The words of a poem,
should not be read, but felt.

They should enter the mind
not as nouns, verbs, and prepositions,
fitted with appropriate definitions,
that chain the mind to common thoughts
and common feelings,

But as the pounding of a lover's heart
in the silence of a summer night,
Or the sobbing of a child alone
without a light.

Thinking about you and me
dusting off books from the 20th century.
Where are we now?
Where are we going?
I seem to remember a lot of people
but only when I really think about them:
every friend ,
every lover,
I've ever had.
And how awful of me
to not think about all of these people
that I have lost,
everyday.
Is it my fault
or am I just human?

Never in the same place twice
Following the bold white line
Always hitching another ride
A touch as wicked as sin
And a smile that’s just as innocent
Decided to stay for the summer
Playing his guitar
On broadways coroner
A strum of strings
He had every girl’s heart
He’s gone now
Those summer nights didn’t last long
But his words still haunt me
“Do you ever
Just
Sit and wonder?
Sit and think about not
Thinking?
Pray that the numbness
Will take your heart captive
So that maybe
Just maybe
Not being enough won’t hurt
As much.
In a world this big
Were all so
Significantly small
I look around
At all these people
And think
Whose lives are really going to matter?
Who’s going to be remembered?
Then I think
Will I be?”
I didn’t look up at him
I kept my eyes low
I wanted to
Tell him
I wanted to
Kiss him
My secret love
Just a boy who’s
Charismatic
Clueless
Beautiful
Far from home
And close to my heart
But I know how much
Rejection can hurt
It’s like he knew I was
Just as broken as he was
Like I had as many broken pieces as him
Enough to fill the dry days with
Enough to share everything with
But not enough to fall in love with