scientists have said
humans are the only
organisms able to
express their thoughts,
but i often find that
to be untrue.

if people could
directly communicate
their emotions and feelings
i would know what is
happening
between me
and you.

I think
you could be great
with cinnamon and sparkles in your heart
I’ve always thought that
of you
like I’ve always thought
dresses are comfier than jeans
and the moon watches me
when I can’t sleep.
I think you could be great;
you’ve already got
the big heart
and the “I fall hard” innocence
and passion sits well like a cushion
in every corner and chasm
and artery and vein;
it’s just your head and your hands
that are too busy and afraid
to sit still.
Your hands are hectic; fussy
and your head is too unavailable,
occupied with thoughts of
loneliness underneath starlight
and bitterness and romance,
or who you should love and how much you love
and do you really love yourself
or are you just so used to lying, you’ve forgotten
how to
truly
find comfort in being alone.
I think
you could be great
but you want too much
and don’t give yourself enough and you think
you’ll lose yourself
in love
because you’ve only seen yourself real
in someone else
and that’s always a constant whiplash
between being a great idea
and being a haunting one;
if they leave, it feels like part of your identity is gone
and we can’t have that now, can we.
I think you could be
so great
but you love outwardly before you love inwardly
almost always;
and though you’ve held damp soil
in your palms
your hands, crafty and clever as they are,
are too empty and broken
to know how to nurture a seed.
I think you could be great
I think you could be
so so
great
but your art’s not real
because you won’t allow your heart to feel.

"I hate flowers," she said, her mouth curling toward the ground.
What kind of a woman hates flowers?
"I love nature. I'm in love with nature. But the thought of a flower as a token of affection makes me sad."
"Oh," slipped out of my mouth, barely audible. "Well what would make you happy then?"
After a moments pause with her eyes on my shoes, she looked up and directly into my pupils she said: "A minute."
After another pause, she opened her mouth again; "Just a minute."
And so I squatted down right there in the hill, the carpet of never ending grass beneath us swaying lazily in rhythm with the invisible wind. I sat. She bent down and followed my lead.
And I gave her a minute. Many minutes that managed to blend into each other without my notice and before I knew it, it was dusk. The Sun peered out over the vast horizon, letting us both know that the time we had spent sitting silently had lapsed and appeared to us as no time time at all. It was just the grass, the sky, the wind, the Sun and us.