the storm outside is a reminder
of the passion shared
between us
the thundering roars emitted
in the night
and the electricity i felt through
your trembling fingertips
the rain against my window
beats not nearly as hard
as my heart did that night.
and the afterglow
oh, that feeling of beauty
with which
a rainbow could not even compete

as it rains i am reminded
of the comfort i felt in the fall
sweeping leaves off the porch
my mind was at ease and the clouds
wrapped around the sun
like my pullover sweater
the trees lost their verdure
but not their beauty
i am ready for what lies ahead

bitten nails, broken skin
i speak volumes through a pen
the unkempt look of a tired teen
emotionally broken writing queen

i write melodies for the youth
the ones who know the ugly truth
and after all is said and done
i speak for the ones who stand alone

i write for the ones who stay in their rooms
who have inner horror of the imminent doom
of facing the decision to live or to die
i speak for the ones who silently cry

i write for the broken primadonnas
who realize all they really wanted
was a beautiful body (thin as a stick)
i write for the sweethearts, lovely, dysmorphic

i write melodies for the hated
the ignored, defeated, self-harming, tormented
the unloved darlings of this generation
oppressed by society’s views of perfection
the unwanted lovechild of sadness and hate
we feel in our hearts that we all are mistakes
i write for every last tired young soul
for i write as i speak
and i speak what i know.

The taste of alcohol burns me through and through
enters like fire that resonates out of my pores and into my mind
as I think of you and wonder why I’m not good enough
or why I’ll never be as good as him
on a cold evening such as this
where the waves can bring out the sadness
that seeps into your soul
I’d be just as warm as the words you share with him
maybe I am old news
maybe I am worn through
maybe I’m not for you
maybe I’m an alien and that’s why you say “I can’t speak aloud”
or maybe this is just ramblings induced by drops of Bacardi
but I always thought I was worth it
and I thought five years of patience would bring out the best in this
but maybe it was always the alcohol.

i look at a reflection

i do not recognize

who are you?

i won’t accept that

thing

as me

i won’t stop until

i am a sliver of what i once was

i am cut into slices like cake

served to

hunger

and control

blasphemous as it seems

i am caught between

who i want to be

and who i need to be

and i can’t tell the difference

i don’t feel the ridges and peaks

and plateaus

i once felt

all that is left are rolling hills

i don’t hear the

delicious pain of

emptiness

i hear the growing want of more more more

i can’t stop until

i feel the peak and

hear the empty hunger

i can’t stop until i am

what i need to be

i can’t stop until

i am a  sliver

and i can’t stop

until i know

who lives

in my

mirror

of all the galaxies in this vast universe
i am glad to know his

his words are auroras
eluminating my thoughts
and when he breathes out i love yous
yeses, please, or my name
it is my zodiacal light
what lulls me to sleep at night
and wakes me in the morning

i know his umbra and his penumbra
his ins and his outs
his sweet-talk, sunspots
his full-moon eyes,
though brazen with faculae
are all i wish to
look into
every moment
of my life

i know the valles of his body
the crevices running through his chest
his heart a flare
his kiss a bolide

our love is cosmic

a poet is a silent screamer
silent feeler, silent doer
thinking, tinking, toying brains
reveals life through an expulsion
of ink on paper
with a mind whose thoughts
trickle down like racing raindrops on a car window
a painter of words on a heart-canvas
dreamer of the unreachable
unrequitable
unforgotten.