You don't make me happy. You are my happiness. The difference between the two is simple, but important: You see, if you only made me happy, just the thought of you would be enough. A picture of you would suffice to keep me content. But it isn't. You are my happiness, embodied. So when you're away, my happiness is gone as well. Thoughts are not enough. I don't feel complete when I'm not with you. I need you. All of you. I can only hope that you need me, too.  
I always thought of love like puzzle pieces. I know that metaphor's been done a hundred times over, but this is a little more specific. You see, everyone is built in a certain way. We are all pieces. Some people are whole pieces unto themselves - an entire picture, clear and beautiful. They don't need another puzzle piece. They're complete as they are, which is fine. Most people, however, are parts of a whole. They need other pieces to help them make sense, to see the whole picture. Some people have a lot of spaces and gaps, and it takes a lot of other puzzle pieces working together to keep them happy and to make them feel whole. Most people are halves. They are half of a picture, searching for the other half of themselves. However, these are puzzle pieces, meaning not every piece will fit with another. The pieces have to be the right size, the right shape, the right color. Puzzle pieces are complex and dynamic. Each one is special. Even if a piece is shaped really weird or has odd edges and angles, it fits perfectly with another piece somewhere. They just have to find each other. No one is wrong, and no one is unlovable. They just have to find the piece that complements them.
Somewhere, there is another puzzle piece out there that will help you make sense of yourself and see the whole picture of who you are. I always liked to think of it like that. I like to think that someday, someone as unique as I am will help me create a beautiful picture, a whole picture of myself, that we can both understand and be happy with. And I will do the same for them. Just like a puzzle.

This bed, though twin-sized,
is still too big and too cold
without you in it.

Warm lungs hide soft words, say it fast, faster.
Poetic dark room, grow teeth and watch closely because
believe me, life was, at one time, meant to be worth living.
Broken means finally perfect, wings heavy, sinking,
Iron-sure anchor felt like smoke,
looking from tree to tree as the leaves flutter down like pages,
mirrored birds watching, walking the covered ground, actions set in silence,
golden and grey, tell me you understand because someone has to.

Blame the glass oaks that swore not to bend,
blame loud smiles and blame body and tongue,
eyes held leftward, downward.
Different years feel shorter, the farther they get behind us
the harder they are to see.
Feet fell flat on rough asphalt, try to work no matter how you feel,
new talk brings new futures,
forced laughter leaves curves smooth
between silences.
I’m sorry.

Hard head made of clay from the ground he learned to walk on,
Dad told him when he was young, "Son,
there is a whole world past these city walls, but you will never see it."
"The wind is made of hardship, dad.
Everyone knows that."
He remembers the grit of his father's palms, rough on the back of his neck.
Righteousness is not always painless but it gets the job done.
He figured if he wore his roots simple and strong,
slung them over his shoulder, they’d hold him to the ground.
And he would bite through his own tongue,
for what else do his roots do but hold him to the ground
when all he really wants is to float away?
He wonders, singing out of open windows,
is any of it worth fixing?

Bring the winter, the shallow dove
writing bitter songs beneath the edges of her sleeves.
She caught happiness in her butterfly net when she was a kid,
but she packed that away long ago.

Raising a match to his cigarette, fighting tremors in his jaw,
he sees Satan across the street but he doesn’t wave.
Hell is a short walk from here in every direction,
any direction,
and despite what she’s read she decides hanging
is the best way to get there.
After ten Hail Mary’s and five Our Fathers,
she ties her best sash around her delicate throat
and makes the short jump
to forever and ever, amen.

Pressing intentions found in old books, fighting flames,
unpleasant conversations,
"Christ man, can’t we talk about something else?"
But she reminded him of satisfaction, of branches perfectly bent,
frozen, refracted and solid, fitting.
Shivers run rivers of liquid metal down his spine, amorphous.

The eighteenth time unfounded family found him
he blew the fire out in one quick breath
closed sleepless eyes tight
and wished with all his strength for death.  

Whispers grow, stone walls grey concrete,
rocks, trenches, I’ll be home tonight, he lies.
Paint burning skin with red lips, heavy breathing,
they could have danced forever.
They could still dance forever.

"And what then?" I asked,
With the fire roaring by,
And the ashes in the sky,
"And what then," I asked,
With a smile oh so sweet,
"What then when the world we know
Burns down to our feet?"

"And what then?" I asked,
With the waves smashing down,
And the wind whistling 'round,
"And what then," I asked,
With my shaky, trembling hands,
"What then will happen
To our once beloved lands?"

"And what then?" I asked,
Your tears mixed with my own,
And 911 calls on the phone,
"And what then," I asked,
With helpless cries like a dove,
"What then will become of
The dear ones that we love?"

Angels

Your first angel was your mother.
She gave you the Ability to breathe.
She nurtured you for 9 whole months,
and pushed for however long.

     At that point different variables come into play,
your second angel is often a little hard to say.
It could be your father, if the cards play out right...
But sometimes, just sometimes, it simply is not.
Could've been your grandma, or a neighbor across the street...
Just had to be someone who never would leave.
Until they leave.
And then those angels sing the loudest song, the one your radio plays at dawn...
Your third angel comes, when you need them the most
and stay with you through distance, where you need them for hope.
   Angel number four is someone you've known before,
a connection so sacred, when together, it's known.
The fifth is a kiss, sweeter than any you've had,
an exchange of energy, that drives your hormones mad.
Like diving head first into a bubble bath...
The choices you make seem stupid and fast...
But totally worth it even if it didn't last...
      The fifth angel is a blessing, and one everyone should have.
The sixth is an elder, they will stand out like transparent opal in the glistening sun on a new day as the sun blesses the changing tides for the very first time. As if asking you to rise, and begin the new days fight. 

Angels. They aren't really in disguise.

Die ****, y'all tripped, I lean
 On the God that I've seen, 
When he met me in my dream, 
took my hand and showed me reality 
killed me dead with no helmet or memory 
He told me he loved me, humbly
        I told myself, I love myself, I discovered self.

     Rescued from the depths of unconsciously living in debt giving the world every last cent without knowing how to manifest I was drained without sense.
        Always on the defense, scared of present tense, did not dare to jump the broken fence and was stuck there burning incense. 

Wire wrapped into A sole proprietors pair of socks she didn't know would fit her shoes, how dare you. 
Doubt me!?
I doubt you. I doubt you could ever truly understand how much I could believe in you.  Or how easy it is for me to write you off. It's not heartless, with more heart than I know what to do with, I'm just not stupid. I won't be wounded, unless by self.
         Self is safe from self, and no one else. 

Let's put the world to sleep and meet em all in their dreams,
   give some prolific speech that has em waking up thinking,
      Is this my ideal reality?

Some nights,
I dream of my father's fists,
or the blue-green color of his eyes
and how they watered,
became oceans,
when he'd had too much to drink.

There was a galaxy inside of him,
a great, gravitational mass.
He opened his mouth and swallowed worlds;
became a death-eater,
teeth biting down into a swollen black tongue.

When I was a fetus, I felt him pulling,
so I gnawed my way out of my mother's womb.
Covered in her blood, I met my adversary.
I dove into the sea to stare him down,
but could scarcely remember my amniotic swimming.

I drowned. My lungs filled
with the emptiness of space,
and for ages I floated, unmoored,
drifting by stars forever unimpressed with me.

One day, the universe will collapse,
time flying backwards toward its end.
I will see him as he was when he was new,
a stardust embryo not touched by awfulness.
I will know what it means to love.