love is a word
love is a verb
love is not outspoken afterthoughts
it is laughs
and your hair in the wind
the flowers grazing the
tip of my nose
as I breathe you in;
it is not a melancholy vibration
overtaking my entire being
as if I am not worthy
of the word of love..
but this body made of decaying wood
and rusty bolts is no longer
the home for this lingering hopelessness
I once called home
love is a verb
that could only beg to describe your active
presence.
love is an adjective for the way I feel when you laugh over nothing and our endless sorries.
love is a noun because it is who you are
to me.

Smiles
Laughter
Joy
Love
Kindness
Bliss
Warmth
Hugs
Kisses
Embrac­es
Flowers
Chocolates
Sunshine
Drizzle
Coffee
Tea
Touches
Whisper­s
Hope

There is so much for you to be grateful about.
Even if survival is your only goal today, pride yourself on that.
At the very least, you are strong enough to hold on.

When writing about oneself
ceases to scratch that awful
self-absorbed itch,

and the heart realizes
that writing about others
and what they've done to us
is the same itch masked
in a fresh disguise,

the trail of words
leads away from "I"  --

   like breadcrumbs
   dropped at intervals
      for poetic feet
         to follow --

            -- at last finding the untamed

where one is more than a mouthpiece
for sorrow or rage,

   for ignorant opinion or
       self-righteous argument  --

where the horizons are bounded
not by fear but imagination --

The irony: what one keeps thinking about,
one keeps thinking about
convinced that integrity depends
on never letting go.

Egotism
fettered by a soul
feels sorriest for itself.

parades of bombs lighting the silver night
causing ripples in the magnificence of the ocean
depleting the sensitivities of creatures
famine in the midst of bountiful weaponry
abundance of fire
now self incandescent
peace of minds at war
mourning choice

your happiness should NEVER be based solely on one person.
your home shouldn't ever be nestled inside of someone's chest
or tucked into the creases of their arms.
your happiness shouldn't be measured by the amount of times they say i love you
or by how many times their fingers intertwine with yours
because if you want to get brutally honest here,
happiness that's based on a person will forever and always lead to disappointment.
because the second that they even as much as threaten to step out of the door,
you're back to the way you were
or even worse.
you're left with a shadow of your former self.
you can't make a person your home no matter how sturdy you think the foundation is because their arms will always crumble around you and leave you cold.
not because they meant to,
but because they weren't built to.
they could have had every intention of holdin' you up steady,
but no matter how hard they try,
their arms will never compare because
they weren't made to be your brick walls.
you have got to understand that.
you can't put that much weight on one person.
one human being.
one soul.
they can love you.
they surely can love you.
they can love you with all of their heart.
and as you to them,
but your home should not be composed of
veins that do not belong to you,
and arms that aren't attached to your own body.
your happiness shouldn't be solely based on the way
that your body seems to perfectly coincide with theirs.
they can surely be a factor,
a part of your happiness.
but babe,
you're in some trouble if they're your whole.

Say the much-beloved words--
that until now, had been unheard.
A voice and face imparts a life
to a book’s words in black and white.
Imagination can deliver
landscape, drama, suspense (shivers).
But a living human can
turn dream and thought into a man.