du planter så mange blomster
langs min gane, og selvom de
dufter, kan jeg stadig ikke trække
vejret ordentligt
du planter så meget kærlighed
omkring mit hjerte, og selvom jeg
vil leve hele mit liv med dig,
kvæles jeg hver gang, du ser på
mig i for lang tid ad gangen

Too much expectation,
Too much worry,
Happiness becomes costly,
Life is short,
So lets just,
Be who we really are.

She worries about her weight.
Pokes her fingers at her own
Sides and shakes her head at
Things in shops with her
Name on them, saying no to
One more inch to cover up
Confidence.

And the fact that she was more
Pride and less woman before
Is as uninteresting to me   
As anything other than the
Process of being revealed unto is
To the man on her bed that has
Nothing more to reveal himself,

So stop with the fingers. No more
Covering up behind your arms.
Stop with the excuses and the
Headshakes; yes, I'll go to the
Gym with you.
Tomorrow. Today, I have a menu
Full of enjoyment to offer,

And I will not rest until you
Need to, full and content, loosen
The buckle of your displeasement
And lean back, exhaling softly,
Warm and drying in the soothing
Autumn breeze from the cracked
Window; content. Confident.

I've been holding back without a reason why.
I want to lose my control and you to be by my side.
Only you can make me better. I want to be real with you.
But you don't notice me. Standing there near you.
You only lay your eyes on the other girls.
I'm just a fading shadow in your eyes. Only you can change the way you look at me.
But the waiting kills my soul.

Open your eyes,
With you heart,
Only then you will see,
Things worth seeing.

We skipped the movie.
It rained hard and
We didn't want to
Change out of our

Slouching clothes
(She'd bought me a pair of

PJ pants, as comfortable
As pure
Warm
******).
So,
Full of sushi and
Wine

We reclined in a pile of two
On the sofa.
Flashes of lightning on a

Horizon growing
Darker with
Each roar of its
Brother
Thunder.

Even the gods are
Celebrating us,
She whispered, raising
Glass towards the
Open balcony
Door; then me.

Happy one-month-
Anniversary,
Baby.

A poet, still baffled by the
Straight forward, no-poetic-bull-
****-card she'd written me,

I raised mine back, caught a
Glimpse of a bolt
Splitting the
Sky down the
Middle like a

Sudden
Snapshot of
Some
Celestial open-heart-
Surgery,

Glanced at her
Beautiful hand in my
Not-so-beautiful one, and

Replied, exhausted with
Young infatuation and
Equally

Exhilarated:
I'm so ******* in
Love with you, girl. I
Give up.

I am.
I do.

I fear no living thing, nor dead.
No monsters hide beneath my bed.
I've heard and seen my share
Of ghosts. I find them harmless;

More than most of all that
Walks and thinks and breathes,
That carries blades or guns, and
Bleeds. But all I find a fright to be

Is resting deep inside of me.
There's Weakness there, it's hiding
Well, it's cunning, slippery, strong
As hell. There's Fury too; a

Juggernaut -awakened by a single
Thought. But enemy to them is Soul,  
Its agent's name is Self Control.
It cages them with Love and Care,

And ties them down with
Self-Aware.