i stole a typewriter
from the side of the road
actually
maybe it was free...
anyway,
i kind of think i saved it...
he's from the 1980's,
a little old for me
but we have this strange
romance
going on
he writes so
pretty

She comes, and she goes but she never stays
She looks, she smiles, but she never speaks.
I look at her; she is a beauty of forever,
She brightens the way like a shining star.
She walks like a snake sweetly,softly and silently
her open hair flying in the open air
I know, does she know?
What a beauty she can make!

I am home today
Free to wrap myself
In music and poetry and daydreams

But instead I am avoiding schoolwork
And fighting off a runny nose
And hoping against hope
That someone will notice that I'm gone.

I wish I could be as
transparent as you are
it would be as simple as saying

I've changed my mind
kiss me

or maybe

yes, I really do like you

or even

you say you're missing a girlfriend?
no, you're not. I'm right here.

but I prefer honesty to transparency
so I'll just hug you each time we meet
and smile as you wrap your arms around me

and hope you haven't found someone new
and pray that it's you each time my phone vibrates
and consider texting you first, but i won't
because I don't do that and I'd only be bothering you

and because I value honesty
I'll be honest with myself:
I've ******* up again
and you don't want me anymore

it's just as well
I would have messed up
sooner or later
anyway.

how clever you are, darling.
if you pretend to have forgotten
that you ever told a lie then
I must pretend to never
have heard them in the first place

I always said I never understood
human nature and why we are
as we are and as we will be
and as we always have been.

I always said I was never like the rest
I knew I wasn't perfect but I was not
quite as
selfish or as
stupid or as
indecisive or as
foolish.

But now I see how I wanted you
when you were no longer mine to have
and I missed you when you were gone
and I let go of you when you were holding on to me
and I want you more than ever now that
you no longer want me at all.

and only now do I realize,
much to my dismay
that I
am
human nature.

I'm going in there,

the box is locked, but I've been feigning,
shouldering off opportunities,
tormenting
how you lie, how;
you
are too ****
      good,
      too **** sweet,
      for me.

still,
take me with you, please.

how do you manage to,
or, how do I delude myself as,
to get to the matter at hand:
i want
every
last brushstroke
of your co-ordinate skin
surface patch union
in a quilt of
frail, tendre, beauteous,
branching, distant
expansions.
but you're here,
            no mind.

ok, so:

you're a forest fire in my
eyes when
I simply glaze through
your
al-
a-
ba-ster domain,

where your heart sits,
still,
contorted,
left, chinese-puzzled, by a boy you, still,
could never hate.

{nobody ever hates anyway, truly} maybe.
{nobody ever loves anyway, truly} I guess I have proof, otherwise.

And I, well,
I could never not love everything.
Whatever it is, makes up you.

His eyes are revolting,
colorless and dull.
Yet there’s something that makes them
unequivocally nauseating.
When I look through these windows,
I see that lust and greed have joined hands
with revenge and apathy
to form a being capable of no earnest good.
The most horrifying trait of his eyes,
is not the color,
nor the size,
nor the dilation,
but
how ******* reflective they are.