I shave my legs and pits and bits
in an effort to fit right in
But I'm always late
I'm "the chubby mate"
who would give anything just to be thin

My friends are pretty where I am plain
although none of them would ever say
So I'm left with no choice,
to get close to the boys
I have to give it away

Don't me wrong I like it
For those few minutes I feel real pretty
But ten minutes on
when he's already gone
Thats when I start to feel ******

I know I'm not the prettiest girl
but I'm honest, loyal and true.
If a boy could see past
the size of my ***
Well there ain't much that we couldn't do

you always said smoking would **** me,
but I never knew you meant it would be karma for stealing cigarettes from my mom.
I cut the pizza into thin pieces,
so I wouldn't feel bad when I said I ate three.
I was going to rhyme home with phone, but they don't rhyme,
and I was going to quote some famous person,
but I don't know any famous people,
so I couldn't ask permission.

Last night, you said you would call,
but you didn't.
I feel fine because I didn't feel like talking anyway.

So, uhh, when you get this,
just know I called because I knew you were gonna call,
and I wanted you to know I'm not mad.

ok, bye.

I love you; its a secret,
don't let anybody know.
That's why when we are speaking,
I try not to let it show.

I double check each word I say,
before it leaves my lips,
and try to shake this image,
of my hands upon your hips.

So tell me how'm I doing?
Do you even have a clue,
that every waking thought I have,
is always about you?

I wish I could just tell you,
and know you wouldn't run.
But I'm scared this revelation,
would leave us both undone.

I love you; its a secret,
which to myself I'll keep,
cos the last thing that I wanna do,
is come off like a creep.

So I sit here and say nothing,
not knowing what to do.
Praying one day you will say,
just what I am to you.

When I think of the way we love
I spill Shakespeare like a fountain,
I spit rhymes like a rap star,
Words dance inside my chest.

Edith Piaf's lyrics hold the most acute reality
That I have to shut my eyes and sway
Translating the words is unnecessary.
The rhythm underneath holding all the meaning I need.

I can't compare thee to a summer's day;
You are most like a solid oak tree in my life...
An essential component to every season.
Adapting with a beauty all your own.

I don't only crave your mouth, your voice, your hair;
As Neruda would have you believe.
I crave your essence-
Found in the most precise way the your head twists
As you laugh...as you overthink...as you grow drowsy.
Only your eyes could reenact the look you have
When you're feeling most giddy.

Tupac Shakur and I "prayed and watched the distant stars",
And finally you appeared.
Shining so brightly I shut my eyes often,
Stunned by you.
Like a sunny day at the beach,
When you close your eyes and the sun's glow
Pushes against your eyelids; such is your love.

Pushing at the barriers
That keep my heart my own.
I want to stop the world and melt with you, forever.
I want you to know that even if you cannot hear my voice,
I'll be right beside you, dear.

Songs! Lyrics! Because if music be the food of love, PLAY ON!
And without borrowing other phrases,
I truly believe I was made for you and you for me.

No lyric I could sing,
No poem I could quote,
No metaphor I could construct,
and not even the bold truth of plain words
could EVER express how I feel for you.

But it doesn't stop me from trying.
I want to give you the luxury of taking the way I feel
about you for granted.

It will be that constant.
It will be that reliable.
It will simply be.

If there was another way to say it;
An easy way for you to understand...
I would not be pouring out these words
In an attempt to paint a picture.
I wouldn't be desperate to bottle
My emotions and thoughts
Into these stained glass letters,
With the tin syntax lid.
Poking holes through the top
Of my head,
So you could see.
Firefly ideas.

I am a photographer of hearts and minds.
The blood red room holds
My negatives.
How can I make them easier for you to see?
The composition so sweet,
The lighting so contrasted with
The shadows hiding the everyday.

What I really want you to do is stop reading.
Go look into the eyes of a lover.
Go hold a child's hand while they sing.
Listen to the wind change.
Feel the pulse of a city.
Cry with old wrinkled skin
For youth and life, and hope.

That is what my poem means.
It is a pulsing picture
Held captive in rhetoric.