  ­                                                                 ­                         down....
But don't call me a hypocrite,
I never know what I am going to say next,
and when I do it never comes out quite right.
I love the feeling of your toes,
when they rest on the fresh grass
of the spring time.
And your eyes that sparkle red
in the light of mine casting shadows on the night.
When you give me that look,
that I am doing too much of trying to hard
I laugh because I would try so much harder for you.
But that look is for me to get and not for you to explain.
And maybe I don't need to try so **** hard,
but I will anyways.
And I love the way you kiss me,
with your eyes closed deep shut.
Your love is like a tower and
I feel inclined to rise above it.
I allow myself to feel these feelings,
they teach me what love means,
and what it is not.
You are my best friend and
my one and only love.
There are words written in the stars
with the illumination of the reflections of our eyes
that tells the story of our lives.
I love you so much I want to scream about it,
I breath it.
I heard once that love is not a game of show and tell,
and finding out how many times they fell.
It is the thing that makes you lose your breath
then they breath on you.
that smell

There is no time for second guessing
no more time for games and questions.
The only time there is,
its the time to love you here and now,
and to scream our names into the clouds
to hear the angels sing aloud
and to watch our lives live on for now
I love you so much I can feel it in my fingernails,
the electric shock of your body touching mine.
Can I show you right here and now
that all there things are here for us
and love is a blanket for us to rest
upon a mountain safe at last
for nothing else but birds to hear.
I will be there standing so bright and tall.
I stand as a goddess awaiting a god,
at the edge of a forest
in a meadow full of clues...
I fallow them to pass the time,
I find treasures and feathers
and leaves painted with dew.
Until He arrives in your form
and the love we feel make the
mountains shake
and I take the kisses from your lips
that drip upon the Earth,
but not without a whisper
thank you...
that just might slip.

Midnight raindrops pitter,
Lullaby-like and gently,
Softly, sweet sounds sing,

Sleep's greeting is waiting,
On deeds done in darkness,
Somnolent certainties,

It is brighter, awake at night,
Because all flaws are hidden,
And only silhouettes remain,

Each together, touch alone,
Falling in abysmal, foolish love,
Tonight is for you and I,

Darkness's peak has passed,
But my lights stay on,
What dream could better this?

I tried to
write
a poem about you
but instead
I scribbled a
big, orange-ink blob
and I figured
that made
just as much sense.

Writing poetry is a lonely thing
It looks you square in the eyes, smiling
It asks you to write alone
Even in company
When writing poetry
You are alone

And even lonelier still
It asks you
To go inside of yourself
There are things there you must find

There is a man inside my body
A boy
And they look just like me
They each hold letters
I do not know what they say
I must find them

Poetry is love you want
Is someone you want to be in love with
Poetry is a child tugging at the pant-leg of someone
You want to be in love with

Poetry is the coffee stain on long sleeve shirts
Right over the wrist
Your mother called them chocolate stains
Never blood

Poetry is my drunk fingertip stumble
My white-boy wasted
My way of loving less awkward

Poetry is someone telling you they love your poetry
Poetry is loving someone for loving your poetry
Poetry is also kissing that person

There is a man
In mirrors he might be me
We have a letter we want to give to you
But they read like a feeling

We spend hours in solitude
Finding ways to step into the daylight

Poetry is convincing you
You need a reason to step into the daylight

There are words etched into your teeth
All white
No bling
The letters change with the shape of your mouth

Smile more often
Even when you don’t want to

Poetry is trying to teach you to speak peace
with the words in your smile
To people you don’t want to speak peace to

Poetry is an angry father
Is neck bruises from belt loops
Is rug-burn from being dragged across the floor

Poetry does not love you
It simply asks you
To find space inside of yourself
And then it wants you to give it to someone else

There are people inside of you
With stories

Writing poetry is a lonely thing
Giving it away
Until no one can be a thief to your soul

That too
Is poetry

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

It was your birthday yesterday
You would have turned 19
I would have gone to your party
and we would have been drunk
girls would be kissing you
and you would be king
but we put you in the ground
two and a half years ago
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