she always looked so beautiful but she never believed.
if her smile was a word it would be: free.
everyone wanted to be her
and though she could not see
whoever saw her new the meaning of beauty.
but she’d still go home
feeling “unworthy”
because the kids at school said she was “too curvy”.
so she went home everyday
trying to change who she was
all her parents told her was “high school is tough”
the blood in her bathroom now cleaned back to white
she covers her arm
“mom i’m going out tonight”
all she wanted was to forget
she only had one cup
and before you know it
she was wasted as
forgetting everything she knew about life and it’s wonders
getting into the pool some one is pushing her head under
but no one is there  
she's alone
and alone she can think
about the beauty that she never had
the beauty that was weak
and if only she had her mirror
she would say
"wow, that's me"
but another day goes by
without her being who she can be
she always looked so beautiful but she never believed.
if her smile was a word it would be: free.
everyone wanted to be her
but now it's too late to see
because the broken glass in her bedroom was the vary thing
that gave her beauty

Before I begin, allow me to explain,
I too loved.. once,
so think of me not as some cynic-
nor as a master in the ways of love-
but rather as a keen observer-
now, that may mean I have nothing to offer you-
no insider knowledge-
no secrets of love-

But I do  know how to tell a true love story -

Interested?
Fantastic-
So let’s begin,

True love, if there is such a thing at all,
is like the thread that makes the cloth
you can’t tease it out-
you can’t extract meaning-
without ending up deeper in the web-
and it always remains-
hidden under layers -

In the end, that’s all you can really say about any
True love story-
They don’t generalize-
They don’t analyze-
They arent found-
They just… happen.

and that’s what makes them “true.”

But what is this coveted “love” -
the emotion?-
the act?-
the mentality?-

Love, is a constant state of illusionment-

A collective agreement amongst humans-
that it, whatever it may be,  can be treated as an excuse
for recklessness, irrationality, and misplaced strife-  

A quid pro quo  between two individuals-
to agree that they are doing something-
anything-
other than mindlessly drudging through life-

Now that is not to say that what love creates is pointless-
I said before, I have felt the embrace of love
Love festers between individuals for so long
it has no option-
but to mould the physical to itself-
and alter our personalities-

Characterized by spontaneity-
by indulgence-
by risk-
to love is the most dangerous experience in existence-
the act of being fully vulnerable with another-
while promising not to hurt them the same-

Love is characterized by vulnerability-
and the constant fear of being hurt-

So you want to know how to write a true love story?
be honest-
dwell not on the “romantic” blindfolds that keep us irrationally seeking our partners-
dwell not on the on the memories of a love that blossomed-
reveal the core of love -

A true love story comes from gut instinct-
A true love story, comes from experience.
A true love story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe

So I said I loved once,
allow me to elaborate-

I too have felt the “butterfly stomach”
- where the insides of the lovestruck turn on their host and manifests the emotional significance of meeting “the one”

I too have spent the day daydreaming...
-Lost in the thought of “the one”, seeking brief breaks from reality in my mind between moments of  utter normalcy

I too have melted into a puddle of emotion….
-lying next to “the one” as we slowly spill more and more of the secrets that bound us as individuals, joining a spirit much larger than ourselves-

I too have felt... invincible-
-to know that I’ve found something more significant than myself. Something that replaces the fear of the future.. and makes it something to look forward to.

Yes, I too have fallen in love.
and I did just that-
I fell.





..And that is my true love story-

pretty is so played out
so used
like a childhood toy
when youre in your 20s
its manipulative
and tired
pretty gets you places
like a strangers bed
or stuck in someones
head
pretty gets you
fooled
into thinking
thats the only thing
good about you

creeping fingers,
crawling hands,
innocent at first--
innocent? not likely--
malicious more like.
the purity of your
polystyrene soul,
the unremitting cleanse,
the repent(the chase),
it's your lifeline. the
shocked look, saccharine power
held over tiny fawn--
****** clarity as they might,
oh dear incubus.
the power to end all
held in tiny fists.
this births not demon babes,
but a century of fear
and inadequacy.
downy kittens hardwired with
an inevitable self-destruct.
bring the world to it's knees,
incessant, indefatigable pathogen,
taking grasp of neurons, synapses.
good intentions yearned for the green light
while yours-- red as the blood rose
manifests in lovely lips
for eternity stained with **** wine--
the wine you brewed, you fermented
in the cellar of ******* and hatred.
the father, the son, and the holy spirit,
and the things that lie between.
blessed fingers, blessed breath
freezes as the stiff arms of your diocese.
hushed catholic whisper, angels to never
nearly achieve their wholly holy grail--
your kryptonite. secret looks, hasty deliverance,
catharsis.

My perspective of you will always
be the same.
No matter how disappointed you make me.
No matter how many times you mess up.
You don't have to be perfect for me to love you.
I just do.
Whether you like it or not.

i once dated a boy who found it "adorable" that i know how to change my headlights
     fill my radiator
     change the oil
     and notice every stopsign as i'm halfway through it
he dumped me via text

before that
there was a boy who loved my lack of first person capitalization
     my over-use of metaphores and similies
     the way i personify the night
     and practice preforming poetry in the shower
he took off into the sunset with my journal in his shoulder-sack

and somewhere in between
i stopped asking myself what it means
threw up my hands
     and learned to enjoy the ride

inebriated
under the influence of
sheer reality

Roommate Wanted;
Dorm includes:

Kitchen,
      With complete set of
      appliances and a table
      meant for two.

Living Room,
       with a coffee table , tv
       and the sofa we used to
       watch movies and cry on.

A Bathroom,
      with hot water and
      lonely showers.

A bedroom,
      with a half empty
      king sized bed

And closet space
     which used to house the shoes
     you walked away from me in.


For inquiries please call this number: