I’ll stain solar systems on your heart                                                            ­                            
So any boy who loves you has to conquer the galaxies           
Before he can say “that girls mine”

I’ll paint forests in  your iris                         
So any boy who loves you has to adventure into depths unknown Before he can say “I got lost in her eyes”

I’ll draw the sun on your lungs                                                   
and the sky on your back                                                                  ­   
to teach you that your body is a habitat                                           
not a hotel or an                                          
ecosystem of forgotten love

I’ll write novels on your thighs                                                      ­                  So any boy who loves you has to read between the lines                  Before he can say “I got between those legs”

I’ll sketch the stars on your feet                                                         
  So any boy who loves you can get lost in the milky way                  Before he can say “we go everywhere together”

I’ll sculpt the gods on your knees                                               
and clouds on your fingers
to remind you                                              
you can, you will                                                   
conquer great things

Why do I write poetry:
Many nights I have slept
With words of yours wrapped all around me
And now every time I lay
Those words whisper to me.
I must write to maintain my sanity.

Why do I write poetry:
Sometimes when I see sunset all I can think of is how you were the light of my eyes and when you left the sun set and it has never dawned since then
And I must write; ode to its remembrance

Why do I write poetry:
Sometimes I get really confused as to where I'm going except that no road will be taking me to you and the brown of the earth is the closest I'll get to have a souvenir of you
And I must write about the brown eyes I no longer wake up to

Why do I write poetry:
Every time you spoke there was a quiet all around while your words etched themselves on my fragile heart
And now there is only chaos left
And I must write to give my heart the silence to reminisce about your voice

Why do I write poetry:
I removed pieces of me to make you a home and now it only aches where my heart should be
And I must write to distract and empty myself of whatever is left

Why do I write poetry:
This is a world where please stay is followed only by a sorry as their response
And I must write because paper never cringes when I confess about my love

There are 10 kinds of people in this world,
and binary accounts for them all.

They're happy and sad.
They're ones and zeros.
Villains and heroes.
Villains, yet not all bad.
Despite everything life decides to hurl;
Despite every brick ball of fear
Through the stained glass windows of their minds,
Through it all, they survive.
They're angry and glad.
They're happy and sad.

And in their duality, they're still smiling there
at your sharp hasty words
at your venomous hurt
that you wish so desperately they, too, shared.

I saw infinity
In a glass of water

I felt it strange
As it passed

It was a difference
Like night and day

The loss of the feeling
That i am alone

The realization
That i am Connected to all of you

That life is a dream
And death an illusion

All of this hate
And all the confusion

Are the movements of energy
Through our mortal coil

Yet without the body
There would be a unity

We would be everything
And nothing

This is why life exists
To experience ourselves subjectively

Most of us not knowing
That we are drops from the same ocean

With every kindness And crime we commit
We further our understanding

Still with life comes conflict
And another chance to change

We live our lives like falling rain
*Only to pass back to the ocean again

Then we learn to crawl through the ramble and sprawl, if we were tadpoles perhaps we might wriggle a bit,
but we're not
We scrabble and screech in order to reach whatever is it that we need and we feed at the fast foods, watching the naked and **** being destroyed and it's us that we see.
If we walk we don't talk with our heads in a phone watching memes on the screen and the bigger the better, easy to letter your life if you like, A equals 5 equals a bee in the hive, but we're making no honey just plenty of green crispy banknotes and it's funny because you can't eat money, but it keeps us alive, us being the bee in the hive.

And through all of this, the tramping, campaigning and cutting, adjusting, abutting it's easy to see why we crawl,
why we sprawl on the sofa and think so far so good.
I wonder if I'd feel as I would if I could grasp every corner of life, fold it into a square, put it somewhere and forget it.