She is flooded
With his emotions
He is flooded
With her words
They both Can’t resist
They both Can’t handle
They are both flooded
In love



©sobbingsoul

Have I already told you?
that I always miss you
on a day to day basis

Have I already told you?
that I want to hold you
in this cold, lonely night

Have I already told you?
that you're all I see
in this myriad crowd

Have I already told you?
how you look so cute
when you wear that smile

Have I already told you?
that I'm slowly falling
out of love; it's driving me crazy

Have I already told you?
how lucky I am that I've found you
my one and only comfort zone

Have I already told you?
that I'm hurt with words you've said
I thought it was me all along.

But, I was wrong.
that's why I didn't tell you
what I feel about you.

Have I already told you?
how lucky that person is
to be loved by you...

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my *******,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

They say that just because someone doesn't show affection in the same way you do doesn't mean that they don't care or love you.

I believe it. We can't all be silent lovers, we can't all be screaming it from rooftops either.

I understand it. We're all different people, with differing tactics and ideas of what it means to love and care.

But **** if I don't know any better way to love than to tell someone what they mean to me, to always kiss before I leave and kiss hard, nothing soft and forgetable. I don't know anything better than drunk calls confessing how much I like you, or loud laughs at your stupid puns.

I don't see love in quiet embraces and glances and iridescent, see-through compliments. I don't see it in tolerance. I don't see love in those things.

I see it in 2 am talks when you're tired but hell, maybe I like you more when you're half-asleep in my bed. I see it in scratch marks down my back and hands grabbing at my hips. I see it in consistent, small efforts. What you do every day says a lot more than what you do every once in awhile to me. I see it in the little reminders and notions that I'm on your mind, that I'm someone in your tangled, messy brain.

I need something tangible. I can't love someone with my lips closed unless they're closed by yours in a kiss. I can't love anyone who can't shout it back to me. I can't feel for someone who only feels my skin with his finger tips, and can't make me feel any other way. I can't do that kind of love.

So, everyone shows affection differently. I'll paint it in the sky for you, shout it from rooftops and proclaim it for everyone to hear. I'll write you and kiss you in the rain and make you breakfast and whisper "I love you" when we watch movies and tickle your feet and admire you naked and press you against a wall. I'll tell you you're beautiful. I'll love you with all I have.

If anyone out there loves with all they have, then maybe we could disregard what they say, that everyone shows affection differently, and show it how we know best-

*Loudly, openly, compulsively, whole-heartedly.

The last time you looked at me with love
was somewhere between September,
where summer was nearing its end and
autumn was saying hello.

The last time you said you loved me
was Thanksgiving weekend, when you reminded me
how your world only consisted of my presence and
"grateful" was an innocent understatement to define how you felt.

The last time you held my hand
you wrapped my fingers in every crevice of your grip
squeezing it tight as if
never wanting to let me go.

The last time you kissed me
was a passionate concoction
embroidered on the satin fabric
of lust and love.

You picked me up from behind,
spun me around my living room
and kissed me against my front door
as if there was going to be a next time.

But Christmas has presented itself like a shooting star:
visible but barely there, flashing by in a second only to steal all your wishes.
And it has come to my attention that it's been far too long
since you've even allowed my name to roll off your tongue.

The last time you talked to me* was at a mutual friend's party,
where my heart became nervous, an all too old sensation,
to even have the courage to talk to you
wondering if your voice would be warm even with the belligerent wind outside.  

The last time I felt your embrace
was the exact same day, given in an awkward stance,
ending with you walking out the door where
winter awaited to kiss your cheeks because I had no right to anymore.

And this time, you didn't look at me with love, or kiss me from behind.
This time, you used your hands to push me away,
and that's when it crossed my mind that
those three little words abruptly became Latin on your native English tongue.

Though those were the last times I had any signs of your presence still physically in my life,
they weren't the last times I dreamt of you, longed for your hand (or kiss or hug), or loved you.
But as a new dawn rounds the corner, I solemnly swear today -
today will be the last time I miss you.

                                                        ­        *Or at least I'll try to.

- g.d.

So much is coming back, overwhelming what already is. Thinking of what I lack don’t know how to live. Everything is changing; don’t know if it’s better or worse. My life needs rearranging, I’ve gotta escape this curse. I don’t know where I’m going; barely know where I’ve been. Life’s not getting any better now matter how hard I try, everything’s getting harder no matter how much I lie. I don’t know where to turn; pain’s too much to swallow. All I can do I burn and stay here to wallow. It’s all too much to handle, I’m burning out. Going like a dying candle smothered by my doubt. I don’t know what to do, problems swirling round my head. I don’t know what to do with the life I’ve lead. This rains coming down on me washing hopes around, there’s nowhere I wanna be. Each drop is like a person, just another ripple. I’m drowning in this lake people think is a puddle. They’re telling me to stand; my feet can’t find the land. I’m lost nothing left to say, speechless all the way. The words I can find are few; they go a little like *******.

I preferred when we were strangers
I liked it better when I didn’t know you.
Some things are just better left unfinished
rather than continuing with the tragic event
I learned that you are harder on the ones you know and care about.
There were reasons why I stayed away
but at the same time, I didn’t realise
that I had actually tied ropes to my arrows
so when I attack, you know exactly where I would be
and I’ve always had this habit of leading people to me.
I’ve come to terms that whether I like it or not,
the traces I leave are often appealing to wanderers
who have absolute no idea what they’re getting themselves in to.
No matter how I hard I try to cover my tracks,
the attraction curses my mere existence
and there is nothing more I want than to just be.