you remind me of the evening thunderstorms: cold, terrifying, yet so beautiful. when i said that your smile radiates joy, i wasn't exaggerating. when i whispered that the touch of your hand warms my heart, i meant it from my deepest palace of mind. the thought of you alone is enough to make my body tremble for i cannot cope with so much feelings. i'm craving for you yet my heartbeat always goes faster every time i think of being close to someone other than myself. i am eager for the sense of your skin against mine but i still can't get rid of these metals that locked my heart out for you. i want to say that i'm madly in love but i don't know if i can be madder than i already am. being with you is like cutting my own body parts into pieces; it hurts so bad but it's much better than being alive and numb. i wish i could take it easy like the detectives when they solve problems but my problem is you and you are nothing but a bunch of puzzle pieces that confuse me all the time. i really wish things weren't so complicated inside this forest in my head.

You are not for me and I am not for you
It's not suppose to be this complicated
Time and space have held us apart
Like an unknown force that holds you down in your sleep when you know you're awake

I want your warm naked body on mine
And I want you to look into my eyes
And for both of us to know, that in another life we were lovers
Possibly forbidden or Pharaohs not arranged in marriage
And when we look into each other's eyes we know,
God aligned you and I

But that is not the case with you, although I swear it was for a split second
You are not for me and I am not for you

I'm Jealous to be a Boy,
to not be like other women,
to not be beautiful in all other mens eyes,
I fear Rejection,
I fear the Lonely whispers in my mind,
I fear the reactions that hide,
under the lips of a lie,

I wish for once,
A man,
A man who cares not,
About what is physical,
But what is internal and Beautiful,
A man who cares not for men, nor women,
A man who sees me for me,
For the heart that I bear,
For the love that I share,
Handsome and wise,
Perfection in my eyes,

But still though I wish,
I am jealous to be,
Still yet a boy,
Jealous of those Girls,
Who have boys as easily,
As it is to buy a toy,
I wish this was the world,
Were love was all the same,
and people did not suffer,
for how they look,
But love is not the same,
and thats why it is beautiful,
Because it is unique,
and different,
Just like people.

It is a violent love affair
I have with things
I cannot share
A ****** bout of grim despair,
A scar, a wound
That's always there
They cannot see the beauty
In the effigy ashes
I use to paint my world
It is an absecence of understanding
That they possess
A whispered scream,
a gentle stress
A breath is a dream
a gurgling
Blood quenched scheme
A quest,
It would seem
To uncover the meaning
In a thousand crumbling suns
Firing warped waves
Of possibility
Until you faint
From lack of ecstasy
You'll never know the truth
In my plea
Unless you take the time
To drown in my sea.

So... You like me.
Like... Me. ME. ACTUALLY me? Who I ACTUALLY am?

I told you my flaws, you kissed my scars.
No one's ever made me feel that beautiful.

You told me your demons, dark depths to your soul;
my heart cried, my heart bled, my heart yearned for you.

"What flaws do you think you have?" -what? What flaws do I THINK I have? You don't see? You don't see them? They're SCATTERED, they're LITTERED all over my body...
but than again you're the first man I've ever been interested in who hasn't seen me without my clothes.

Without my clothes, unclothed... You have; you've seen the most naked part to me. You've seen my skin -not the one that's tattered & lined with battle wounds, but the one that's under that. The one that's full of my words & thoughts & heart.

My God, you are beautiful.
Yes, beautiful. The word, the meaning, you don't often give to people. The title you are very particular & careful about when using... Yes. You are beautiful. You find me beautiful, you find me "charismatic, confident, and beautiful." Oh, but if only you knew how insecure & ugly I can be. If only you knew how terrified I am.

Secretly I think you do. Do you feel that way too?
I'm not sure what to feel or what to think, but these fireworks -these bright light displays- are going off in my mind & my heart. The moment we kissed, the moment you looked at me, the moment you kissed my scars -my head exploded, my heart soon followed.
You're leaving me breathless. You're giving me chills. You're making me think things I shouldn't, though they feel so good, but they get overclouded by the fear & the doubt.

You'll leave like all the others, I shouldn't get my hopes up.

But what if it's my heart that you're getting up?

BEAM ME UP.

I ask what your favourite word is.

You say you don’t have one, and
I don’t understand.

See. I’m a poet.

I tried hard not to be,
Rejected it with every
Fibre of who I am but
Words form in ways I can’t
Negate.

See,

You speak and I notice
There’s more in what you say than
You know.

Your voice is delicate,
Not in the way you sound words
But the way you phrase sentences,
Like the subject is something to be
hidden behind premises.
Some people grab chance by the throat,
****** you right into the center,
Until you’re drowning in meaning
And unable to listen to anything but the
Beat,
B-,
Beat,
Of your heart but

Not you.

I can respect that.

You’re all tact and logic and
It’s not about feeling
It’s about thought process and

I still don’t understand.

See, my tongue is clumsy,
It stutters and stumbles and smashes its way through life,

But it finds meaning where there isn’t any,
Notes how you say “Spoke”, not “talked”,
How you dance through every word in the English language because
Deciding on the right one
Has to be perfect.

I think that,
You are perfect.

My favourite word is puddle.

I don’t know why, but
When I say it, my tongue kicks
my teeth and
It reminds me of the way my
Consonants get heavier with
******* in my brain.
It makes language ridiculous,
Because the end of its vowel is so sudden
It should cut
But it’s so ******* round.

Puddle.

I can’t explain, not in words,
But I smile when you say it and
I promise you that sometimes
language is less about logic
And more about that feeling
in your gut
When you look
at me and verbs flow out of your mouth
And for once you’re not thinking
And, -

"I love you."

If you thought, it wouldn’t be true and -

"I love you."

Cogs whir to a halt and,

"I love you."

I don’t trust you for a second because
My mind is now skipping stones across oceans
Waiting for depth to show, yet
There’s nothing below,

but still,

Sail away with me.

Let’s leave language behind and use touch to define
The borders between where I start
And you stop.

We’ll find they’re less obvious than we’d thought,

Because I love you.

Not in the way that I say it but
In the way that your presence makes my stomach churn out musical notes
And I was broken, but I don’t want to seem desperate and
I guess that when you say you that don’t have a favourite
I realise,
Puddle’s a scapegoat.

My favourite word is whatever name you’d give for the
Goosebumps on your skin when I touch you.

My favourite word is the colour of your eyes.

My favourite word is the way your voice goes real high when you’re excited.

My favourite word is how I can feel where you touched my flesh, for days after we last met.

My favourite word

Is you

But I’m too shy to say it.

So here, take puddle,

And run away with it.

here's what's going to happen.
we will sleep together
a few nights a week
for a few months.
we will talk on the phone
and our conversations will be
brief -- just to hear
each other's voice
at least once
every 36 hours.
we will get incredibly drunk
and we will believe
we miss each other
but we really won't
and we will believe
we are in love
and perhaps we are --
but after those months,
I will get used to
the crack in your voice
when you talk about
your family
and you will get used
to the way I cry
over films with
or without
happy endings.
your smile won't mean
as much
and there will be few
surprises
and love will have become
a habit -- and we won't
notice it anymore
even though it is
still there, sitting
at the coffee table
or between us in the bed.
we will amount
to nothing --
but I don't mind.

Kiss one:
And I’m left thinking,
“Have I found him?”
The one
Who can love this mess that I've become?
Have I found the one
Who can repair
This broken vase
I call
myself?
                                          No, it can’t be.
                                          He’s only drunk.
                                          There is no way.
                                          Not me.
                                          No.
                                          No.
Kiss two:
And I’m left thinking
"Was I wrong.
Was it not
Just the alcohol.
Have I found him.”
                                           Yes.
                                           I have.
                                           He can love me.
                                           He can.
                                           He is the kind of man
                                           That can care for something
                                           So broken.
Cold December night:
I discovered
He was no man at all.
He was a boy
Who made a broken girl fall.
                                          Fall.
          ­                                  Fall.
                                              Fall.
Until she hit the bottom.
And then buried her.
And her hope.
And her love.
6 feet under the ground.
Because he was a boy.
Who found it easier
To go back to what he knew
Than to try at something new.
So he buried
That broken girl.
6 feet under.
That cold,
Hard ground.