don't think about the way he held you when he saw you cry for the first time. don't think about his smile when you turned around and caught him looking at you. don't remember the sound of his voice whispering your name to see if you were still awake at 2:48 in the morning. don't recall how perfect and warm his hands felt on your body and how gentle he was with you.

don't.

remember him shooting down your ideas and making a mockery of your opinion. remember how he called you pathetic in front of his friends and laughed as you tried to shake it off. think about how he told you that he was glad that you two could joke about anything with each other, after he called you a *****. realize the distance he created in the final weeks in the countdown to snipping the thread that delicately bound your heart to his.

remember him telling you that he never loved you. remember him treating you like a child, remember him calling you beautiful only when you laid on your back on his rough flannel blanket, staring at the ceiling until he decided he was satisfied.

remember waiting for him to text you and call you and talk to you, remember him ignoring you and making you feel worthless.

don't remember how his eyes sparkled when the sunlight hit them in the right spot. don't remember him pulling you close for a kiss.

(i was only in love with the idea of you)

Poets, composers and writers we are
Looking to convey happiness and perhaps scars

From hope to love and death and sorrow
Expressive lines filled with feelings of tomorrow

Some may be long
And others short
Some may even contain our deepest thoughts

Therapeutic and knowledgeable
And some worrying too
Our verses can also uplift the most saddest of moods

Inspired words as well as our own notes
Sometimes with or without double quotes

Eagerly penning our lives away
Sometimes to feel and sometimes to keep those monsters at bay

Exhilarating, freedom, the release of pressure
Making us feel new or sometimes fresher

Love for words and thoughts equally
Some of us are novices and others literarys 

Imaginative and creative is what we are
Aiming to reach the faintest of stars

Lyrical, rhythmic and sometimes wordy
Our heartbeats race as we become sturdy

Promoting our poems through lists and sites
Making good friends with critics who help us to seek new heights

Poets, composers and writers we are
appreciating others for their talent by far!

As he looked into her eyes
his hand crept across her chin,
He tried to emphasize the scent that
lingered on her skin.

fresh cut wood and faded dreams,
Rich red wine and nicotine.
If looks could ****, and hers they would,
He'd lose the ground on which he stood.

But dreams sprout wings and off they flew,
Off to the place where dandelions grew.
He'd take her hand and off they'd go,
Off to the place where only they know.
And their eyes locked tight,

this moment they'd miss,
As they shared one final midnights kiss.

I've got this longing to sit
and speak with the boy
who bleaches his hair
and writes poetry with
such beauty, I'd like to dig
into his mind and find
all those secret things he
keeps hidden inside.
Could we maybe share
our souls and mix them?
Hold hands for awhile,
make new poems from
the tangle of his soul
and mine.

i keep finding myself
a few inches away from the
finish line

always a smile too crooked
a laugh too loud
a few answers off
a couple of minutes too late
my age engraved in some
never enough
era

and somewhere in the months
i have mistaken every mistake
from "couldn't" to "didn't try"
efforts shaping into thoughts
effortlessly because of the fear
of rejection

i have let the best of me
get to me

--
while walking home yesterday
I saw a neighbor's cat on a window still
"here kitty, come down"
she waved her paw toward me
as if she understood "hello"
like she has done this a million times
she looked down at the ground
unable to jump
she froze
timid

and I figured
I am not
alone

age extending by the severity of my mistakes
i am nothing but the hours I stay awake
everyone seems to know who they are
cutting jagged outlines of their personality with
cardboard boxes
friends afraid of waking up, diplomas in hand, graduating
but I am worried of staying up, stuck in this timeframe
watching lovers and childhood friends growing into
unrecognizable bodies
days becoming strange hellos and
short conversations

I imagine trees swaying
as if they are dancing to the sound of cars passing by
and I imagine looking at stars is a two way street
wishes being made from both sides of the cosmos
I imagine hope to be universal
and I imagine stray cats holding as much freedom
as the uncaged birds they gaze upon
both, hoping to be found

will I ever know the struggles of a man?
the loneliness of a stray?
the burden of a clock?
will I ever find my place in the Red Sea?
I sit unable to ask anyone this question,
no one understands.
--
it is 4:43 am
I am waiting to grow into an age I can look back at my life
and explain everything by saying
"I was a child"

and everyone will nod.

my mind is a football stadium
filled with sports anchors
hallowing our conversation
in class
the other day

did I say this right?
did you mean your laugh?

i am nothing but a child!
mazed by a fable or
some sort of
fairy book story

i imagine the other day in
class, wanting it to be
all days
all moments
in different aisles of hallways
different shades of walls

i am still a child

picking on my mind
like a sunflower on valentines day
"will he like me"
"will he not"

and you have nothing to do with this
but you are everything to blame

my poems are just passive voices
asking you questions without saying your name
indirectly

it is 10:03 I am
lying between the covers of my bed
pondering when you told me you like music

i am listening to the
same song
over and over
each time,
thinking of you
differently