love me
or leave me,
but i’m praying
that you need me.
i could love you, if you
want me too.

"Welcome!" I shout,
To the footsteps pressing into my temples that ache with constant pain.
"Will you stay awhile?" I ask
The nomadic traveler of the night who can only be bothered with a kiss or a ****,
"Can I get you anything?" I courtesy,
Feeding him grapes of Gods and wine, thick like blood. Only the best for the one who comes calling.
"Make yourself comfortable" I gasp
As he arches himself inside of my body
With no intention of staying,
But yet,
No intention of leaving.

if you’ve seen him.
you’d know,
nothing gold can stay
and this is why,
i can’t wait for the day,
where you turn foe
so i can love you,
endlessly

We lead such a fragile existence
Between the heartache
And the joy.
We spend so much time,
Trying to walk the fine line
Between bending and breaking
The fragility of existence,
And trying to lie our way through
Our life just to make it
A little easier.
But in reality,
When all is said and done
We hurt ourselves
With all the things unsaid
And all the feelings
That are hidden.
It is the contemplation
Of our existence
That makes us question,
Is this worth it?

"But the Lord called to Adam, where are you?"
Adam turned his back,
There is no one holier than me and the life I am.
My Lord, you are a man with complex much too far indulged by the only people who have ever loved you.
You were a peasant, a pauper, a campesino
Left behind family for the God that left you.
To answer you Lord,
I am tending to my cows, my chickens, my pigs
Waiting for the day you wake up and see,
I was born from nature itself, not the fists of a man
Too arrogant to both love and accept all the brothers and sisters,
You left behind, trying to reinvent yourself.

To love a ghost trapped behind a gated core-
Is to love a hollow shell and expect nothing more.

Framework narrowing, crumbling, and cracking
While loose leaf lullabies fable my lacking.

Tiresome symphony's play my heart's theme
While love is grown slow, curated behind sheen.

Endlessly flailing for something more sturdy,
But you can't expect grace when you haven't any glory.

We fall apart, yet again, in the light of the day,
But the nighttime is when our ghosts can play.

War-torn love taints our bruised flesh,
Love you can't feel behind the cloud of regret.

The blissful peace of being near you,
The agony of you leaving too soon.

There is a religion hiding behind every lustrous kiss
and in the electricity that sparks from your fingertips.
I am coming to believe that every proverb and hymn is inspired by the way you speak passionately about the music that moves you,
Like the way they describe Moses as moving the seas.
I am so astonished by the godly nature that your head holds when you tell me the things I wished I knew about myself.
There is an existential divide between the bliss I knew and the bliss I have found inside your soul that warms me to my core,
There is religion inside the foundations of your rhythm,
Detailed among the gaps in your words and holy prose.
While in your arms I fear not of the damnation waiting for me or the eternal death swooping me down ward,
In your arms all I fear is having to let you go.

I went down stairs this morning,
Looking for something to do.
Stared at a picture of you,
Why do I feel so blue?

mom can you see the woman I've become,
hair as white as elsa's,
voice more passionate than a hug
but mother I'm sorry for my mistakes, my misdemeanors
my unholy ****, scraped off by the windshield much like the bugs.
scraping off my dead skin cells, my tired flesh, my small love
im sorry for cursing the ground that you walked.
im sorry for exasperating your love and good thoughts,
im sorry for being too strung out to give a **** what you thought
but now I hope you see, that i am all you thought I could be
that I am more than my scars, my lost loves, and my horrors
I am seventeen years old but my heart is much harder
because I have seen pain spread greater than a fire
I have seen heartache being men to their knees,
and painful memories spread like disease
my mother I'm inhibited
by self crippling doubt,
I am breathing yes,
but not quite living now.
I pull phony smiles from my lips to my eyes,
I combat the night with sparkling tears in my eyes.
you see my mother I am seventeen years old,
with a trauma like brain, dying, and cold
I might be seventeen but my weakness is ancient,
my lips are the vessels, words carried out through the nations
my dearest mother I love you so, and I am very sorry for the days my weaknesses show.

the weight of ink is heavier than blood
for it carries the passion and intensity
of a heart set free through the mountains,
the seas,
the valleys
scribbling its way on to pages of our minds
leaving us wanting more,
begging our pens to flow endlessly,
for the pleasure of some and the decay of others.

He was youth-
Undeniably naive in the way he looked at me,
Like I could build skyscrapers with trailer park hands.
His smile was sweet,
Like frosted cupcakes and sugary lips that only spoke sticky words.

He was youth-
In the way he laughed, tossing his head back with ignorant bliss.
In his eyes that lit up with the sight of stars,
And him imagining me as one of those beautiful, perfect stars.
Ignorant in the way he loved so carelessly and so freely.

He was the youthful gust of air that blew straight into me.
So childlike in the way he told me sweet nothings like they were law,
And I was a citizen inside of his arms.
He was the youth I needed at a time when I was too old to fight it.
The youthful facade that only lasted while feeling it.

I want to be like Mount Saint Helens,
Strong and firm, quaking every couple years in the faces of the helpless.
I want to make newspaper headlines and magazine articles for being fearless and tall,
Sputtering and spewing at those who've wronged me.
I want to be the conquest men dare try,
Out of fear of being swallowed whole.
The deadly concoction of pure beauty and viciousness,
Threatening those who taunt from below.
Unpredictable and dangerously violent,
They still will want my picture and tell their children of me,
Mount Saint Helens glory will never fade,
For her might is much to strong for the common man.
But I,
I will keep on,
I will conquer and cast my plight willingly
And when they see me, they will tremble because they will know of my unpredictability and daunting grace.
A deadly concoction,
That Mount Saint Helens might find idyllic.

love me like lovers do,
even when skies are blue,
love me like lovers do,
like it's just me & you,
love me like lovers do,
love me all afternoon,
love me like lovers do,
even when death is due.

How easily we let ourselves believe we can put our faith into anyone, or anything, besides ourselves,
Without fear of falling into the demise we’ve created,
Even though the possibility of opening our hearts is the one thing that can break our walls.
We create barriers to shield ourselves, and our hearts, from crumbling and turning into our mothers, and that sad lady down the street.
The truth is, we are so ******* terrified of the weakness love brings,
That we'd rather suffer alone,
Stay empty, but stay unbroken.
In the solace of our own minds we become a butterfly,
Only we don't know how to fly,
Too scared to take the first leap.
Do we risk shattering everything?
So easily we make excuses and cower instead of fall,
Because our heart is our most guarded possession of all.

I think of you in the mid afternoon
When you're yawning from the midst of the day.
I think of you when I roll up my sleeves
And how you never let yours down.
I think of you at 3 am when you are softly sleeping
But I am wide awake,
You see I dream of every inch of you
Every second of the day,
You are like the air in my lungs,
And the goosebumps on my skin
You are necessary, you are inevitable
You are my only end
You are the only one I am thinking of
Inside this troubled head.

i stopped writing about you not because i forgot about you,
but because the mere thought of you makes my hands explode, shake, gnaw,
pick at all the skin you whispered to me was
beautiful
the mere thought of you sends my heart into a slow melt,
you make it feel like july on the inside
where you’re hot and sweaty and far too close to one another
i can’t write about you anymore because the fragile thoughts in my head
would be destroyed by the heavy weight of your influence

I remember the pain,
The gut-wrenching pain-
That consumed
Me
I remember the quiet that followed,
The dead silence-
That soothed
Me
The sound of your voice,
A voice that had used-
Me

You are my sailor,
Sailing sea to sea
To eventually see me.
Creating waves in my lungs
Till I am gasping for air
You save me,
Time and time again
From the rough and shallow waters I face
With you, life is an endless blue ocean
And you are my sailor.
Together, conquering the waters
With a smile on our face

I learned how to write when I could no longer speak,
Time traveled through literature and escaped into a realm of tattered pages and tear soaked ink.
I found my voice inside of forgotten words and unending rhyme schemes.
When I could no longer speak, the ink flowed easily
And the thought flowed even easier.
Releasing my inhibition on to blank pages accompanied by cold coffee and early morning sunshines,
I learned yet again that heroes I regarded sat on top a bookshelf rather than on a screen or in an album.
They gave me voice, comfort, and solace inside of my own head.
The voice I lacked for so many years, came naturally when typing away,
It was then that I finally felt free.

There’s something sadistic about cigarettes,
and the way they fondled your hands
like the way you used to ****** me,
hard and rough.
There’s something sadistic about the way they ****,
slow and steady,
like your words and how you purred them into my ears.
Their smell, coats and lingers for what can seem like years.
Just like your Old Spice body and strawberry scented hair,
because 4 years later the scent sticks to my nostrils
like a child clings to their mother.
There’s just something sadistic about the way a cigarette can look so **** good on you.
A fashion accessory, licensed to ****

You are a flower
That constantly sways in the wind
Petals scattered from shore to shore
While I,
I am a seed
Buried deep within the cold soil
Who hasn't been watered in days
I am the seed who has not yet began to grow
But instead, fades away

i long for days with everlasting horizons
so blue, yellow, and pink
how the colors fold together
into
an eternal simplicity
these days i will hold back my head
look into the sun
and let my soul
free

he looked at me like he had never seen me before,
he looked at me like I was the first bloom of the season,
like I was the Holy Ghost every religious ******* is waiting for
like I was the creator and you were the protector and our touch was everything unseen
he looked at me through eyes unhardened
he looked at me selflessly and gracefully
he was the beginning and I was the end
and together we flowed,
endlessly

I'm kind of drunk again.
But I can still hear you laughing
That same thoughtful laugh.
I can still hear you playing music way too loud
As you curse our neighbors for being those old boring people we swore we'd never be,
I'm kind of drunk again,
The kind of drunk we used to get when we were way to young
And to proud to drink anything besides *****
That same old, cheap ***** that I still drink
From time to time
To remember the way we danced atop my bed
And cursed the morning sunrise
I may be kind of drunk again.
But it will never fully bring back
The people that we were
Or what we thought we were
It will never bring back the feeling
Of being drunk at 2 am
Ringing the doorbells of the men we loved.
I'm just kind of drunk again,
Thinking about you always.

Foolish fish flop farthest,
But foolish fish fry fastest.

in the privacy of my own head
i have found bliss in solitude
and peace in my own body
the itch in my hands has subsided
and my wounds have finally closed
i am done picking open scabs
that have started to heal
and finally letting myself grow

I’m sitting in an ordinary coffee shop,
Listening to ordinary people talk **** on their ordinary lives.
How many ordinary men do I have to listen to ***** about their fat wives and their loser kid’s
Before I combust into a million pieces of myself,
I wish I could scream that what you have become is not what you have to stay.
You can still feel hope inside of your heart and spark inside of your soul,
Ignite your flame, feed and grow it.
Nourish the being inside of you telling you to rebel.
Give in to the devil on your shoulder and figure out how to begin again,
Because existence is much more beautiful when it is accompanied by a side of life.

Why do we take the time to build such a strong foundation,
For our roof to leak at the slightest hint of rain?

Brittle teeth
Bite hard
But will always
Bend and break

i want to write something people can resonate with.
for most of my life, i spent hours in book that i cried with or laughed to.
but now it is my turn.
i want to write for the ones with swollen hearts that are full of love,
i want to write something for the kids who were never enough,
for those spend hours sitting in the shower because the water frowns out the sounds of their tears,
i want to write something for the ones who have spent nights upon nights dreaming of ways to leave this world,
i want to write something for those finding bliss in baggies and hope in a pill
for the children who have found companionship in literary hero’s,
for the ones who twist words and rhymes,
the ones who for countless hours have manipulated vowel sounds and consonant endings.
i want to write for the ones who still believe in the magic of pixie dust,
for the ones who’s pixie dust only lives in hard bound books and in aisles of forgotten book stores.
i want to write something for those who appreciate the weird and find comfort in the uncommon.
i want to write for those fighting every day for that loaf of bread in the grocery store.
i want to write something people can resonate with.
because i’ve been there
so here it is,
here’s to you.

Conjuring love,
and compelling lust
All the while we call it nature.
But what is more mechanical then telling yourself that you are nothing without it.
We were created alone, and happy.
When did we stop filling our hearts with our own hopes and dreams,
And start letting others fill them for us?

you are my cup of tea
in a world full of coffee stains

We all exist in this world
Wouldn't it be nice to spend our time
With more memories,
More love,
More life,
Wouldn't it be nice to just live a little more?

Hark, my aching heart.
'Tis the last of its kind who beats fervently
Pounding at seams too rich and too thick
To expand to the beat of my longing
Stitched tight are the lines that divide,
You from me-
Indefinitely.

i don’t fear the unexpected,
i fear the unconquered
for one day my time will run out,
and it will have conquered
me

im not a doll,
i will not break.
so please just ******* drop me

I remember when I was 10,
And I saw my father cry.
I asked him "Daddy, what makes people sad?"
He told me people get sad because the warriors
Go to sleep
He said, people get sad because the sun will eventually fall
Even though it just began to rise.
People get sad because one day someone can wake up and say
"I don't care about you anymore."
I think I understand why people get sad,
I am sad too.
The warriors have gone to sleep,
The sun has fallen into an endless horizon,
And even my father has told me,
"I don't care about you anymore."

You are a vacation,
But you will never be home

i’m in love with strangers i pass by
because ignorance is comforting

Is it worth it to go through life lonely?
Or is it worse to go through it blind?

Today I looked at sun,
I saw the light beams radiate on hill tops and in the crescent of the valleys beneath.
I even saw it shine on the nape of your neck,
As it bounced back off of you,
It took its run on me,
They danced across my skin.
Glowing and morphing into golden hues
Much more beautiful than any moonlight that has walked along this body, along this flesh.
I saw my skin collect and store away the sparkle and twinkle of the sun,
When the day had settled and the night had finally fell upon us,
I beamed, from my finger tips to my toes.
I let that light radiate its ultraviolet passion and its warm love across my body and when I began to speak,
You realized it was not the sun I liberated,
But rather, the sun that liberated me.

I can't remember the last time I looked into the mirror,
And didn't see the vague shell that I am today.
Because today, my body bleeds passion for the uninspired
My skin, shrink wrapped over hollow tree branches
That extend to the beachy shallows of my body
That not even I can see anymore
I am a withering tree who's leaves cannot grow
And roots are dry
I am the stiff wind in January that will burn your cheeks,
I am the only thing that keeps two people apart.
Yet, I will shout from corridors and mountain peaks alike,
I am fine

It's 5:25 pm and I am sitting in class,
Alone.
I am daydreaming of 11:27 pm when I'll be able to hear your low voice, singing me to sleep with your soothing words.
I am longing for yesterdays conversations and last month's visit when you cradled me in your arms.
I am craving the warmth of your skin against mine when I am shaking out in the cold.
I am listening to a lesson about god knows what,
But I am sitting here, unable to shake your firm grasp over me.
I've written a lot about you.
You're the only one I want to be thinking about
At 5:25 pm when I am sitting in class,
Alone.

Don't call me beautiful,
Or say I shine like a star.
I am a constellation made up of some horrible parts.
I am a disaster supported by weakened knees,
I am the road rage you feel on a Friday night.
I am the raw pain of loneliness and heartache,
That will keep you up in a fright.
But don't let me scare you,
Don't hide in fear.
Keep me close,
I can show you the good,
less miserable parts.
I am also hot water,
That massages your lungs.
I am the serenity you feel whilst reading a book.
I am the blissful silence in the midst of chaos,
I am the delicate nature of humanity.
I am not bad, nor am I good,
I am a mess.
Please don't let it scare you.
Don't cower in fear.
Let me consume you,
Twist my heart around yours.