Poetry is not just a mess of words thrown together to tell a story about the boy you adore .Poetry is the letters that ****** a reader's sight, smell, touch, taste, and hearing. Poetry is supposed to make you feel something as deeply as you love the dark haired boy with knobby knees, as you love your grandmother on her deathbed, and as you much as you love the feel of someone else's dumpling lips against your own. Poetry holds your heart up among the angels or drags your sensitivity down below dark waves of pain.

The ache beneath your skin, deep within your bones. Lulling you into a slumber you cannot reach. Yawning and yearning for your eyes to flutter closed and your breathing to balance out harmoniously.
You are sleepy.

There is no way for me to be completely rid of you. After being so distant our eyes meet and my heart stops in pain or happiness. Who really knows? All i know is that i haven't got a clue. I haven't got a clue what you are truly feeling about the girl who cares more for you than herself. I haven't got a clue how i should act around you. Should we talk or should i let everything end completely. I need guidelines to every crack and crevice of your soul. This is a reason i can't rid myself of you. You are an enigma of beauty and wonderful thoughts and asperations that i would love nothing more but to be a part of. But distance is the biggest factor ripping us apart.

The push and pull of two beings ; connected by thin heart strings, plump lips, and the fingertips of another. Opening up to not only the partner but to yourself with the sway of bodies against each other. Minds in overdriving hanging onto the moment for dear life.
This is what i miss. KISSING

Words spilled from my lungs until the day a boy kissed me.
The words were trapped inside as he pumped his own soul into mine.
I had lost all sense of what was mine.

When he left, he left like a stranger on a lonesome street.
I felt my lungs sticky and limp without use.
It **** so long before words began to pour out of me again.
I know what is mine.

When the dust has settled in your collarbones and the word alone reveberates through you...
What will become of you ?