There is a sixteen year old drowning in my gut
I am holding his head down under water
He is me

It’s a sad fact that if you want to improve
You have to die
You have to **** yourself

He struggles mightily, though
And on days like this
He claws his way to the surface of my skin

All the old scars of the last five years
His mocking reminders that I am not free
Stand out in the cold winter air

So if teary eye or frowning mouth you see
I’m busy drowning my old self
Or is he drowning me?

You broke my little heart, yes,
But like a spoon cracking open crème brûlée
You exposed something beautiful

I'm trying
for your sake
to not fall in love with you

But isn't it better
to ask forgiveness than permission?

You left long ago
But your footprints still mar the
Dark trails of my heart

Is never returned
And I
I forgot your address
And what I should have written
Got lost in the mail
It's too late now
But I should like to give you
One last letter
Sealed with a kiss

Like watching spring's first bloom open,

You were something to behold.

I was visiting the Windy City;

You kept me from being cold.

Soon enough, I will forget your name;

Your rosebud lips, nonetheless,

And your swaying-boughs voice,

Will yet make my passions bold.


For you have melted through my indifference,

You have thawed the permafrost of my soul.

Though you likely will never settle its valley,

My heart yields to you a tribute of its firstfruits.

With your quiet warmth, you have loosed winter's grip

--you have set me free.

Hearken ye and listen to the call of the

drums, two hearts pounding in unison as if

joined at the hips, and the lips, while the hormones

pump you through the processing station of

life, and love, and a white picket fence, and a house like a

dream, which is what this has been from the start:

One drum, beating

alone.