You make me frustrated -
Frustrated that when I look at you
And think to say I love you,
The word falls short
Like the shortness of breath you cause
When your eyes connect with mine

It frustrates me that
You make me feel
What no dictionary has a proper word for.
So how then will I convey
The stutter of my heart
When you whisper my name,
Making all the world just fall away,
Till it's just you and me?

Tell me how I'm supposed to let you know
That I'm nauseous with bliss when you walk my way
And that I'm shivering and rubbing and holding myself
In a futile attempt to escape the cold
That comes when you're gone?
Tell me how I'm supposed to, in one phrase,
Light the understanding of your consciousness
Like you light my life with your presence,
Getting you to see that I don't just love you,
But that you frustrate me?

I sit down with you
So willing to hear
Caught up in your web
Just knowing you're near.
I catch myself often
Getting lost in your eyes
Put my hand to my chest
As my heartbeat multiplies.
I cling to each word
That you speak to me
And hold on like it was gold
Whatever the topic may be.
Speak all night and I'd still be sold
Talk about anything;
It would never get old.
I'd listen the whole while
And sincerely care
About what you say to me
I'm so thankful you're there.
The night reaches its end
We go our separate ways
But I'll be dreaming all night
About what you had to say.

Peace is found in the arms of the Pacific:

An empathetic embrace engulfing the body,

posing a paradox of stealing away oxygen,

yet giving back breath.

A burden lifted, a trouble borne

away from the weary and worn shoulders

of anyone who sees beyond a simple surface

and discerns what lies in the depths

Finding peace in the arms of the Pacific.

The manifestation of my heart sits across the table.

I steal occasional glances her way. Rather, she steals my attention. With her big lashes batting away, eyes crinkling and twinkling and the corners of her mouth lifting in amusement at the pages held between her tiny hands.

There’s a rhythmic tapping against my shins as she swings her legs–which are far from reaching the floor–underneath our table. I like to think that the action isn’t completely subconscious–that some part of her is reaching out to make sure I’m still near.

I am. I always will be.

I don’t think she’ll ever know how much I love her, how much I’ve loved her and longed for her even before she was born…how impatiently I’ve waited for her and how she was the inspiration of my writings…and dreams.

Now here she is, barely two feet from me. My life with her so far has been a paradox of my stone heart shattering and being blissfully renewed in the exact same moment whenever I look at her. Or hear her giggle, or feel her hand in mine. Or see her eyes widen at the magic she sees in everything I've grown to take for granted.

Has a man ever known adoration stronger than this?

I don't know.

But what I do know is this: the manifestation of my heart and all the love it can ever possess sits here in this bundle of beauty and boundless hope.

And she just turned 4 today.

In this you once felt superior
But now, nothing but inferior
Once filled with confidence that now is gone
Your writing is nothing compared to Shawn's

You used to be full of inspiration
Only now to be bottling frustration
When you wrote, the words would just flow
They just came to you - where'd they go?

You're reaching out, searching for them
Delving into your mind, biting your pen
Calling to them to stop hiding and come to you
Asking them to express like they usually do

It's easy now for her; she's a champion
Leading a glamorous life so unlike what you live in
You sit there, struggling through the day
She spends her days in amazing ways

But forget about her for just a minute
You lead different lives, different muses in it
When you're reading her work, don't compare
It's not a competition; You have different things to share

You look at yourself - how silly you've been!
Your poetry speaks the condition your heart's in
You say you lost your inspiration?
Look at everything you've just written

You're a champion all your own
Because you write the feelings that are yours alone.