She longed to love
today she loves
with all her love,
a different kind of love
the love that the world needs
over and over

I am not saying she doesn't love
of course she does
she loves in a different love than
the other love
a love that her friends know

She's full of love
the love they love to receive
the love that colors your days
the kind of love that loves to love
the biggest of loves

With all that love
she still longs for the love of lovers
the love for the love of
the love for the insanity of
the love for the recklessness for
the greatest of loves

She's full of love
but longs for that love
the one with the brown hair
and the hazel eyes
that
kind
of
love

Loping down at Winter
the raven
ravishes the light,
broad black beating wings spread
feeding on
tiny hidden corpses-its beak
hades' daggers pummelling the frost.

I woke up at 3AM,
"Old time Rock n Roll"
Playing loud and clear.
Your face glowed upon the screen
That smile devoid of fear...
Before we knew,
Before you moved and this,
Us,
Became so strained.
Before you left me alone,
And after-
After you told me,
You loved me...
After I replied the same.
Three hours ahead,
You called with no shame,
No care whatsoever but,
Only because I asked.
You called to say,
Good morning.
And I answered,
Goodnight.

The broncos won And I'm still at a dead end job
Didn't even watch the game, I was too busy
washing trash cans.
Heard about it through some magic rectangle.
The kids call "social media"

about all the different things
Lady Gaga looked like when
she sang the national anthem.
Heatmiser,
pizza rolls,
Dolly Parton
Because one time Dolly Parton wore a red suit, Which I thought was kind of a stretch.
I saw a commercial saying that more than
400,000 babies are born 9 months after the super bowl.
You know what else is right around that time in February?
Valentine's day
I don't think I've ever been less ****
than during the super bowl.
Nobody looks at their man
Half covered in Beer and nacho grease stains
And goes "oh baby,
that buffalo sauce gets me so wet"
"I just wanna grab a fist full of your hair
bend you over these pizza boxes an~"
"No"
"No"
"N~I mean, I'd be into it"
"No"

My girlfriend is in Florida working for Disney right now.
They have her doing laundry in a musty basement with
middle aged Mexican woman.
It's apparently awful.
"Ruins the magic" she says.
Seeing cinderella scurrying around half naked
doing her make up
Wig cap and undergarments.
Snow white with her nose up
asking for kombucha
Won't even make eye contact with the laundry vets
Let alone my intern girlfriend.
Who says these princesses
would sooner **** a man covered in nacho grease.
Then show her any respect.

I asked how the magic wasn't ruined before that.
After watching the play hairspray
when they yell
"CUT! "
and the actors go back to their miserable lives, 
I figured it out pretty young.
This middle class manifesto
Where making a livable wage is our life term goal.
But she is the faithful type.
Loves her a good miracle.

Like when she found out she was pregnant.
Was
She had already lost him.
Or her
I was over 3,000 miles away
With another man
she was drinking herself to sleep
Praying to some porcelain god for me to stop
I'm sure the morning sickness didn't help
Her depression
Or hangovers.
Or the will to tell me, The man already greiving over one lost daughter
we had lost another.
Before we even knew she was there.
I only tell her I love her.

She says she needs me around
because I’m a taurus.
I have no idea what she means by that.
But I love hearing stories about mexican woman yelling in spanish at their iphone screens
half naked princesses doing their makeup in hair nets.
And her still believing in magic.
She gives me something to dream about
while I wash these trash cans.

Like watching hairspray together
Her bending me over some chicken wings.
Our little Princess.

It has been seven months since I have posted a poem,
Seven months since I have closed a tome.
Signed and sealed, a book collecting dust,
My gilded cage open, now collecting rust.

High School heat gave way to the gentle ocean's wisdom,
My life has taken such a turn, **** no word rhymes with wisdom.
Maybe I no longer have such a need for these words,
When I look back I think maybe poems are for nerds.

Nerds and artists who take themselves too seriously,
And seriously what the **** rhymes with seriously?
But too seriously is not how I have learned to look at me,
I am slowly learning to be ok with being free.

Health and life and joy and passion,
I have opened myself up in a quite painful fashion.
And I must learn to be kind to my past distractions,
I must learn to embrace  how I was divided in fractions.

Fractions that now are becoming whole,
And how beautifully the word whole rhymes with soul.
My soul which no longer desires depressions,
But a soul that is willing to ask these questions.

Love and aching still burst my chest,
The weight of my youth can drown out the rest.
But I have healed and grown in these seven months,
****, I have done it again, nothing rhymes with months.

Love...
Love is home, above all else.
Love is the separation between what you held symbolic and what you now see as life itself.
Love is imperishable, yet poison exists.
Love is no hesitation, no doubt.
Love is drunk.
Love is always, regardless of how deeply buried.
Love is what feels morally right.
And love is content.

I like my poetry
Like I like my coffee
Unlike most,
I prefer it strong
And heavy

I don’t mind it rushed,
What I really want it to empower
Is the sweet bitterness
That’ll keep me up for hours

How’re you to live
Without a little contemplation
A bitter drink
To match how you think
About the world and its desperation

Its desire to acquire
A meaning higher than is truthful
Since the only rectifier
For all of the gunfire
Is that we remain faithful…

“Faithful”

Faithful to shadows
That we hope to be
More than more than just a domino
From long ago
Toppling into tomorrow

But even so
Truly, we know
We cannot hope to be
More than the smallest
Ripple in the sea

There’s nothing more than what we see
Despite what we wish would be
There for us now and when we
Leave this place

In all of space
We’re merely dust
Upon dust
No conceited reason
Behind every season

No, that’s just the world’s childish desperation
To see more behind each rotation
Of God’s “divine” creation

Since, truly, there can be no rectifier
For all of the gunfire
And despite how I think I may desire
This blessed ignorance of faithfulness
What I value more is truthfulness

And what it’s telling me
(Thanks somewhat, perhaps, to the coffee)
Is that our best intentions
Will not result in intervention
But in blind destruction
Thanks to humanity’s corruption.

…A bitter drink
To match how I think
About the world and its desperation.

She is glory
    the girl with dark hair
she is music
    in her red pants
she is lyrical
    twirling through the crowd
she is inspiration
    eyes closed, smiling,
she is soul
    the girl who stomps her feet