Clinging to conformity,
Craving crisp, new ideas
To install into individual ideas.

Instead newborn newbies,
Never knew the needles
That would nip them if they came close to,
Anything else.


*Down came the rain,
And washed the spider out.

Placing my hand
Along your neck,
Touching the place,
Where everything started.

The pulse point beneath your chin.
The place where I can really,
Truly,
Touch your heart.

There's not much I can do,
When she's fluttering about,
*Happily...

.I should stop shouldn't I.

Just when I thought I've found you,
Behind my back,
Speaking of the most wretched things,
Breaking me.

Just the other day I sat,
Atop a metal chair, varnished hardwood floors,
Within white, worn walls;
Listening to a quiet chat.

Just then —
A new character entered the fray of
Shadows embroidered upon the blank canvas.
Wings fluttering like rose petals in a hurricane,
Never settling for one spot.
Darting from point to point
In arbitrary geometric fashion,
Or elegant steps around the ballroom
Of air and space around its still den.

The shadow of the hummingbird reminded me
Of life's fleeting moments.
Similar to how one describes themselves in a resume:
Linearly, in point-to-point fashion;
Ignoring everything,
The far and few between sways in the wind.
Such blasphemy.

The moment came,
And left the room never the same.

You wrote to me,
"I don't have to write too much,
because I know we'll keep in touch over the summer!"

But you're gone,
And the one thing you despise the most;
You've done to me.

*Do you know how that makes me feel?!

Contemplating marriage,
Among other things.
The thought of having someone beside me
Whose completely, consistently, confidently
By my side for the majority of the day
Is exciting.

Especially one such as myself,
One whose mind is filled with consternation
And an inability to assauge inaction.

Something as simple as holding hands
And introducing her to several of my favourite bands;
Strolling along the sands,
Traveling the world and all its lands.

Boys around me complain at the thought of being cuffed,
But I'd consider myself chuffed --
Seeing a mutual love that wasn't bluffed,
Teasing her with little jokes as she huffed and puffed.

Only having met you for several moments yesterday,
The conversation having begun with something similar to a, "Hey."
Your friend Jude seemed to keep you at bay,
A bashfulness overcoming you, something you couldn't allay.

If I may,
You reminded me so much of Shae.

kisses your forehead

A promise is something you keep between one another.

kisses your nose

The result isn't anything the two have ever seen before.
Broken, or kept.

kisses the bridge of your lips

It's something that bonds two together.
And if there's a third, well.

*kisses your lips


I don't see why we can't make room for one more.

What is love?
It's a good question, that's for sure...

Sitting around at the table,
Standing by the gate,
Not seeking a label,
Not seeking hate,

Wanting nothing more
Than a question to float by—
I'm quite shy
Finding interesting things on the floor.

Pride in talking of myself,
Greed in talking about myself,
Sloth in talking to myself.

Making slow conversation,
Small talk—
What a pain for reciprocation,
I just want...talk.

Wanting nothing more
Than a question to float by—
I'm quite shy
Finding interesting things on the floor.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Your mom."

"No seriously, who are you talking to?"

"Your mom. Seriously."

Hey boy,
We meet again.

Give her this:
favourite flower.

I always find myself thinking.
About how much time in my Life there is,
About how depressing my Life is,
About...Life.
Then there you come, strolling effortlessly into my world.
You're magical.

And everyday, I think to myself...do you even care anymore?

I can weave the seas
using your heart strings alone.

I love you;
Forevermore,
Never any less.

This isn't a poem of rhymes and games,
Oh no.
I'm here to tell you that Love isn't something that hurts.

Your mind believes all the lies you constantly tell it,
The wishes that create problems that,
Guess what?!
Were never there to begin with.

Just embrace the fact that you're in Love.
Nobody falls "in" and "out" of Love.

It's not a substance.
It's not the catalyst to living a
"Happy life".

I feel like people are constantly
Corrupting what Love is.
You don't describe a word,
With more words.

It is,
What it is.

Don't try to make it something it's not.
Don't try to make it personal.
Don't try to define it.
Don't try to possess it.

Just...
STOP.

/breath

I'm not here
To tell you a poem of rhymes and games.
I'm here to tell you that Love doesn't hurt.
It never will.
Never should.

Ever.
Should you think otherwise,
Just look back at the person,
Place,
Or thing,
That you associated yourself to loving.
Think back.

Take a breath.
Breathe.

There is no horizon
When you're drowning in the sea.

I'm slipping away,
So this is all I'm writing.

You wouldn't think twice
As you pushed me over the edge.


You never loved me.

It's as if we
**** more tenderly
Than we **love.

Stuck between venting to
no one that understands
and
suicide.

What can I do to myself,

If suicide isn't possible?

Purple is your voice,
Soft as running fingers through groves of lavender—
Gentle on my ears.
Pink is your favourite,
Ironic with your wardrobe being a black hole
As you've called your beautiful mind.
Though it shows,
Your soft giggles
And the heartwarming way you talk to yourself
As you write.
White is our curious relationship,
Occasional exchange of calls online
And open to more.
Like the canvas you paint on.

I'd like to be close.
As my mind is too,
A black hole.
I hope you find curiousity there
As I do find in yours—
Because darkness is an unusual thing
Which pushes people away,
Yet draws them in.
Black are the shadows which follow us,
Darkest in the day,
And hidden in the night.

Yet there lies solace
In the lavender fields.

There are no words in the English language, unfortunately,
To describe the emotional crisis I'm feeling.

As I'm sinking into the sea,
                                                                          blood engulfs me;
                                                                                                                                     *endlessly.

I don't know what to write.
My inspiration to has left me.

Just like everything else in this world,
but few;
But even those few,
Leave occasionally.

We're both alone,
Separated by thousands of miles.

*It's okay.

I think you're dead.
I'll think it so much that I'll believe it.

Then I'll discouver,
Some day,
Whether or not you're really dead.


I'll be dead by then.

Wading through the sea of people
I surround myself with,
Learning my efforts often go to naught;
Stressing over everything,
When really I should be fretting over nothing.

"Where's someone that will stay,"
I wonder,
"When will I find that reassurance again."

What it would be like...
To be loved...

Since I am so worthless,
I might as well...







*Die?

It isn't love
If your heart wasn't broken.

It's unusually refreshing to meet someone with such a confident personality,
Your unusual accent for a native—
The way, "Oh," sits on your tongue is superlative.
What a strange serendipity for you to come across me.

You ask about my inclinations towards music,
Listening to me wander about my playlists without a sound.
Drawing out the sound of my voice as your heart pounds:
It does the trick.

You warned me about things not to joke about,
Late at night where our minds aren't thinking straight
And my words slip as if fate...
Now you've left without a word, deaf to my shouts.

And here I am writing this poem,
Wondering about the impossibility of meeting somebody so close,
So quickly and intimately; with potential I suppose.
My heart yearns for your return, sadness its hymn.

Staring at the wall,
The screen,
Hoping one will speak.

I don't know what to do anymore,
It's time to...

What else is there to say besides,
"I love you."

I have never regretted anything
Until I looked back then.