Tonight’s the night
when your throat swells tight,
your breath falls short,
your costumes don’t fit right.

Tonight’s the night
friends will surely mock,
your hair’s utter chaos,
your knees nervously knock.

Quality is demanded,
perfection from each night;
it’s subtly commanded;
it solicits stage fright.

Hiding from view
behind glamour and grace,
lingers that time-tried spew:
“Get those nerves off your face!”

From backstage, a call:
“Everyone take your place!”
You’re not ready at all!
Just breathe, steady pace.

Silently whispered lines
across a tongue of cotton,
but then the spotlight shines!
And all these worries, forgotten.

Because tonight’s the night
when your smile will glow,
your beauty stun
and passion show.

Tonight’s the night
you’ll become like a star,
Creator-made,
perfect just as you are.

Nothing else compares,
not applause, not stares,
when you dance for your Savior,
who loves you, who cares.

Tonight’s the night
audiences will applaud,
but you know what they don’t:
it’s not you, but God.

You are arms:
Holding me on the beach,
Playing your guitar,
Standing just outside my reach,
Dancing at the bar.

You are eyes:
Underneath a Batman face.
Reading a new line.
Just staring into blackened space,
Or staring into mine.

You are lips:
Kissing softly on my neck.
Singing with the band.
Grazing my cheek with a peck.
Warming my cold hand.

You are feet, and you are fingers.
You are a well-worn palm that lingers.
A neck, a head, a back, a nose,
Calves, knuckles, ankles, toes.

You are a heart:
Ticking, slowly, like a clock.
Drumming in your chest.
Thumping, loudly, like a knock.
Loving me the best.

I can only think of you.
I try to think of others.
I think about their hair.
About their eyes.
I don’t see them however.

Instead I see your smile.
It takes hold my heart.
Like a bear trap takes a leg.
It strikes my soul bright.
Like lightning splits trees.
Breath.
I try again.

I’m out with them.
Everyone else.
It doesn’t matter though.
Because behind all their jokes you dance.
Before all their stories you tread.
They aren’t you.

I talk about them too.
Try to make them more.
Try to make you less.
It makes your size greater however.
Making the chance you might crush me.
Even more a possibility.

So I can only think of you.
Can only imagine the most dazzling beginnings.
See a love all try not think about, else they become jealous.
Pictures on a coffee table illustrating a full life together.
Glimpse adventure with a laugh.
As your enormity crushes me.

my darling,
the universe is never perfect
for more than one night at a time
   -but why?
because sweetheart,
if every single night was perfect
then the flame would lose its spark
   -but I love her
   *-I know

To the times I said I wouldn't like you,
But I'd look into your eyes,
And every ounce of self control,
Couldn't fight away the butterflies.
For the tongue tied moments when I'd see you,
And every pretty, witty thing I ever wanted to say,
Completely left my mind.
To every awkward silence,
Where I was too busy daydreaming,
To say anything meaningful.

What is love?
Is it like a one way street,
Where you either go with it,
Or you get run over?




So this is for the newly weds.
The lovers,
The taken,
The single.
It's for the heartbroken,
The confused,
The lost,
And the gone.


*What is love?

we never write as much when we are in love
and if we do write as much, we never write the same way
we get so much more boring
we could write a sad poem every day
and it would be much more interesting than an
everything-is-perfect poem
happiness has very little substance
have you ever noticed that most mainstream music is
aggressively depressing?
we write when there's something missing
or when we feel cold toward the world
and want to stick it to the man with a good 'ol *******
a writer in love will only produce a masterpiece if who they love
doesn't love them back
falling in love with someone that loves you back feels like having
everything you need
and there becomes no reason to write because there is no need to write
most people feel misunderstood when they're sad
and people only want to soak themselves in art if it makes them feel
understood
so, art has got to be sad too, hasn't it?