Everything feels inauthentic
Coated with some sugary *******
Mixed with oxygen and sun
Creates glucose in my blood
The earth feeds the trees
The flowers feed the bees
You feed from me
And because i loved you, i plead

Do you want me to beg you to take me back
Blues don't say goodbye
Red stings when it looks me in the eye
Do you want to see me crawl across the floor
I am in love
I guess I never fell out of it
Like a birds tall nest in a blizzard
I am broken, unstable, and wishing to be high
*******
I thought I was over this
I thought I was attracted to them now
Guess I'll beg the goddesses to let you sit next to me
In my sea of trees
You'd follow me into a valley
Amen for corruption
Maybe I'm just pretending to love the wrong girl
Without even realizing it

The best medicine for me
One deck
One porch
Front and back
The south and north
East and west

There is a diagonal breeze blushing the sides of your uncovered, sleeveless arms, the air is soft and it's lightly warm, and it dances on your forearm and skin, just like the beams of sunlight that would frolic on your thighs under the water of a swimming pool

Why stay silent
Didn't you like it
Are you once again impartial to me?
Despondency does not look good on you
Your return to the dispassionate turns me away
Is that on purpose
A conclusion I draw, you don't miss me
Until I stand tall from my position in the
Desperate Kingdom of Love
And leave
Not to return

Peace
  Only means
    So much to me
How
Do
You
Escape

say goodbye to her
her smile
her soft and scrunched nose
her pale legs
her wispy thinning hair
her long sharp neck
her tiny petite arms
and the way she lays you in her bed
do my worst she'll say
I love the way the cold sweat drips
the hush of an empty stomach
she loves to be alone where no one can tell her no
to love her is a mistake
she's a mess
a break
loving her-staying up all night
that was my to do
read her words
write her a song
admire her art
admire her
that's what she wanted: control
Control of life
Control of food
And dear God, how she controlled You

Staying grateful for the written word,
It hides reality and my blemishes when I wish it to
Poetry does not judge
Fables and tall tales don't require truth or trust

Instead I can reveal as much I want
I can hide as much as I need to

Our relationship is changing, and I'm going to need to show you more of me
You say you want that, but I'm not so certain you do
I'm not so certain I have the bone to reveal what you think you've fallen in love with

Because if once you see the view, and you don't love it as I've hoped, there is nothing left. Nothing at all.

En mi mente hay una nueva problema
¿Dónde está mi futuro?
Cuando es el tiempo correcto

Yo necesita libros, una capacidad por pintar, musica, y arte
Mi vida no es completo sin música y hombres y fiestas en la ciudad

Yo quiero entiendo más cosas en mi universidad
Yo quiero entender más hombres, más mujeres y amigos, posiblemente yo quiero reunirme por la primera vez con un profesor.

Yo quiero bebés, pero nada ahora, yo quiero ser presentado más personas y más cuerpos.

Baby says its too cold to eat soup on the porch or in the garden
Its so hot out here, and it’s Sunday! Where’s the mercy she craves?
What is a craving, a need for a bowl of soup?
Release the meat! The sausage is to be sliced and put in the oven!
Cooking is the creation of soup, or is soup the creation of cooking?
Or...both? A dependent relationship, like the Moon and the Sun.
She stumbled on a loose board.
Reaching for a spoon, it fell on the woman’s toe, bounced, just out of reach.
She looked across the house, and through the open window that had a great display of vast sky and tangible green grass frolicking in familiar motions.
Hair! A brush!
When was the last time she had bathed or rinsed?
2 months? No, 1. Feels like 4. Or 5.
He never loved her enough to stay.
He collected their pollinated, breathing seeds and with motion toward the road, left.
Then right.
Then left.
Then right.
Then...right, was it?
Or maybe left.
He definitely did that. She remembers every day since.
With the grass, to brown leaves, to frozen feet of soil, to wet puddles, and back.
And every year after that.

she tasted like imported sophistication and domestic cigarettes

Unbeknownst to me
On top I was deep in another world
Right to the chase
My own bed as it is now
A premonition, I wished it was
Below, muscles and strong hardworking men
Driving him crazy!
A lingering dream which felt so close
I was so close!
Never to stop or surrender
Gave me everything I’ll try to remember
A dream so deep and him just as much
I wonder if I’ll ever find someone
The sexiest crush

we don't care if you float or sink in the bathtub

The sun rises and empties it's soft morning light into your bedroom window
The warm yellow hues fall gently upon the bed we lay in
The mismatch pillow cases of astronomy and pale white linen
Your long, lean legs tangled in sheets and your brown eyes closed lightly
You inhale and exhale the fantasies that are tangled in my mind
Your cigarette smell lingers and my head fills with the clouds you puff
I don't know if I love you yet
I don't know if you can love me enough

An aspect, really is what? a particular part or feature of something.
The positioning of a building or thing in a specified direction.
(of a planet) form an aspect with (another celestial body).
"the sun is superbly aspected by your ruler Mars on the 19th"
And aliens? a foreigner, especially one who is not a naturalized citizen of the country where they are living.
"an illegal alien"
Oh the end of a hypothetical or fictional being from another world.
aspect. ... nature; quality; character: the superficial aspect of the situation. a way in which a thing may be viewed or regarded; interpretation; view: both aspects of a decision.
Personal? an advertisement or message in the personal column of a newspaper; personal ad.
That is it. That is us. Social ties.

silk
distraught
love won
love lost
too many interviews  
blew your first shot
there's a lot of blood for one night
a party on new years
what a game
maybe you'll leave or maybe you'll change
the sun hits my eyes
as i fly that kite
i try to watch out
reign it in
but it puts up a fight
not dissimilar to you
theres nothing new
here i am
stuck
while youre untrue

1) You need compassion for yourself, especially the parts about you that you hate, or dislike, or find annoying, or you'll never feel whole, and that's just a fact.
2)  You need boundaries in emotion, even with the people you love the absolute most. You have to be okay with them not being okay sometimes.
3) We all should have a calm place in our minds.
4) Also, a box for us to store our sad and scary thoughts, that we will promise ourselves we will come back to later, but don't need to feel right in that moment.

\ I'll add more as they come along

Why do you get to kiss her
I'm the one that truly misses her
I've been here through tears and the years and the awful nights through the day and the frights and you
jump
in
and
you
are
the
end
and
I
can't
stop
it
Through the years and the tears and the awful breakdowns through the tough and the rough
and
I
Don't
Get
Enough
no
I
Don't
Get
Enough
You kiss her. I miss her. Oh but you wouldn't know.
No, she wouldn't show.

Seasons walk by, and with a twinkle in her eye
She
Calls
My
Name
And I feel the pain
through these years and these tears and the awful one night kisses
You don't have to disappear
You just disappoint
Love

He's beautiful. So beautiful. Wow. He thinks I'm beautiful. Why?

"However, for many of us it’s an ongoing source of disappointment and even an emotional roadblock in the relationship.

The questions nag at the back of our brains and maybe tug at the heart strings a little. Why won’t they listen to reason? Why don’t they value their own health? Don’t they want to live to be there for their grandchildren – for me? How can it not bother them to be giving up decades of their lives or at least the hope of some additional active and independent years? What am I supposed to do here? Will anything I do or say make any difference whatsoever?"

"Even today, I have a lot of trouble figuring out if I’m hungry or not. I often can’t tell until I’m starving. I don’t trust those little inklings of hunger I have before the starving stage, since anything outside of mealtime is supposed to be quelled by a ******* piece of fruit.

Over time, [I was taught] that I should decide what to eat with my brain, not my stomach. So eventually, my stomach just gave up."

Your legs and arms around me
You smell of sleep and sweet dreams
Like soft, clean linen mixed with a sweet flower, a scent of unkempt hair swirls around me creating an intoxicating painting of beauty
We learned about pheramones in school, males are attracted to females for their scent, females are attracted to males for their post-pubescent voice. Each *** is attracted to the other. Black and white. Straight.
I think my female body is attracted to your female body because of the sheer beauty you hold
You're like fine art, it doesn't take much for me to fall for you
I feel as though I'm exactly where I need to be, roaming the halls of your museum  with tough brick doors and empty glass cases of obserdities for years.  I could drop wine glasses and trip over the ancient rugs.
You cry too deep

safe
thats her
him
ohmygod
wow
dead in my steps
passing out at the thought
i can't stand
it

I'd marry you
I love you maybe it's just teenage love but I've never felt this much love for anyone in my life. I could actually die from a broken heart because of you. I really love you, and I hate distance. I just want to cry and break down in front of you, make me feel okay and better. I just didn't know I'd fall so hard. My stomach churns over this. Im crying over how amazing you are, I'd die for you. Steal everything from me. I'll keep you warm at night. Im crying Im crying I'm so happy

*******

I'm listening to the radio my dad turned on, his mom is dying.
I understand his sadness and need for comfort, I lay on the couch and he sits on the kitchen stool.
Neither of us talk, I have a documentary playing about a girl who was kidnapped.
A commercial plays on the radio and my dad takes a bite of toast.
I intended to write about you. I wrote about you earlier, I wrote how if you died I'd die.
We've already decided we'll die together

You said I took your heart, threw it to the curb and stomped on it

I don't know what to tell you.
Besides the most platonic I love you I can muster.

Because I do love you and nothing has ever been as important to me.
I guess this isn't about dying grandmothers or the sound of crunching toast coming from a sad mans mouth.
I guess this is about you, but then again, what isn't?

The best time to write poetry is when it heals you, when you finish typing or writing, and you can inhale a new breath of air, of emotion, of feeling, and seeing. How lucky am I to know what a release such as that feels like. How my creative energy can leave me for so long, only to return one night at 2:00am, when I'm supposed to be deep in a deep, lilac slumber. How fortunate am I to know the power of words, and the power of actions. To be able to pair these things equally together and create blossoming life through paint, through writing, through my own mere existence.
I have been lost before, and I will be once again, but on some fragile nights, I will have a small epiphany, write it out on the page, and I will be all the better for it. I will know where I stand, who I am, what I believe, who I believe in, and where I am going.

nothing is perfect
not on the first shot
but angel we tried and it didnt get better
where can i find you now
a hospital or an apartment broken down
a tool, a disguse i used to understand
now youre not in my head
youre not a friend
you asked if i missed you
said i was sweet
take a look at my body
you wont feel the heat
theres something inside i dont want anymore
its something deep and stuck to your core
i tried to brush it away but it has thorns
i told you ive loved you since before you were born
theres nothing inside me for you
not anymore

The amount of pain you give to me is equivalent to the amount of love I feel for you. This suffering of my wounds, starving heart, and bleeding flesh! Imagine! The eagle that now has an empty nest, her eyas’ all gone, do you think when my kisses leave your neck and my smell changes to mortality and monotony, that we will miss each other? I, at 16, will miss you. Everything I promised all those years, if they don’t come to pass, know I still meant them when I said them. Your hand will be in mine, forever 16, when we are 32, and your body isn't near. Kiss your children’s heads and remember what we were going to name ours. Don’t hesitate to call me. The 16 year old is waiting, but I no longer am. Remember me! Please! Remember me! I’m screaming, clawing, begging! There she is. Call me?