You told me I was too too unhealthy to ever learn to love, I was sick. I needed help.
You said, "maybe, in the future our paths will cross".
Do you not understand there is no future for me? I want to walk on your path.

And she confessed, and she cried, and she apologised, and I asked,
You ******* ****** him off?
It was nothing, she said, I didn't feel anything. I swear, please forgive me baby, please.
I can’t believe this, I said, get away from me. You ******* disgust me.
She began apologising again, profusely, and I said, barely in a whisper
But you *******... ****** him off?
I said it to myself really, to let it sink in, to fully process it.
She placed a shaky hand on my chest and said, I didn't feel anything at all, I swear,
It was like I was just going through the motions, I swear. You've got to understand me, baby.
Stop ******* touching me, I said. I was truly and absolutely disgusted by her.
She looked scared, nervous. She moved back. She was not used to seeing me this way. There was a pause,
Silence.
Slowly I moved towards her, deliberately, held her face in both my hands
And looked at her,
She was still sobbing softly, looking up at me like a frightened child
I carefully studied her face
Her lips
These lips, I thought to myself, as I moved a finger to touch them gently
These soft, elegant lips
That each night I kiss, touch, linger on... wrapped around another man’s ****?
She was probably on her knees, his **** half way in her mouth... No. ****. I’m only punishing myself thinking about it.
I took a step back and looked away from her. I mustn't think that way.
Her lips are exactly the same as they were before, nothing about them has changed.
The damage is within me, I understand that. Nothing has changed physically, just my perception.
Just my thoughts. Thoughts can **** you, I swear.
If only... if only I could... I don’t know... these words seem to die before they leave my mouth, respect for her has long since dissipated.
I thought we had something. I really did. I thought we’d made promises that only us, broken souls, could keep.

What about us? Huh?
What about the beautiful mornings walking along the shore, the day before us
Wayfarer shades hiding your eyes, Canon camera hanging from your neck
Me sidestepping pebbles and hot coral like why didn't I wear slippers?
And the not so beautiful mornings spent hugging the toilet, puking
Holding your hair back, saying I’m never gonna drink again, never
But no, Llahi, don’t be silly, I didn't say get rid of the Tequila bottle.
That's Sunday morning after a wild weekend
The afternoon is lazy, torpid, us feeling ****** up
But the night is quiet, cool
And these conversations we have at 2 am lying on your mom’s living room sofa
Sharing things with me that you couldn't with others
Sharing things with you that are more intimate than ***,
Sometimes a dreamer needs a realist to ground them
And sometimes a realist needs a dreamer to help them fly,
That was what we said, what we were
But it has all disappeared before a fleeting moment of lust,
Nothing is the same
Nothing is the same
Nothing is
Nothing,
See how much smaller we've become?
And I never want to see your face, not for a long time
But maybe I just want to kiss you this last time
While your tears are still streaming down your cheeks
Tasting of regret, of broken promises, of ringing emptiness
Because you have failed me
Or maybe we have failed each other
Surely, the universe has failed us both
But you don’t know how much I love you, you ******* *****,
I wonder if the sunsets will taste the same
Without me.

You can be my ball of wax.
I'll roll you between my fingertips
until you're warmed and soft
and I can mold you.
Some are impressionists
or modernists
but I wanted to be a
realist.
So I made you in the image
of my reality.
Only I made you
taller,
kinder,
handsomer,
sweeter.
I shaped you
with so much
self-deception
and so much
failed perception.

You can be my boy of wax.
I made you in the winter
and you were strong
and solid
for a time.
But the summer came and you grew
smaller,
shorter,
quieter,
farther,
and you,
my artful manipulation
of
what I so
wanted
to create,
melted.

You can be my pool of wax,
a shapeless
well
of malformed memories
that change
with every touch.
I curl my knees to
my chest and
do my best to stop
prying and prodding you,
my pool of wax.
Because with every touch
it burns
my skin and turns
my fingers
an angry red.

I made you,
and I never
knew
that
a boy of wax
could unmake
me.

I'm not ashamed of my feelings.
I'm in love with all this anger,
obsessed with this depression,
crazy about my anxiety.

I'm not ashamed of my hatred,
the way it boils up inside of me,
the way it bubbles and spills over.
I hate politics,
I hate race,
I hate religion.
I don't discriminate.
I hate everyone equally.
We are all worthless,
robots with a pulse.
We are all equally worthless,
none of us special,
all of us the same,
dying each and every day,
one at a time.

I'm not ashamed of what I think.
I'm not lost in a world of new technology,
I'm not a teenager with silly problems,
I'm not suicidal,
simply because I wonder
what it would feel like
to taste the metal of a gun
in my mouth.
I'm not a *****,
simply because I enjoy ***.
I'm not eternally ******.
I'm not worried about
heaven or hell.
I'm not worried about death,
sweet release that it is.

I'm not afraid of these things,
these thoughts and feelings.
I'm not a dreamer
and I'm not a realist.
I'm lodged in the logistics
of culture and society.
I'm free falling
between atheism and existentialism.
Hate me for not believing
in God or humanity.
Hate me for loving only myself.
Hate me for saying
what you have probably felt
but never actually said.
Hate me.
I dare you.

it's funny how technology
has made it impossible for us
to bury things completely
our past is never hidden
when all you have to do
is google a name
and a lifetime pops up on the screen

tonight i spent hours
reading the messages
you sent me
that said that you'd love me
forever and that you would
always be a part of my
happiness, no matter what

if this were 1953 i'd be
reading letters
and my tears would smear
the heart felt hand writing
that bared your soul

instead the salty liquid
sits stagnant on the
spacebar and i'm
holding on tight
to my screen
trying to force myself
to simply shut the laptop
hoping that closing it
will wake me up from this
dream, oh nothing is
going to wake me up
from this
says the inner realist
and i'm still typing away
about you
adding to the never-ending
archives of our love
or what it once was

I want to be loved by a poet
for his words would wash away sorrow
I'd live a life caressed by metaphors
and kissed by imagery

I want to be loved by a poet
Expressions of love would have me flipping through a dictionary
expanding my knowledge of what means
love

I want to be loved by a poet
to live in a world where eyes and stars
are synonymous
and every spoken line is a riddle of truth

I want to be loved by a realist
for there would be no mystery behind the lines
life would be empty of
guessed meaning

I want to be loved by a realist
to never need to question or decipher what I have
Love expressed in simplicity
and directness

I want to be loved by a realist
for honesty would be what is
spoken
and my life would be grounded

I want to be loved by masculinity
for heroics would be part of
the puzzle
life with bar fights for my honor

I want to be loved by masculinity
to live with knowledge that love
was also safety and strength when there
was trouble

I want to be loved by masculinity
to know that my life could be protected
and strong arms would catch me
when I fall

I want to be loved by an adventurer
with new twists and turns behind every corner
Where love is professed on mountain tops
and in exploration

I want to be loved by an adventurer
for surprises would be grand and
boredom
would never set in

I want to be loved by an adventurer
because life would be new everyday and
the discovery channel would be viewed through
my eyes

I want to be loved
        want
            to be
                              loved

nobody warns you about the first boy who tells you he wants to marry you.

nobody warns you about the tangible shift in the universe when he parts his lips to smile.

nobody warns you about the poetry he'll write you or how your knees will weaken or the melancholy hidden between the layers of his laughter.

nobody warns you that miles will morph into lightyears and you will curse the ocean for being the only thing that keeps his fingers from resting between yours.

nobody warns you about the day his sweater doesn't smell like him anymore.

nobody warns you that human hands are incapable of holding a person together.

nobody warns you that sometimes love is not enough, no matter how much you wish it was.

nobody warns you about the crippling nostalgia that renders you breathless.

nobody warns you about the nights when silence screams for your blood.

nobody warns you about the crater that forms in your chest in the middle of the night when he doesn't answer.

nobody warns you about how it's going to feel when he tells you he's in love with someone else.

nobody warns you that forever is a lie.

- m.f.

i will give you little paper hearts
and hope they'll make you feel better
a million of them
dropping from the sky
little love bombs
that float
like ash

i will give you hand grenades
of happiness
so you can throw them at the people around you
and make the life you live with them
better

i will give you a special one
for you to pull the pin
but stand there and hold it
until it releases
in an explosion
of peace

i will give you heart-felt bullets
to shoot into your vital organs
and anyone else's
you see fit
in order to penetrate
their crusty
bent
rusted
shells
and make them
feel
again

i will give you
and endless supply
of tasers
to wake us all
up
to love

i will give you
bombs
lots of them
but you must promise
to set them off