We are not children,
Yet we're still not fully grown.
****, how our finger tips can wonder.
They've traced freckles
we never knew existed–
explored galaxies within
the palms of our hands.
I understand,
that sometimes you won't;
I'm still making
mistakes of my own.
I've learned there is no I in Team,
but there  is a U in Us.
I don't want to be a part of an Us
without you.
The adventure we
accept as love is infinite,
much like the universe.

You're a
confident
hard working
minimalist,
while I'm a glorified
mason jar filled with
butterflies and Jack Daniels.
I want nothing short of
the entire universe
written on the back
of a crumpled up receipt,
and nothing more
than your hand
half-way down my back.
With that in mind,
I is a lonely and fragile vowel,
but U is probably the
strongest most immaculate
one of the five (sometimes six).
Our hands are meant for holding,
never hitting,
and our bones, molded from
stardust, not concrete,
but our tongues are as sharp
as dull razors.
Always, always, always
be cognizant of your
surroundings
because what once was
so beautiful
will eventually slip out
from under your eyelids,
without so much as a kiss
goodbye.

My nightmares?
They aren't just nightmares.
They're more like...
night apocalypses.
Why?
My entire world
shakes hands with death
in every single
twilight terror...


You.

Life that once so desperately
clung to your lips,
has bestowed it's final kiss.  
Golden flesh is now fresh powdered mountains.
Emerald and fiery yellow hues have
departed the only eyes
I will ever drown in.

Please wake up.

A hopeless romantic:
what I used to be.
Dreams consisted of warm blankets
and long walks by the sea.

Childish whims of
beautiful song and prose,
awaiting for the one
to spare me a rose.

With time and patience,
I waited, and waited,
only to find a four letter word  
irrationally overrated.

Today, I'm still waiting,
though not as determined.
For I have learned,
four letters should not be burdened.

I wrote you a poem,
But I dropped it amongst the stars.
It wound up on the ceiling
While we were chasing cars.

I wrote you a poem,
But it dissolved into the ocean.
A fisherman caught it
While his net was in motion.

I wrote you a poem,
But it's on the other side of the world,
In another man's hands,
His fingers distorted and curled.

I wrote you a poem,
But you haven't read it yet.
Someday you will,
For now it hides in your silhouette.

This house is cold.
The wooden floors have lost
the patter of tiny feet flopping
against them at seven in the morning.
For those feet have grown old,
and moved on.

This house is broken.
The fireplace coughs up dusty
memories of chilly nights,
and holidays passed.
Something once so inviting
has lost it's tender charm.

This house is alone.
The walls whisper
sweet nothings into the air.  
Only to be carried away
by the echoes of the wind
throughout the uninhabited hallways.

This house is a canvas.
A chance to start fresh.
A second chance.
A new beginning.
A work in progress.

This house will become our home.

I want to tell you everything,
but lately I haven't been able to find the right words.
Upside-down vowels adhere to fractured consonants;
mismatched words snap into twisted phrases and unkind sentences.  
Hesitation has been holding my wrists and drowning me
in rivers of regret and  loneliness.
Waves of sorrow crippling my psyche with every drip
of the faucet.
What once was a controlled trickle
Is now a raging flood.
Oxygen isn't common
In the box labeled reality.
"Take a hatchet to the walls,
and step into the sunlight!"
Curious knights ride upon steeds of
broken glass and rose petals,
with hopes to sew heartache back onto her
tattered sleeve,
all of whom are poisoned by greed and
red-hot lust.
They don't know about the bridges
that've been incinerated inside her soul.
We all need that person who will kiss our scars,
and read us seasick fairy tales of love and triumph.
When we find this victor of such an immortal task
We'll dive into the ocean of eternity,
and hope for the best.

Let me tell you about the sun and the moon.
He falls everyday to see her rise,
And craves the sight of her sparkling eyes.
She prays for him to pass by soon
They share a love the stars despise.

Her shimmering glow,
And his glorious heat.
Never has been found a love as sweet.
With each gentle kiss their feelings will grow.
Within the darkness they arrange to meet.

He’ll see her face with each coming night.
Behind her smile is a glint of charm;
Under his protection she’ll endure no harm.
He is the source of her undying light.
Awaiting the day they’ll be arm in arm.

In my years,
I have noticed,
writing about the birds and the trees
comes with great ease,
but an ordinary day with pale grey skies,
and flat stale air
is a subject as to which not many care.
A day when birds are too bored to fly;
people drearily roam outside.
When there are too many clouds for the sun to shine.
On such days, us wallflowers seem to thrive.