Do people really get kissed
like characters do in movies and books?
Pushed up against a wall
Hot breath and lust clenched fingers, or
In an airport in front of security
Teary eyes and tight hugs
Soft and slow and
Full of want and love.
Do they happen?
Or have I just been in
the wrong place my entire life?
And if these kisses do exist,
Why haven't I experienced
anything remotely close to that
Sweet perfection?
Why have all of my kisses been
so hasty and ugly and well,
completely ******?
And who are these guys,
That I have let kiss me,
Who do they think they are?
That they can kiss me like that,
And not even care?
All I get are senseless, strung out lips
looking for another score.
What I want,
Need actually,
Are kisses that make me forget
what i'm thinking
what day it is
what's going on around me,
Kisses that remind me of campfires
and old movies, and rainy summers
filled with lightning bugs and
long walks in sunflower fields.
I want to kiss someone and
feel like I'm back in my microscopic town
catching lady bugs, lying in tall grass
watching the setting sun and feeling a
warm breeze wash over my skin and
seeing it dance with the trees and birds.
I want someone to kiss me, and
make me feel free and whimsical,
Like walking among the sunflowers,
not knowing where they end,
not caring if they don't
because it's beautiful.
I want to be kissed
like the world is ending
like I am the most important thing
and if they don't kiss me
then nothing will ever matter again.
If it's out there,
and god do I hope it is,
I will look for it.
I will find it.
I will.

Some say 3 hours isn’t enough sleep to get by,
but I’m more concerned about getting by
with less hours of you.
I didn’t open my umbrella today,
it has too many broken pieces anyways.
The rain felt cold,
but still gentle.
Always gentle.
You’re always gentle.
I couldn’t use my travel cup today,
I didn’t have enough time to clean it.
Maybe some mornings are supposed
to be spent without something to wake me up.
Maybe I’ll drink honesty in the largest mug
I can find.
One sugar,
not two,
a little bit of milk.
Maybe I’ll carry love around in buckets
until the handles cut through my palms
and leave reminders of why you are worth it.
You can clean them if you’d like,
it will burn but that’s okay.
Just know that you’re worth it.
You are worth it.

Sometimes I take the long way home.
I hope you don’t mind.
It’s just in hopes of spending a few more
minutes with you.
And I take every chance to switch
into the right lane, just to steal
a few extra glances when you’re not looking.
I hope you don’t mind.
I’ve cracked open my ribcage and laid
every piece of what’s left on the table,
even if it’s not much.
I don’t need you to put me back together,
I just need you to be okay with
broken pieces,
fragmented statements,
incoherent whispers.
We don’t need to be fixed.
We just need to grow.
And how can we grow if there are not
cracks in our minds and gaping holes
in our hearts?
I think your pieces are beautiful.
I would like to hold on to them for a while.
I hope you don’t mind.

Its four am in the morning
And my thoughts wandered as they do
Found it sad to think
That you hate being you...

In this autumn wind
whatever will Summer bring?
perhaps, a new skin?

I miss you
I heard the remorse in your voice as you said it.
Well, sweetheart, I guess I could say I miss you too.

I *miss your judgemental demeanor
And your pugnacious attitude.

I miss you treating me like ****
And your constant complaining.

I miss your vicious words
And your pointless insecurities.

I miss your pissy glare
And your interrogating questions.

I miss your painful attempts at saying sorry
And especially your violent movements.

And do you remember the first day you came into my life?
Oh, love, how I wish I could have missed that too.

two hits
and I'm gone
holding my high
from dubai to discovery bay

I met John
on his black harley
along the way,
my nowhere man in ponytails
chasing Jesus off the charts

he gave me
his bloodied lens
and a dime

I peered through bullet holes
in his heart
and saw the devil

and the glazed eyes of Mark
frozen in time
like grime and graffiti
on the walls of Attica

he gave me
his smoking gun
and a pen

"Imagine......"

~ P (Pablo)