I gave my heart away when I was 15.
Innocent and naïve, I gave it away
Not even realizing until now.
Not to 1, but 2 boys.
Brothers, not in blood, but in friendship.
I fell in what can be called love with both.
One, a musician, the notes flowing as amazing as the way he saw the world.
The way I saw him.
The other, a dancer, spinning hypnotically, that it left you up and down at the same time.
Just like my mind.
Both beautiful, strong, incredible and soon enough we were all best friends.
Sharing happy memories all together
But individual secrets among one another.
One, playing me sweet love songs, feeling special, I played my own versions back.
The other, seducing me with twirling and fluidity, an affection I had never experienced, lust filled I followed in his footsteps.
One sweet.
One bitter.
A mix of ultimate perfection.
The best of both worlds.
My little game.
Spending the night on the phone singing John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland" away, promises of forever, with one.
And texting ***** dancing moves to the other at the same time.
I was pulling off what I thought was the greatest scheme of all.
But eventually,
Ice and fire collide.
And everything falls apart.
The musician found a girl who would actually commit to matching his rhythm instead of dealing with an occasional drummer.
The dancer found someone who wouldn't step on his toes and hold him back.
Caring wasn't enough anymore and resentment filled it's place.
The pieces fell apart around me.
Not even able to listen to a song
Or
Dance around my room in my underwear
Both my nice and naughty sides were given away.
I lost my way.
With no part of myself left how am I supposed to find a middle ground?
Between wanting
Romance
Or
Passion?
Attempting to let another man into my life, only to not be able to love him
Attempting to let another man into my bed, only to not be able to create a spark.
Hopeless.
Empty.
Alone.
That's what I am.
When you give something away, you should expect not to get it back.
That much is obvious.
But being too young
Being too stupid
To selfish
To happy
To ******* trusting
And to willing to give myself for both,
I have nothing left.
And when you have nothing left
And when you go from having everything to nothing...
You don't just bounce right back up.
I haven't been up since I was 15.
I haven't felt complete
Full
Perfect.
Since I was 15.
But everyone changes, and my 18 year old broken heart knows that now.
We all lose our ways.
We all want someone to play along with
We all want someone to dance with
And we all want what we can't have.
But I don't believe I'll be alone like this forever.
That would be irrational.
But for now it's my life.
The 2 pieces of my original heart are history now.
Tucked away in an old guitar case, and choreography.
Waiting to be re-discovered.
An old muse lost and hopefully to be found.
Because that's what I am.
Notes on an old scale to faded to read
And
An out dated dance number.
But I guess that's what I get for giving away everything I had so soon.
I gave my heart away when I was 15.
I still haven't got it back.

Beauty trumps brains.
I open my mouth to speak.

Who listens?

Silence echoes through the class room.

No point.

Just a pretty face,
And an un-heard opinion.

Stay quiet.
Stay quiet.

You're just another dumb blonde.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

I have a strange relationship with my across-the-street neighbor.
Every morning, after the coffee *** is brewing and the bed is made,
I enjoy a cigarette or two just outside the front door.
I look across the street and I see him.
Bearded, usually wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and slippers.
On a typical morning he is out before me, about half way through his cigarette.

Although I've lived across the street from him for the better part of two years, I do not know his name.
I know that he smokes Marlboro 100's, just from the way his pack, generally in his cigarette holding hand, looks.
I know he has a wife, and a what seems to be three year old daughter.
I love this man.
I love him and his wife and his daughter and his Marlboro 100's.
Every morning that I see him, it is a sign that I am awake, that this is all real.
For if I were to not wake my mind would not be so cruel as to trick me.
My mind would not be so cruel as to deceivingly use my only sense of comfort against me.

Before daylight savings so rudely interrupted my subconscious schedule, the sun would just creep above the low tree line behind the man's house as he put out his cigarette and go inside.
On some days, I imitate him shortly after, dropping my cigarette and returning inside.
On other days, days when I need all of the tobacco in my cigarette, which have been occurring more often than they used to, I follow him more slowly. I stay outside until the sun is completely out from behind the tree line. Some days, as was the case this morning, I need two cigarettes to properly prepare me for the day.
And on these days, the man returns outside, with his baby girl in his arms and his wife following behind.
They all pile into his grey Toyota pickup and are off.
Where to, I know not.
All I know is that I will see him tomorrow.
And I love him for that.

you are heavy
wearing the dust that has settled
on your sadness like a crown
you've grown so accustomed
to your fog
your water logged eyes
they demand an escape
yet you won't
let you
let me
lift you out

far too sober
and far too lucid
to formulate
anything worthwhile

but I'm nothing
if not stubborn

alas
it's an underrated
virtue

I want my thighs to make you lick your lips
and my mini-skirt to make you clench your fists,
I want my black lips to haunt your daydreams
and my dark eyes to drive you crazy.
Come closer,
because I may seem shy,
but if you run your fingers gently up my spine,
I can trace you with my tongue
and let my lust get the better of our love.