Summertime last year
I remember nothing but rain
nothing but tears
nothing but shame

headaches
long winded text messages
and tantrums of pain

I learned that out of every terrible situation
comes that silver lining
that the wise folks talked about

poetry came flowing into my veins
my words began to create something
that was definitely better than what I could ever say

poetry began writing about heartbreak and suffering
those cliche poems of being angered with that one boy
the basic writes of "drowning" and "falling"

but poetry nursed my pain
poetry opened my eyes
cracked open my brain

into another world,
another way of thinking
into something i enjoyed at every hour of every day

I began to feel free
unconfined and confident
talented and useful

soon flowers bloomed
the rain cleared up
the clouds moved out

I began to write about the beauty in life
the beauty all around
the things people miss
the metaphors people never realized

poetry and poets have nurtured my brain
your beauty radiates throughout the world and my life
and shines through me everyday.

Maybe we want to be
like the flowers
pressed in books,

specifically chosen out of all
the little beautiful flowers
the petals die and fall
and disconnect from their world.
And while they are broken, dying
and slowly withering away
someone finds potential
of it becoming beautiful.

They take the time and gentleness
to pick it up
without breaking it even more
and preserving it forever.

4am
Cracks on my lips
Blood seeping out
sadness trying to escape
From the frostbite you provided

5am
Chills down my spine
Goosebumps sprouting on skin
Fears chilling within
From the memories you provided

6am
Lavender and jade green
Sinking beneath my eyes
Tiredness is the state in which I lay
From the exhaustion you provided

7am
I shuffle by
knowing you'll see me
But the fog blinds you
From what you've provided

people who have the gift of sight are thankful for it, but are not kneeling down on ****** knees thanking God for such a beautiful gift of sight
if there was a way that i could thank God enough for sight, i want to know what it is.
i am beginning to appreciate all my senses but especially sight throughout these past three months
you may question what has happened
what did i see
what did i sense
what did i perceive
and i will tell you
but words cannot fully confess the magnitude
of beauty and love that i have discovered
when we sit down to think, we remember that the adjectives and words we use for emotions were created thousands of years ago and used to generalize feelings, and if i say i'm in love, you will never know what that means, because all humans love differently.
but i believe i have discovered my definitions of love and beauty, and they all pertain to you.
i never thought i would use the word beautiful to describe a boy, but that was the only way i could describe you, no other word matches up to what i think when i see you.
my eyes cannot drift away from the beauty of who you are, and while sitting there with movies on the screen i can't focus on because you're next to me, every moment i look at you i think to myself, i have found beauty.
i always questioned myself to what beauty was, what could beauty be defined as, where beauty can and cannot be found
and looking at you i am reminded of what it is
because you are pure raw beauty
a human who inside and outside is natural and real
who is effortlessly pretty, in every angle, emotion, or light.

i waited for the moment of reciprocation,
wishing life was algebraic expressions,
knowing what you do to one side,
is done to the other.
i listen to the song you played over and over,
not knowing the meaning in the moment we were together because my mind was stuck on your hands on the steering wheel that will drive you away tomorrow,
remembering you'll turn into just another boy in a table of contents,
and i'll be the book you opened but never read,
just a page turned, looking at illustrations but never caring to read text.

knowing there were other people on the other side waiting for mutual feelings from me made me feel sorry,
but it didn't feel fair to try to give them my attention knowing my mind would still be wrapped around the vibration of your voice and the way you kissed and the parts of me i could comfortably unveil even though we had never met eyes until a few days ago

we all sat on this ferris wheel ride watching the one we yearned for take in a view without us,
while they were the only view we ever wanted,
eyes locked on something so unreachable,
yet we'll grasp tight till we loose hope.

He saw himself in her eyes suspended in two shining drops of bright water, everything was there as if her eyes were two miraculous bit of violet amber that might capture and hold him in tact.
Her face, fragile milk crystal with a soft constant light in it. It was not the hysterical light of electricity, but the strangely comfortable and gently flattering light of a candle.

For how many people did you know who refracted you own light to you? People were often blazing away until they whiffed out.
How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your innermost trembling thought?

there I watched, the moon leave and the tide become unsettling, knowing waves would turn into knots and eyes would become foggy,
everything returned to the way it began.

i didn't need visuals to survive.
skin trembled in need of touch,
ears empty needing voids to be filled
it was hard to believe i'd set myself on fire for someone who consumed me,
but ashes piled up into a being made of fragments from previous fires and burnout relationships,
hardening into the chills that skimmed skin when i heard beautiful words directed towards me,
the way music transformed my soul, each different melody something so eclectic, the feeling of finding unlimited rhythms that moved my core,
initiating thoughts that each person was as unique as these songs, and i was endlessly discovering them like the harmonies ears fell in love with daily, individuals will come in through one ear and out the other, but some will synthesize and tremble my reality, and i will eternally seek the one who will stay like the song stuck inside my head, the one that rings in circles and plays perfectly behind every situation.

you are a tree
trees are so utterly unique and shaken by the wind
yet strong and rooted

trees do rot
but before that comes
millions of seasons

winter, where you are dying and everything seems to fall apart,
and your tears shed like leaves fall
spring, where delicate flowers peek out of unexpected places
and your laugh blooms like tulips
summer, where things are mediocre and there comes a bit of rain
and your heart feels moderate, like the temperatures
and autumn, where leaves turn gorgeous colors and so do you

it seems you've been through winter
and maybe you're still there
I hope you get your spring and autumn
remember there's summer in between

remember to stay rooted,
beautiful things are yet to come.

I couldn't walk past the coffee shop we visited
and walk through the isles of our local bookstore
without your name screeching through my head
like acrylic nails on a chalk board

I thought i'd never heal
I thought i'd never forget
but now it's been a full year

and I couldn't remember that your favorite artist was Bon Jovi
and you smelled of shaving cream
and you hated the taste of coffee because it was bitter (similar to you)
and I almost forgot about your stretch marks that were a terrible insecurity, even though you're a boy.
I almost forgot about that Coldplay song, Strawberry Swing.
I almost forgot that your favorite color is green,
and you had an undying relationship with music,
which was always in your ear.

all these things used to cause me to cringe
until the day i forgot them,
and they came back,
but now you're forgiven and i'm almost completely healed.

you're the wound that caused
terrible bleeding and an itching scab
that I would peel off and cry about
but in the end you left a wonderful scar
that will bring back good memories

you're forgiven

consumed by the thought of love, the way i used to think of it, what i used to think it was, the blind spots that came along as side effects.
the touch, the way eyes met in a different way
i was so afraid to write about love, feeling weak in the knees, the way it provoked me,
the way i melted into it, how i became a puddle in the midst of such a powerful emotion.
a connection i pushed away, biting away and itching my skin,
i wanted to feel good on my own, to feel the greatest peace on my own, to rise in love with my own life instead of falling for another, to ascend and never descend.
the pool of vulnerability, something so hypnotizing, the shade of blue it portrayed, yet the aftertaste of blood in my mouth, from the times i bite my tongue to not say those three words. to not use that four letter word.

"i love myself, i love myself, i love myself"
you repeat it in your mind, thinking saying it enough will program your eyes to be satisfied with what appears in the mirror,
banging your head against the tile, convincing yourself that the thoughts you once had are no longer inhabiting your mind,
that you feel so secure in the skin you once wanted to tear off,
that you will kiss your scars goodnight and sing yourself lullabies to sleep, that you will be the one to nourish your body with the love it needs, that every situation will turn into a blessing,
you repeat it in your head, banging your head, over and over, and over, until you're so numb to it all, you shut down what its like to have feeling at all, and you stand in this false illusion of self love and positivity, until everything turns into nothing, leaving you completely senseless.

Passing by
Without even a glance
Without even a thought

Its you everyday

Its not just you
Its everyone

No
I was not just
A chapter in your book
I was a sentence
In your whole
Bookshelf with millions of books

And of course
I'm on that page
Of the dusty old book
You haven't opened in years
And of course
You haven't even bothered to
Reread the book
And you don't even remeber
The storyline.

everyone was so into into everyone,
but the apathy towards each other outside the screen said otherwise

so i guess everyone was so into seeing everyone fall?
yes, that's it.
everyone wanted to see that the rest of the population had faults,
sometimes worse than their own, so they can be convinced that there is someone out there as bad as themselves

some simply yearned to get a taste of what those peoples lives were,
what secrets they held,
what things they've done

and here i too was pleading guilty,
but pride, or strength, or maybe morals
were weighing me down.
i did not need, but i so wanted.
the temptation of the dog-eat-dog world seeped into every one of our veins.

I cannot tell you how I feel because the girl in the pictures is in the way.
All the other people that left shards of glass and metal incisions in my self confidence were also in the way.
most importantly I don't know if this feeling flows both ways
It shakes me in plenty of ways but it is better than the results of past confessions that left me screeching into pillows and burying my face into my knees

(past problems present effects, 10 pm)

I am like the cracked sidewalk
Slowly eroding
With fading colors and
Roots breaking through

The sidewalk is ancient
And not very beautiful
Just plain and gray
With millions of stories
But with not much importance

Walked all over
Stepped on
And engraved
Having seen thousands
of lovers pass by
And countless memories created
But it didn't partake in any
Loves
Adventures
Or stories

And no one seemed to ever
Look at the sidewalk
Or find beauty in its cracks
It was simply just to step on
And walk away
Without a thank you

So it slowly covers
With dead fall leaves
And chewed up gum
Developing more cracks
Desperately waiting for
Maintenance to come

In outer space, there are 10 particular stars that are the brightest. They are part of important constellations that people search for their whole life by name. The brightest star is Sirius, because of its magnitude.
You are my Sirius.
I searched and searched and searched millions of constellations, looking for the brightest star and I found you.
I am like the regular stars of the universe which do not contain such a spectacular magnitude and would never be able to reach the superiority of Sirius.
You Sirius, are the kind of boy someone would write a book or produce a movie about, because you are literally a star.
At least ten girls in school admire you because of your magnitude and your being, and maybe they sit there and write about you too.
I've been searching for you my whole life and here you are in front of me, for at least two hours of a day.
I don't know what to do now that you're so close and I don't want to ***** up. I wish my intelligence could be enough for you, but Sirius, you are the brightest of them all, and there are brighter stars out there that admire you.
there are less skinny,less lankier stars that stare at you
there are more brilliant, smarter stars that yearn for you
there are stars that don't laugh like an asthmatic,
there are stars that have themselves in order and know where they are going and what scholarships they will receive because of their brilliance.
man, i may be the most annoying, stick skinny, unintelligent, asthmatic star out there, but at least i perceive you as my Sirius. **no other star sees you brighter than how blindingly bright i see you.

one hundred and ninety two hours
one hundred and ninety two hours where all i wanted to do was sleep
because in those moments,
you never existed in my dreams
you were not there to make my knees knock into each other
or my anxiety to pulse higher and higher
or worry of you becoming a screeching tea kettle over the phone
but also to make me feel like the butterfly that just opened her cocoon
and the little girl hugging her prized stuffed animal
or the core of your world

one hundred and ninety two hours
every single hour thinking about when is the next time
i can see emptiness
you're all around
and you still remain in my skin.

"If anyone botheres you
I've got your back"
You said

So I guess you'll have
To reevaluate your statment

Because your phrase
Echoes in my head
Bugging me each
And every one
Of my days

How you told me
To stop being myself
Because I was a little weird

And now my fears came true
I got to know that everyone else
Thought that too
Because how could a father
Tell his daughter
To stop being who she is

So my smile slowly faded
You saw it less and less
Each time
And my playfulness halted
And turned into series of complaints

I hear it all the time
In your voice
you are disappointed
You are slowly shriveling me up
Weighing me down

I am sorry
I am not enough.

I wish I would have spoken.

we untie the strings of our hearts in hopes we'll learn to tie each others tighter,
yet we end up in knots,
knowing each month will tie a little tighter,
thinking it will make us strong,
but before we know it we forgot what its like to be strong on our own,
and we are forced to unravel our knots,
but our strings have become tired, crimped and frayed,
and here i am splitting, into smaller pieces of what i was before

my dad deals with an exhaustion that i have never endured. stress and heartbeats, computer clicks and international affairs. bank statements and car payments. medical bills caused by trying to pay the bills.
my mother deals with physical exhaust, legs lined with spider webs of purple and green. the pain of losing a soul inside of her she never saw. the weariness of countless years without a good nights rest. rugged hands from abrasive chemicals to clean messes we made. the wonder of "where did i go wrong?" when her daughters were out of line.
my sisters exhaust was beginning to be mine. seeing life through the eyes of others. the successful, the wealthy, the lovebirds on every corner with rings and a heart that sings.
it was like standing at the window of the electronics store.
tv monitors depicting lives so untouchable, held by such ordinary people. she asks herself "how did they do it?" and "why haven't i gotten there yet?"
its the most crushing walk of life, when the expectations you once held are now on the floor stepped on, disintegrating into patterns of sameness.
i am far too young to experience the exhaust of the ones around me, but my fuel is being lost on being a second choice, an afterthought, and 11PM phone call after the day is done and all that is being sought after is satisfaction. i do not want dates in a drive-in because i know your mind is already on the backseat. i do not care for an empty house, because i no longer crave to be craved. i do not belong in backseats. i do not belong in cars, i am the destination you seek through the windshield, the blow of the wind that drives the passenger to sleep, the home itself, the structure and the stucco, strong and unyielding.

i wanted to feel submerged.
the feeling underwater when you hear nothing but its song.
when your eyes are closed but you know exactly whats around you.
the serenity of water coating every beginning and ending of me.
at that moment all i could think of was breathing.

it's quite cliche to say, but i noticed you before you even knew I was an existing being with veins and arteries that pumped blood faster in sight of you.
in the busted up little heart of mine I always wished you could notice me too because i felt something was in you that made me feel as if i were rising, ascending into clouds with millions of silver linings.
now that you know my name and I know what it sounds like coming from you lips,
i am captivated by you and your speckled face, your burning eyes, your irrelevant jokes and strange mannerisms.
but captivity means being confined and imprisoned too, and that's exactly how i feel about you.
you are the sunflower that bees depend on and love,
and i am the naive bee trapped inside,
and i'm trying to make you realize how much you mean to me, and how i glorify your being in a way that i shouldn't, because you are just a sixteen year old boy fleeting from commitment,
and I am a bee chasing after your non-existent pollen

you didn't care to read my poetry
you didn't care to know my favorite song
or know my favorite book

you didn't care to know anything about me at all
except my face
my lips
and my body

all you wanted was physical affection,
no mental connection

that's precisely why I chose to leave

vibrations echo inside my skin
prolonged tingles of worry along a bent back, i cradle myself to create warmth
eyes become redder than ever before, not under the influence of any substance
its more like the lack of someone which causes the redness
thoughts slither back and forth like ringworm chewing up my brain
coldness seeps throughout my body

the fear of being without the boy
the boy who fed her joy by the spoonful
the boy with veins that intertwined with graceful love and care that pumped with every heartbeat
the boy who made her believe that there was a possibility, a possibility to endless sunsets and sunrises
the boy who looked at her like she looked out for the sunrise, anxiously waiting at the windowsill for the colors that would never get old and whose beauty would never fade
the boy who she hoped would never fade away like the sunrise did

i had tried to turn to ash every trace of you,
every trace of anyone that made me feel less,
any person that made me feel like a crumb out of the bites they had taken from life,

i ended with a pile of ashes and dead flowers,
purple marks, slices they had taken from my being,
an empty call log and bible verse text messages from my mother,
someone else's t-shirt in my drawer,
and a hoodie and jersey in a packing envelope under my bed.

you serenaded a soul with words my ears have never comprehended,
overused the concept of love, wringing the word out until it was left dry, there was a hope in me that the author in you would display himself for me as well, that your stanzas correlated to the feeling between us.
i was searching for the words in your mouth, my hands sinking in like a dentist on a mission, hoping to pry out the sudden surprise of a few letters from between your teeth, something to make me feel like there were still things to discovered, that you were not going to be like the others, but everything fit wrong, like when i had not worn my retainer in a week.

I didn't know what tulips looked like when they bloomed
until the day I held some in my vase
and when they bloomed, to me they became a whole new flower
and as they became a new flower I did too

I had never laid in bed to hear the raindrops
because in years past I would run to the safety of my parents bedroom
until the day I decided to stay and watch and listen with my father
in silence that became comfortable like never before

I had never thought that I was beautiful
until I sat in silence doing nothing
and my sister turned and told me I was pretty
and my mother told me I had a beautiful mind
and boys started talking to me more than before

I had never walked barefoot in the grass
because of the bugs that crawled and worms that swarmed
until the night we laid out in the grass in the dark
and exited my comfort zone
as I kicked off my shoes like I kicked off my burdens
and I ran up and down the hill, oozing with laughter and happiness
and I watched a beautiful boy roll down the hill with no care in the world

these are the moments I live for
not the moments of buying new things
or getting a successful grade
or impressing my parents.

I lived for the beauty of nature
for the blooming of tulips
for the crying of the clouds
for the beauty in the mind
for the comfort of grass
and careless, beautiful people.

the moon could never keep his hands off the ocean.
for millions of years,
(at least that is what it seemed to be)
the ocean and the moon were in a very entangled relationship.
many couldn't comprehend it,
because their bond was so abstract,
and some appeared to derive the right answers,
with scientific reasonings to every complication .

the ocean never really had it figured out either,
she never planned for someone so distinct to make an entrance.
in the beginning, the moon was exciting, extravagant, exclusive,
and caused her to feel something new, which was a tide.
the ocean loved the movements of the tide,
they formed her once slow heartbeat into a melody,
the ups and downs, her constant change,
a dance with the moon was a thrill.

the moon enjoyed finally having a partner,
for he was alone, visited by only a few a year,
now he had the ocean,
the one he could twist and turn,
wrap around his fingers,
make her heart beat for him,
and only him, her obsession with new-found life,
of zigs and zags,
it was so different from her stagnant past.  

the moon saw the oceans vulnerable eyes,
falling in love with him and his assets,
his magnificence and glamour,
he began to take advantage, shaping her
into a sea of emotions,
a puddle of once shallow water,
creating depths of mile long darkness,
and the ocean proclaimed her love to the moon,
everyday praises and promises,
but tides began to be reckless,
trying to escape the moon was the hardest for her,
without him she'd be completely still,
a girl with no owner,
but they came from two different worlds,
differences that were incompatible,
polar opposites,
the moon receiving few visitors,
the reckless ocean, once safe,
year after year,
they choose to stay.

Time is money
Is what many say
Sometimes time is considered a friend
sometimes it is considered a enemy

Like waiting for something
Breathing deeply
  Exhausting oxygen
   For something that may never happen
Like the time away from a person
When you feel yourself
  Fading from their mind
   Forgetting a bond
    That used to mean the world
Like the time we've been alive
Counting how many days
  Seconds
   And breaths we've lived
    Wasting our time
     Saying "when the time is right"
      And we have not taken chances

in fifth grade, they taught us about slavery.
associating it with fields of cotton and colored skin scorching in the heat of the sun.
in eighth grade, we revisited the topic,
furthering it to studying the end of slavery, making us believe it never existed again.

no one taught us about what was happening in our backyards in present time,
because we were always too young,
or the topic too sensitive,
although we were the age target of this tragedy.

we were never informed about the thieves of innocence,
the ones who covered each square inch of skin with impurity,
while we sat in classrooms reading fairy-tales.
we were never informed on the serial killer of dreams,
the ones who indulged in corrupted fantasies,
shattering identities into nightmares that will keep them awake for years,
keep them trembling,
keep them flinching when hands reach out,
keep them fearing the ones who fall in love with them.
we were never aware of the slaves victims were made into,
applying definitions,
when they were more that just mere words,
more than just a collection of bones built to prize and conquer,
more than just a babe,
more than just a pretty face and a pair of legs,
more than just someone to quench satisfaction.

i wake up with this feeling in my throat,
and go to bed with it again, scratching like sandpaper,
aching for fresh air,
i try to keep myself going,
to do what is expected and necessary,
but i find myself stuck,
fingers frozen, throat closed, eyes glazed with uneasiness,
mind overstocked to the brim, closing in, people ran miles around my brain, circling a twine filled with questions that will cut circulation in my veins,
images of memories unwind, the feeling my face got when it was hard to not hold a smile, the warmth of another, the thrill of affection, the belief in one another, the vibration of words that held hope, to make hearts vulnerable and eyes light up.
the temporary people who have passed by and created reels for remembrance, each one leaving me as cold as the next.

the dictionary definition states
beauty is a combination of qualities
that pleases the sight

who said beauty was something so materialistic?
who put the seal on beauty being an image?

and how absurd is it that
a curve of the body
or a shape of lips
would be what determines
if you have a man
Attached to your hips?

and why is beauty restricted to sight?
because I've seen beauty in movement and walks
I've heard beauty in the way someone speaks
and I've witnessed beauty in someones words,
in someones actions, in someones works

beauty was seen before
when someone had talent
when someone had dedication
when someone had a heart

but now that has faded
like old ink on yellow brittle paper
and all that is left
of beauty is superficial

if beauty was a woman or a god
she would cry at night
sad she cant be seen in certain places anymore
and she would feel guilty for the fact that she's ruined
so many young girls lives because they cry to be
"beautiful" every single day

beauty would rage and wish she could be seen
in places she used to be
she would be angry at the fact
that she's closed up in a box,
a box of opinions and standards
of who she is

most of all
she would wish to whisper to those girls
that they are beautiful
and beg to have a chance to
open up blind humanity's eyes

Ants on my windowsill
Electric vibrations of music playing
Sounds of motors outside
The feel of blood flowing through my legs

I feel everything more beautifully
It's only been less than a week
But flowers have started growing in dark places
And all that I can think about is you you you

giving myself away was the worst pain i have ever gone through.
i remember being caught in a web of words, trusting everything you spoke was true. staying up when my eyes begged me to shut them, to comfort you. giving away time like it was never mine in fear you'd be angry it wasn't spent on you. you knew i was naive, innocent, inexperienced. you told me i believed life was a fairy-tale, that i trusted everyone too easily, and that you never trusted anyone but yourself. you knew i gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, believing everyone was innately good. you heard my aspirations, and when i met them, you kept a straight face and discouraged my excitement because it would mean distance between us.
you got me my favorite things. things i always wanted, but you held no interest in. a record player, to play music you never allowed in your car. a polaroid...which later seemed for only pictures of you and i. i will always be appreciative of the thoughtfulness, but i believed these items did not buy me. they seemed to be there as a reminder, for all the "things" you've gotten me. as to say the items were a trade, and you expected me, entirely, swallowed up into your world in return.
i remember crying after a year a half. i had gone through the greatest physical and emotional pain simultaneously. my first surgery and my greatest betrayal. i'm pretty sure the neighbors heard. food didn't enter my system in a week. there was so much manipulation and mind games racked up from you, and to this day i learn more and more that your love for me was far from perfect like you claimed it to be. you put me on a pedestal and tore me down every time i stepped down from it. but you never even came close to what you held yourself up as. i lost myself. it was a difficult and confusing way back.
you crawled to me a couple times later.
giving myself away is something i will never do again. i have never felt a feeling of vulnerability or intimacy with anyone because of you. i built up a wall so high, being afraid that the world is just like you. i never want to find another you. so i wrap myself in me. hoping i'll be enough for now.

mom was always self conscious about her veins
she veiled them with pants in eighty degree weather, constantly looking for cures for varicose and spider veins and always asked me if she looked bad
mom never looked bad, not even mediocre. she was mom.
mom shone through with a holy radiance of giving, i knew that when she got to heaven (even if heaven was never real god would make a heaven just for her) she would be blessed and her veins would be erased.
i would write her a letter telling her how her veins were art on her legs with colors that were abstract for the human body
i would tell her i love the paintings on her legs because they reminded me of all she did for decades, tiring her feet, never sitting down, giving her self up for half hearted people.
i would tell her stories that her veins were paintings made by God to show her how unique she was, and he formed murals for her that would never go away, with lilac, violet and green paints that stained his fingers
i would remind her maps and magnificent cities had veins of their own, they were the roads and tunnels that people traveled on to find their destination.
my hope for her is that she remembers her flaws are art that don't have to be hidden in a museum

Autumn leaves blew over the moonlit pavements in such a way as to make the girl who was moving there seem fixed to a sliding sidewalk, letting the motion of the wind and leaves carry her forward.
Her shoes stirred the circling leaves.
Her face slender and milk-white, and in it was a kind of gentle hunger that touched over everything with tireless curiosity.
Pale surprise with dark eyes that were so fixed to the world that no move could escape. Her dress was white and it whispered.He almost thought he heard the motion of her hands. Eyes so dark and shiny and alive that he felt as if he had said something wonderful.
They walked in the warm-cool blowing night on the silvered pavement and there was the faintest breath of fresh apricots and strawberries in the air. her face as bright as snow in the moonlight.
"I like to smell things and look at things, and sometimes stay up all night, walking, and watching the sunrise."
He saw himself in her eyes suspended in two shining drops of bright water, everything was there as if her eyes were two miraculous bit of violet amber that might capture and hold him in tact. Her face, fragile milk crystal with a soft constant light in it. It was not the hysterical light of electricity, but the strangely comfortable and gently flattering light of a candle.
For how many people did you know who refracted you own light to you? People were often blazing away until they whiffed out. How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your innermost trembling thought?

*"Are you happy?"

love held a different definition in the tongue of each individual,
how did we fully understand when the word came out of a persons lips, often being spewed and overused,
a verb, a noun, and common phrase held commonplace to their language.
to love an object, to love a place, to love something that cannot be seen, to love a breathing being.
a rite of passage, a word used for manipulation, to make way onto physical touch, an Eros type of love, as shallow as the feelings that come along with the word,
my mind created puzzles and algebraic expressions, trying to decipher the meaning of each individuals use of the word "love", if it was fools gold or simply overused, if it created a set of expectations that came along with duties, to become a possession instead of a partner, to be completed, rather than just complimented. actions never seemed to match the weight of love.
in a world where love held a different connotation in every culture,
i wanted to love freely, i wanted love to be a word that was part of a language we saved for each other, where i could see who you are today, and could not wait to see who you are tomorrow.

the fact that the whole world has so many individuals,
and each individual has their own story,
their own secrets
their own quirks

the number of grains of sand in the world
the number or stars in only the piece of sky above my rooftop

the fact there is so many things unknown,
yet so many things known

the number of unknown species available

how many gallons of water would it take to fill the ocean if it was drained?

the same people that planted flowers in my garden were the ones who were leaving me in drought,
digging holes and dropping seeds, leaving open insecurities, never coming back to tend or water,
forgetting about the beauty that could've grown

the same people that had made me feel happy and significant were the ones that tended scorching sunshine that created questioning and dispair weeks later.

empty promises and unfulfilled plans,
faded memories, withered people
and dead flowers

count the pages of words i have written over feelings that have turned into ashes, and find a number that is everlasting.
to look back at the words my mind could string together and knit into a pattern of infatuation and frustration, and remember everything threaded together for a reason, to create pieces of where i am today,
yet these pages keep forming, and they seem to be eternal,
fingers will yearn to write about the one who gives me the feeling music creates, about the steadiness i sit in, while watching everyone else bloom into seasons, about the lessons i'm learning that send chills down my skin, where i learn that people don't mean what they say, and barely say what they mean. when the value of words deteriorate to a playful game to keep one around, to twist definitions to please the mind and manipulate one another, to learn that the value of a phrase means nothing to one person as it does to the other.
i never wish to stop feeling and pouring, threading, and knitting,
for i know what my words meant in the moment and outside of it,
creating a touch of sincerity in the world of mixed emotions and illusions.

You are
The delicately pressed flowers you collect
In your favorite childhood book
The way you cross your t's
And dot your I's
The specific way you enjoy the weather
Even if its grey and frosty
If you dog ear your books
And highlight certain words that appeal to you.

You are
How long you stay on the phone
listening to the other person whisper
moments of their day
And how you like you coffee or tea.

You are
what you think is beautiful
And what you choose to wonder about
When you observe out of your window
And what you thank God for every day.

You are
the melodies and photographs
You enjoy the most
And the quotes you've cherished across time.

You are
The way you keep your hands
And whether or not your palms get sweaty
In anticipation of something bittersweet.

All these things collect
Into a beautiful diary
which is you.

For fifteen years
I've always exchanged the same words
"Goodnight, have a good sleep. I love you"

Tonight was the first night
That broke the fifteen year streak
Of you never going to sleep angry at me

I'm sorry mother
I really am
I'm sorry for you too

I'm sorry your hands are turning old
With random speckles,
And portruding veins

I'm sorry there's wrinkles on your face
And your greys reappear after two weeks
And you're having several pains

I'm sorry you didn't have a childhood
And you don't know how to smile
Not even for a picture

I'm sorry Ma
I'm sorry I'm having a hard time
I'm sorry I rub it off on you

I'm sorry for my laziness
I'm sorry you even had to have me
I'm sorry for my drama

I wish I could give you all you deserve
Cause Ma
I would give you all heaven if I could.

I could not take it any longer,
all i wanted was sleep, but that would be unhealthy
to sleep with all these thoughts, worries, anger, and sadness bottled up inside,
i don't know what to do anymore.
they always told me to stand up for myself,
to say something if i dislike whats going on,
to do what makes me happy.

its more like
stand up for God and religion and honesty
say something if its against christian morals or is ******
and of course, do what makes you all happy.

it makes me wonder how often you realize your contradictions,
your irrationality,
your irony,
and the fact that you don't even make sense at all.

so now,
do i chose what pleases you?
i'm stuck in a chasm,
and there is a ladder made out of mazes on the way out
my patience for mazes is not enough
i do not wish to stay

it was 7:42 in new york city, and we shared the same time zones, yet it was 31 degrees.
i knew new york would wait because places didn't change their mind about you and run away or fall in love with you. places became sedentary, the sunset came almost everyday at almost the same hour. the only difference was the people who admired it and the colors, ranging from your 5th birthday cake pink, to your old friends eye color blue, or your old soccer jersey orange. feeling infatuated with a place i didn't even know completely was familiar to me because i became infatuated with people distant from me. i don't know if it was a defense mechanism so i wouldn't get hurt by the ones closest to me, or if it was because i was allowed to make up a false identity of them in my head. the unknown was the only thing i craved for. but the unknown can become the known and the question floats above my head, will i still love the unknown once it becomes known? is everything an illusion and a figment of imaginations, turning into whirlwinds of crazy infatuations? i need to find the truth, but new york is so far, and everyone unknown shook me, made me wonder, tremble, spin round and round into confusions and questions. there was an unknown that was near, from a saturday night, from 6:30 pm, January, that i was sure about. the curiosity leads to an array of questions i can only answer if i approach the unknown.