I find you
In the strangest places
Like
In between the freckles
of her nose -
Curled up to sleep
in the nooks and crannies
of a bittersweet melody
Dipping your toes
In pools of sound -
Or
Shapeless, clinging
To skin bathed in light -
You drip
Letter after letter
Into the palm of my hand
As blue skies melt to blackness -
Sometimes
You sit, cross-legged, peaceful
Up to your neck in rippling whiteness
I can tell you've been
Waiting
Until a too-long stare brought you to life -
Yet
You crumble when I reach for you
A beautiful mess
Your inspiration drifts soundlessly down
Glowing embers
At my feet -
You leak in measured counts
From melancholy eyes -
I breath your colors
Your impassioned purples
The anguish in your orange vibrations -
You reach through the crack of my window
Stardust in your amber hair
My muse
Rock me to sleep
With lullabies of the mind -
You swallow me, in silence
Stare at me through the eyes of my lover
Whisper secrets
When the wind holds its breath -
You wrap your feathered arms
Around all that exists
And bring it to the edge
Of a kiss
But just
For a moment

i found a home in your eyes
long before i needed to find a new home
you see, growing up in a family like mine hasn't been easy.
mother began calling me mature when i began calling her "mother" instead of mommy
i stopped being daddy's little girl the day after i was born
i lost the twinkle in my eye too early; my grandmother had hers until the day she died.
maybe i'm dead.
that would explain why all my teachers say that i'm so ******* precocious.

i asked for it in a moment of weakness,
so i got one, a simple hug that's all it was
to you at least, to me it was so much more
i wished it had lasted for ever,
but it also made me long for something more

some people think that the best type of poetry is written at 3am while the house is silent.
others argue that it's written by a drunk and broken heart.
for me, though, the best type of poetry are the things i spew at any given time.
when i'm sitting in the school hallway talking to you, but to everyone else it seems like i'm talking to myself.
when i raise my hand to ask a question in class, and my ideas pour out of me with the intensity of water flowing through a newly broken dam.
the best type of poetry comes when you least expect it.
remember to keep your eyes open.