You know how that quote goes, everyone does.
"If I was a drizzle, she was a hurricane"
When we're all just our own kinds of rainstorms
Magically not working with each other
Just trying to drench whatever we can
But I'd rather spend time with you than anyone in the world.
People used to tell me they looked up to me
and the same people barely talk to me anymore
because what they saw was a figurehead instead of
a friend who is on their level,
and they like people who have flaws (not that I don't),
but tell us to strive to be perfect.
And I've worked so hard to learn how to love
flawlessly, but the more I love, the more I
bleed, with every breath you don't appreciate
and every love poem you don't read
And they keep beating me and beating me down
expecting this priceless gold mountain of positivity
and crushing me. It's like they're looking for flaws
in the statue I'm hiding within, and they seek to
destroy it because even tarnished gold is too bright
in their losing eyes. Maybe I'm the flaw in the statue,
my pink flesh and pale blood can't stand
these attacks and violent words, creating
holes in my heart where before there was none. I'm on my knees,
begging because I don't think I can do this anymore.
The blood I give is torn out of me from the passion I have for
you, I've had my suffering and death,
where's the resurrection?
I'm driving my head into the ground trying to
whip up the storm that will make me unique, beautiful, and valuable,
trying to gather little tornadoes around me,
while they're destroying me from the inside out;
standing for these things that are greater than me, and
watching in vain for an equal partner, since
no one can come too close to these whirlwinds
and mountain-high clouds.
It's lonely being a hurricane, too, because
none of the lovely drizzles think they're worth your time.

My heart beats,
My heart is red. The blood runs through
And infects my head.
My cheeks burn,
I blush bright pink. My head is spinning,
I feel my stomach sink.
My body shakes,
My body wants. A thought of you
Is a thought that haunts.
My lips tremble,
My lips kiss. My throat burns
When it's you I miss.
My arms embrace,
My arms show my love. I pull you down
Just to see you above.
My eyes feel heavy,
My eyes see you. You look at me
With your eyes of nearly blue.
I see your face,
I see your eyes. The color changes,
The color cries.
I feel your lips,
I feel your grace. With an addicting drug,
Your tongue is laced.
I want your body,
I want your soul. I will keep you forever.
That is my goal.
I love your voice,
I love your mind.
I love the way you are always so kind.
I love your body,
I love your touch.
The scent you give: I can't get enough.
I love your laugh,
I love the times
That we can sigh and empty our minds.
We wait for the future,
We wait for a life
When we escape from our lives and I become your wife.
I wish to the earth,
I wish to the moon,
That everything we want will come very soon.
I wish to the trees,
I wish to the sun,
That you will be my, and I will be your, only one.

Poetry hurts.
It hurts to look at, hurts to read, because
it digs into the muscle fiber of your heart and burns its way
marking a fixed tattoo in your bone marrow
tearing through your brain material and ******* you dry.
It requires you to latch into the throttle of the soul and feel the pain
and joy
of everything you experience.
No, there is no escape-
explore your pain, stay there, fully enjoy the beauty and the frightening
love of this terribly glorious world.
Books don't hurt,
they placate. They are the balm on your poetry-burns,
allow you to view your pain objectively, to quietly observe
from a peaceful, magical
faraway land where pain doesn't matter
and that roller coaster is just a funny backdrop instead of
the vehicle in which you fall in love and lose your innocence
in the same run.
Books are the numbing, the morphine
to allow you to fall into an enchanted sleep.

We all need books and poetry at different times- to each his own-
but for my own part,

I prefer poetry.

You know when you meet someone and they fit perfectly into your life and you just want to keep them forever.
There are few of these people like that. That will accept you, that have your sense of humor, that don’t care if you’re having a bad hair day, or year.
They make you smile, laugh, cheer you up when you feel like nothing can.
They accept you unconditionally and are the first to laugh at you when you do something stupid.
And you never appreciate them until they have drifted off into their own lives.

But I want to appreciate them now.
They keep me going when I feel like I can’t anymore.
They are my sanity in the insanity of the world.
People who don’t even know how valuable they are.

calm. calm.
I can't let on, I can't display
the way your touch makes my heart race
the way you've been hinting at something more
underneath the surface,
I'm swimming to shore- I'm drowning in you
the light on your face as you're asleep
the silence of your heart that you keep
and let slip
because we're getting closer and closer
at an astonishing clip
and I can't help but tell you
I love you.
But how to say it?

sorry that I want so much
but I can't help but love
the way your legs tense up
when I go to the place you love so much.

It didn't feel wrong.
Touching you felt like
touching God.
I didn't know something could be so
beautiful and delicate yet
so strong and fierce.
The second I realized this,
I should've stopped
but I couldn't.
Your eyes were closed, you fingers were
rubbing my knee
and I could just tell that
you loved every bit of what was happening.
When I found the spot you loved so much
I needed to keep going.
You would've let me,
but it was the wrong place for
something so beautiful to happen.

Who knew that someone could make me
lose all sense of right and wrong?

All I want is to give you what you deserve and so much more.
Is that something you want?

I told her a while ago, "If you knew what I knew about me,
you'd hate me."
Well, maybe not hate. You wouldn't approve
because most people talk about ****** things
with lust in their eyes
or if they had a negative experience, they were *****
but for me, it's different, because
what I did
was built on a sandy platform of lies.
"I love you,"
"You're the only one I ever want to be with,"
She must have seen through it. She must have known.
She seemed so broken that night.
It was like everything she had hoped for
was there, and yet it wasn't really,
because it wasn't like she expected.
And months later, when I finally couldn't hold back my
mis-directed guilt, I glided past so-and-so's number
and called her up
and left her fourteen voicemails in a row, to apologize.
I cried on the phone and I'm glad she didn't pick up.
If I became Mother Theresa,
and saved the lives of millions of children,
or gave my life serving,
or made a billion peoples' day every day,
I couldn't repay for the pain I caused her.
I have dedicated my life to Christ,
because of that one girl that I broke, offered her a chance
at her first crush and it was a false chance,
so I will pay every day and be a sun, see if
I can change things around for you, and you, and you
and make sure I never do any more harm.
I will strive and serve and become someone who could not,
("no, not her, she couldn't have!")
have hurt someone like I hurt her that night.
Last year at camp, the pained looks she gave me when I told
that fireside story, or when I sang to the guitar, or when I hung out
with my friends, couldn't possibly have hurt more.
And I can't even grasp how seeing me there hurt her.
No matter what I do,
It will never be enough.

Music is the hidden voice inside us
not just what we're thinking, but how we're thinking it, too
and it's a secret look into the depth of someone's psyche
an intensely personal glance
into what you have in common
with other humans-
what it is that makes their heart beat faster,
like yours does,
when you see that girl, or that boy.
It's this deep soul-connection you have
with the person dancing beside you, because they
have different stories but the same feelings
and that's the closest we can get to love.
By the very nature of the act,
there's nothing impure, nothing untruthful, nothing wrong.
"What is it that makes you feel alive?"
"...I'll play you a song."

I lose you
like I lose my mind-

effortlessly.