I dated a girl who emotionally abused me for months and when I finally split things off I cried everyday for a couple months.

I split things off with a girl who I loved with all my heart, I continue to believe I would cross oceans for her, yet I have not cried.

I'm an oxymoron, a lesson in irony.
I'm an upbeat jazz number, played in a minor chord.
I feel the world for those around me,
and only bitter disdain for myself.

I'm attractive, I've got a strong jaw line,
and a nose most guys would **** for.
I dress better than the guys I run with,
and my hair does exactly what I want it to.

I read French existentialist authors
and consider myself well versed in modern jazz.
I've got a steady job, and I've never been late once.

When I think about who I am,
and the jealousy I feel towards the happiness I am not providing you,
I get sick to my stomach.

All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy and you appear to be so and I'm upset because I'm a jealous ***** of a man who has the emotional capacity of a child longing for his mother's teet.


I don't know why I feel the way I do but I'm out of *** and I have to deal with how I'm feeling and that will be a first.

I'll leave a candle lit for you,
I'll crack a window,
if you want,
so you can find your way in,

I'll leave a candle lit for you,
to light your way,
let you know I still burn for you,

I'll leave a candle lit for you,
so long as you promise not to knock it down,
promise not to set flame to what I have built.

I'll leave a candle lit for you,
always.

I like to wear
the bare minimum
and sit out
in the pouring rain.
I let it wash over me
until my peppered shivers
are convulsions.
I lay back
and swallow
the fresh drops,
letting it rejuvenate me,
hoping I will melt in
with the rain
and wash over the earth
into the dirt and roots
spreading
feeding
nourishing,
doing some good,
finally of use.

When the girl, I loved, died,
I locked myself in her room
while her parents were in Arizona.

I went through her things
and found
**** photos;
A few where she seemed
ashamed
and a few where she
liked her body.
She had a gummy smile
and in others
she looked down at her *******
while having a blank expression.

I found empty
alcohol bottles.
Cheap bottles of wine
and a bottle of red,
stuffed with tissue paper.

Under her dresser
I found an unopened
letter she intended to
give the boyfriend before me,
where she admitted
to being ***** as a teenager
and how she hoped
it wasn't too much
baggage.

I threw out the photos
and
alcohol bottles,
but not the letter.

I don't know why but I kept it.
I occasionally read it,
because it's her,
and I love her.

I told my friend
and he called me a
Halomaker,
because I made sure
she was remembered
as an angel.

last night i dreamed my cat rose from his bed and slid out the door

and leaped into the sky, gliding lazily through the air with a serene look

on his fuzzy face

batting at birds that passed him by

until he was just a speck on the horizon

How I wish I had two lives.
One to live to the fullest,
and the other to sleep away.

with death comes new breath
new life, love, longing
a grand sense of belonging
and a fresh taste of hope
that what was once broken
can be restored once more

flowers will continue to grow between the cracks of the pavement
and trees will continue to escape towards the skies
and I will continue to love you in each breath I take, even when it slightly singes my lungs

I am not worthy of being hers, receiving her love, being held in her arms.

Is a believer worthy or his god's love?
Are you worthy of Jesus's love?

We as human beings have tried to capture what we believe in, what we're most passionate about, through art.

I will try to describe to you my beliefs.
I will try to describe to you my love.

Her ******* could be compared to the most delicious fruit, eaten on a summer day.

Her love is that of no other. It is as powerful as an endless rain, as gentle as a lilac.

Her voice rings true in my ear. There is beauty in truth and her words are a scripture to be worshipped.

Her touch is softer than a cloud in heaven,
yet firm.

Her strength is seldom flexed but when needed she could move a mountain will force of will.

She is love, she is the essence, she fuels desire and stars equally.

She is kindness, she is forgiveness, she is a blessing to me and every other living creature that encounters her.

I am an unworthy servant, I will wash her feet a thousand times.

She is the sun and the moon.