You are the city I’ve been waiting
my whole life to live in.

I’m not looking for
some hotel room to visit.

If your heart is an apartment,
I’m ready to make a down payment.

Please let me stay until I am evicted.

I am beautiful.
I know this because I can look myself in the mirror and say it.

You are beautiful too.
I know this because everyone is gorgeous in unique ways.

Beauty is in your bright eyes.
Beauty is in your gorgeous smile.
Beauty is in your hair as it blows in the wind.
Beauty is in your attitude and your actions, in the way you treat yourself and others.

Beauty is NOT in the extra pounds decorating your hips.
Beauty is NOT in the color of your skin.

Everyone is beautiful in both invisible and tangible way.
It’s just a matter of seeing those ways in yourself and others

I used to be a writer.
Writing was a meaningful, noble profession
for meaningful, noble people
and I wanted to distance myself from banality-
hands stained with proverbial ink, after all
are well-respected, revered, and best of all, loved
for their hard and beautiful work.
Certainly it is better to create than to simply exist.

Now I don’t know if I’m supposed to write.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to do anything, really
which isn’t even one of those pretty fears you can turn into a story.
Sometimes I want to do something completely different
and see if I feel any kind of metaphorical spark-
or feel my insides shift and rumble like the tectonic plates
they talked about in that stupid geology class.
I’m not sure if I want to be who I am just yet.

He fell in love,
With the idea of her.
But he realized too late
that ideas aren't people
and they never do
what you expect.
People aren't things to dream about.
People are imperfect beings
And they don't fit into
Your misunderstood notions.
Foolish ideas, foolish emotions,
Now he's her fool,
Juggling his own life
For her entertainment.