wow, you are so blue.
blue in the way you talk, move,
fluid in the way you move, like water.

i don't want this to end,
i don't want this to stop
or brake
or halt
or pause

but that's because i'm red,
and blue takes its time.

I'll remember you for the rest of my life, probably.
if not, then a really long time.

You're an important person and I want you to know
that you'll do fine, you'll be okay.

And I'll look back on everything that's happened
and where we are now, and know that there's more to come.

Because even if you don't write
even if you don't visit
even if I don't see you ever again,

Your smile will always be engraved on the inside of my heart,
and I cherish that.

The silence after the melancholic chord
Holds my breath in anticipation,
And when the soft notes begin to play,
The light leaks in, and you follow suit.

It's summer,
the grass is green,
the sky is blue,
and my fingers actually move how I want them to.

the quiet footsteps onto the stage,
sitting down, adjusting the bench,
closing your eyes and feeling how you should feel,
the silence before the first note, the final breath.

and then colour, beautiful colour,
a glowing light from the back of the room,
a soft breeze with notes lightly hanging upon it,
a familiar smile in a distant memory.

wrong note. eyes open, breath sharp.
fingers touching the keys, everything feels wrong,
the tantalizing stare of an audience of strangers,
going under, losing control, forgetting why

remembering. relaxing. calm breaths and deep sighs,
the feeling of something washing over you,
lying in a field of flowers as you lift your hands from the keys,
applause. bows. exit offstage.

passionate, a romantic,
laughing at jokes nobody understands,
fidgeting, sighing too often,
smiling at just the right time,
stretching hands, stretching fingers,
hitting a few notes and falling into the state of mind
where everything is particular
and nothing is planned.

a few wrong notes,
more laughter, more talk,
not forgetting that one chord,
not missing a beat.
shaky hands, racing mind,
heart thudding too loud,
bowing, smiling, talking,
wooing the audience with the stroke of a hand

I don't need a label.
I don't need a time or a place,
I don't need faked photos or poses.
I don't need your attention,
I don't need your time,
and I definitely don't need your hand in mine.

But I do need your smile.
I need your laugh, your jokes,
Your silly faces and poses.
I need to hear your great ideas,
I need to be there for you,
and I definitely need you to stay important to me.

I constantly feel like I'm running out of time,
the fine grains of it slipping through my fingers like sand,

like a drop of rain in the Sahara, I search for some relief,
some feeling of completion or satisfaction.

but instead I am met
with deadline after deadline
of work that I love to do

so I toil relentlessly
to hold onto the sand
as the wind blows furiously around me.

i am scared that my memory is a tub full of water
that spills over every time more knowledge is put in
and that if i put in too much
the memories of you will spill out too

i am finally beginning to discover
the large multitudes of possibility the world has to offer
and i am beginning to realize these firsthand,
eyes blown wide, heartbeat fast, blood coursing through my veins.

i'm very stable in my choices
i'm not the most stable person but i know how i feel about stuff, i have strong opinions
and i usually feel like i know what i'm doing and i know where i'm headed

but you're making me feel so unstable
and unpredictable
and i can't work around it
it's like the words just blurt out my mouth, i can't control it

But we stay up late talking, talking about nonsense things
And for what? What does it lead to?
To say that I strive for some sort of label would be just as nonsensical
As the words that leave your lips when you talk this late
Because I like you. And I like where we stand,
And I like how warm I feel when you hold my hand.
And when you speak, I can see the heavens in your eyes
And nothing can label that. Not a word, not a paragraph, nothing.

it's been 2 months
and when you walked in the room
i could feel my face heat up
to a million degrees
and you were happy
and lively
and i could tell that you're thriving
and nothing could've made me feel happier

you are the sky, full of clouds,
small grey areas of indecision.
the wind won't hit you, but blow through you,
carrying out sweet words that dance on the air, dance on your tongue.

you are the sea, passionate,
you rise up and then come crashing down.
and when you crash, you crash hard,
abrasive language, fists clenched, teeth grinding,
and it's then when your words will hit me the hardest,
when your very gaze sends chills of notes into my head.

you are the stars, higher above,
you are the "better man"; you know how things are, and you understand.
you are knowledgeable, peaceful, and kind;
the stars are reflected in your eyes, for the universe is held within them.

anxiety
it first arrives like a tide, lightly gliding over you,
but then it surrounds you. it engulfs you.
for it is no longer a tide, but a hurricane.
and then the first wave comes crashing down, sending you tumbling.
and you can't breath, you can do nothing but sit and wait for it to end
because you can't stop the ocean. you can't stop a hurricane from hitting.

an actual line from a poem i wrote over a year ago:
*I couldn't help but blush, you arrogant *******.

Op. 61

and every chord strikes me like a bullet in the chest
and i can't breathe, i can't walk
because every chord reminds me of you,
and the loud thud of my own heartbeat

there is nothing quite like playing the piano.
feeling the ivory beneath your fingers and gazing along the endless row of keys,
fingertips dancing across black and white,
sitting at the bench and feeling as if you have the whole world beneath your hands.

and at the same time, it is so daunting.
you are in front of a crowd, and they are watching so intently,
yet you feel as if you are somewhere else, somewhere far away.
and it is just you and the piano, the emotion pouring from one source to another.

it is so nostalgic.
family members at Christmas, playing carols; guests tend to gravitate towards the instrument.
little Polish tunes being played with liveliness; you can hear the accordion from the other room
and your grandmother still plays Chopin, after all these years, after so much pain and arthritis

but it is timeless.
the struggles, fears, and triumphs all seem to be continuously poured into the same instrument,
and it takes it all in. it repeatedly absorbs the emotions of those who dare to touch its keys.
and as i continue forth with my career, i say
there is nothing quite like playing the piano.

we hung out without you for the first time today.
i had another fight with alex, you would've thought it was hilarious
and you probably would've backed me up.
i don't know why i'm putting this here, it's not even poetry
but i don't have anywhere else,
i don't have anyone else

I had once said that I never wanted to see you again.
"Just one more year," I had said, "And I'll never have to see him again."
But then things happened.
We grew closer, we grew stronger.

And now I find myself needing you,
Hanging on to the hope of seeing you again
And I wonder what happened.
When was I right? Was I ever even close?

And when I look up at the stars at night, it reminds me of how much you love them.
How you would tell me about every single one and I would pretend like I didn't know anything because honestly, I just liked to listen.

And I would give anything to go back.
The height of July, the heat laying heavy on my chest
And the constellations, scattered on your skin and in your eyes
And my lungs, collapsing with every breath

If my pen leaves the paper I will die.
If my pen leaves the paper I will die.
If my pen leaves the paper I will die.

we haven't talked, you haven't responded.
it's almost been a month and a half
and I am counting down the days until I can see you again
and yet I feel like you don't care.

I've been feeling sicker and sicker
even though it's summer,
my cough has thickened, my dark circles have grown,
and yet I can't seem to sleep.

you're older, you're further ahead.
I can't wait for you to be gone,
I need you out of me, far away from me,
and yet I need you here.

but i remember when i woke up beside you
and i couldn't help thinking
it was 95 degrees
but i didn't want to move the blanket
because you were underneath it
and i didn't want to wake you up

his eyes are something different that i can't explain
they're a colour that i can't describe
and i want to be soaked in that colour, to glow in it
because i can't spell it out, i just want to feel it

and there have been many times now
that he's looked at me and i've thought
"why the hell have i not said something?"
but then backed away. i can't do it.

he wants to hear my compositions
and i don't know what to say.
they're all about him.
about the wounds that he's cut deep into my skin, past my veins, past my bones,
and i can't show that to him. i just can't.

he loves to hear me play,
he says i play like an angel.
that my fingertips float across the keyboard.
and i want to play for him
but i can't, because he sees right through me
in a way that no one else does,
and i can't have that.

how
can i take the only way of properly expressing myself
an expose it?? just like that? it makes no sense.
i would do it for him, hell, i'd do anything for him.
but not now, not here, not when they're all about him.

"oh yeah, and he likes to write."

that's all i had to hear.
and my mind was sent into a tumbling abyss,
a mess of words and sentences not quite put together.
and i can't help but wonder,
what ails him?
what causes him to put his pen to paper,
to write the unsaid words just resting on his lips.

i could imagine it would be flowery,
a sugar-coated image of the world,
because whatever he is seeing, it's beautiful.
and i want in, i want to see what he sees, feel what he feels.

but i can't.
he likes science because
it explains the complexities of the earth,
it showcases its beauty.
and i can't see that beauty
in anything but him
and those eyes that are seeing otherwise.

and oh,
how i long to read those words scratched out in ink

i could've done something
i had the chance and then i blew it
we were in the same room, it was only just the two of us

you were slinging jokes back and forth
and laughing way too loudly
because people were asleep upstairs, i didn't want to wake them up

but there would be these silences,
these little moments of nothingness
but not nothingness, more like multitudes of future possibility
that even i couldn't get a grip of.

and eventually,
as i stood there in front of you, inches away.
i thought about every one of those possibilities
and i panicked.



and now i'm left with the repercussions of my own actions.
i'm stuck wondering what would've happened, if i had just
leaned in and kissed you. or told you. or something
that a rational person would do

but i should've done something.
i had the chance, i should've blown it.
we were in the same room, it was only just the two of us.

i feel that now is time
in which i choose whether to be stagnant or not
and if i stay the same
i will for a very long time

why do i feel as if i am being torn in two
between something very familiar
and something entirely new to me

but why do i like you.
why do i give a ****.
i shouldn't give two *****, and yet here i am.
to know that i'll be seeing you tomorrow drives me crazy,
but knowing that i'll never see you again in a year drives me insane.

you remind me of so much dumb ****.
it's sappy **** and i don't like it.
my poems are literally vents there's no art here.

and i'm sorry for being such a ******* disappointment.
i guess i'm glad we were a little close last year.
**** i **** *** but you **** more.

the oceans in your eyes
will always draw me near
and i know that i can't swim
but i would like to sink to the bottom
and feel my lungs inflate
to compensate for the air i've lost

*******
why are you so nice to me
when i am so *******
mean to you

dying to live
living to die

why do you have to laugh like that and smile like that and why are your eyes the prettiest colour ever known to man it is just so frustrating

He was blue;
He felt deeply, but felt fluidly.
He constantly sat atop a fence;
Threatening to fall, but never committing to a side.
He didn't crave attention, but he didn't need to.
His voice could draw the angels from heaven,
His thoughts could make philosophers stop and listen,
And they were all so blue.

I was red;
I felt deeply, but I felt strongly.
I constantly dangled from a rope;
Threatening to fall, but refusing to let go.
I drew attention, but I despised it.
My ideas were unstable and they had to get out,
My music was full of emotion, both torment and glee,
And it was all so red.

Separately, we were abrasive.
We had our own ways of doing things, and liked it that way.
But together, we were something else.
We balanced eachother out; we filled eachother in.
And everything felt so perfect with him,
For when we were together, a beautiful violet would form
Where skin touched skin and where heart touched heart,
And all was right in the world.

it's winter
and I find myself constantly surrounded by you.
your laughter and your smile,
the way you speak and the words that form on your lips.

but it's different now.
my feelings have faded, dulled in a sense,
they do not stab me in the way they used to, for time heals,
and like the cold winter wind, I have decided to move ahead.

but I still catch a glimpse of you every now and then,
and I see that glimmer in your eyes that I saw on those late July nights,
when heat enveloped the earth and crickets hummed long into the night,
when you would look at the stars as if they were your only hope in the world.

that intelligence is still there, crystal blue, but it's winter
and I am cold.

Wow, I forgot how you look when you smile;
I almost forgot who we were.