they say you can't fall in love in just one summer,
but you can
Fall.
they say in winter, everything dies,
but does that include
heart strings?
they say in spring, it is all renewed.
but can you make it to a
year?
they say you have three months until it expires,
but what if you simply
refuse?
they say hearts can't live forever,
but i'll prove them all wrong
with you.
they say there's a heaven and hell,
but i'd die just to wake in the nothingness
by your side.

i'm holding you
cupped in fragile hands,
a frail little bird
in frail little fingers.
i can never hold too tightly,
because my grip might not
be strong enough
and even if i could
little bird bones
are tender little things.
and it doesn't make sense
because i hate birds so much
but i love you more
than words could ever say.
and then i think of that time
when i was a little girl
and that baby bird sat on my deck
and it didn't chirp
because it was dead
so i didn't know it was there,
and i stepped on it's tender
featherless wings
and it crunched under my foot.
and viscera spilled out
in reds
and blues
and yellow
and i cried
and cried
and cried.
and even though it was dead
inside already,
i was so afraid i would
be the one to hurt it again.
and it's kinda like that.
so excuse me if
i hold you too tight some days.
and excuse me if
sometimes my fingers are too loose.
i have my reasons,
they're there.
please, just please
sing loud enough to let me know
that you're still alive,
even if it's only a little bit.
and i'm so, so sorry
if i ever crush you.
i never meant to.

you always seem to find yourself
choking back words.
you'd rather choke by swallowing
your own tongue than admit the truth.
but jesus ******* christ,
you want to say those words
more than anything.
how you really feel.
what's really on your mind.
but society has taught you
that this is taboo.
if you pair "speaking your mind"
with politics,
you'll find yourself with
a bullet in your head.
but one day,
you'll go silent
from all the words
you'll never say.

As the locusts sang in the twilight heat
The Sun no longer baked the city-street,
The lonely last was her to repeat.
August.

Her lonely soul ready to bare
Trying to hide her utter despair,
She wouldn't mind if there were someone to share,
August.

Seeing lovers in the park
Who would hold hands without a care,
She would cry inside, 'It just isn't fair."
In August.


May never comes too soon
June is the month to spoon
July just right for a honeymoon

But August?


July 16 1963

What is want,
A craving or desire?
Consuming need
That sets the soul on fire?

To want is to wish
Though it may be greed,
To wish is to want
Or to be in need,

What is desire
Whether it be hers or his?
We may not know what we want
Or what want is,

Unrequited longing
That seems to smother,
We've all had it in some form
One way or another.