She can only say I love you so many times before
The words mean nothing anymore.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love.
I love.
I love.
I.
I.
I.
.
.
.
Meaningless.
Who feels love anymore?
She asks after one cider too many wrapped in a Christmas sweater.
Telling herself it’s barely November.
You’re a loser.
You’re a loser.
You’re a loser.
a loser.
a loser.
a loser.
loser.
loser.
loser.
Some words sting harder in college than middle school ever made them feel.
And some words linger longer than high school lasts.
*****.
Loveless.
Loose.
She starts another cider.
Pathetic.
Hated.
Failure.
Awkward.
And how about some wine now?
Wine?
Whine.
Win?
Gin.
Drink?
Drink.
It’s time to change herself
She decides this and it is.
And it always will be.
It is law.
It is law.
It is Law.
It is.
It is.
It is.
It.
It.
It.
Is the start of yet another person
With the same eyes but different hair
A different voice.
A new person.
A new person.
A new person.
Person.
Person.
Woman.
With value. Intelligence. Beauty. Grace.
Silence. Voice. Love.
January will be a new start.

'Tis better, they say, to have loved and lost than to have never
Truly
Loved at all.
To love in a way that fans a fire in your soul the likes of which no forest on earth, no volcano on mars
Has ever experienced.
And why love at all?
At the end of every path there's a giant elm tree sticking its bitter head out of the soft, white ground as you coast the ups and downs holding tightly to the reigns
Trying vainly to steer.
There's red in her hair.
And red in the snow beneath you. Around you. Inside of you. Coming from you.
Because.
'Tis better to risk your life to be with her forever than to live in the silence of creaking floorboards
With living martyrs wrapped in wrinkles and pale eyes always on you.
To die.
Together.
Because of love than to live with anything else.
Often you lose. But that's why it's a risk.

I like the Sinatra, drunk on trumpets kinda love songs

               Because when I hear them, I dream of slow dancing with you.

So,
even though you pushed me,
even though you charmed me,
with your words,
your smile,
it's my fault
and I'm apologising,
for doing what you told me to.
But I'm not sorry at all.

Eggnog,
Holly,
Presents,
Lights,
Cocoa,
Food,
Figurines,
And even
An indoor tree.

Oh yay.
More sweaters.

Oh yay.
More tangible things.

Oh yay.
I'm alone for yet another holiday.

Merry Christmas Everyone.

I have come to the conclusion
That all of life is merely an illusion.

Time is nothing more than relative
And love is ridiculously sensitive.

We astonishingly keep in tact
By sudden moments of impact.

These moments, as glee as they may be
Never last for long, especially for me.

They pass by with a shimmer and a wink
And when they're gone I do nothing but drink.

But nothing is sadder as when I am twisted
Because that moment is gone; I missed it.

I do not hate myself though
Because it's impossible to feel low.

When I am high as a kite
Just thinking about tonight.

And how I came to the conclusion
That all of life is merely an illusion.

Happiness is a gift;
Do not let it drift.

For not everyone is able
To feel an emotion so stable.

Never explain except for in love.
When you explain why you feel the need to exaggerate everything that makes you unique
And challenge those who challenge you. Fight those who beat you. Conquer those below you.
When you stand alone in front of the one and say I Am Who I Was Made To Be.
And perhaps explain who you are.
Why you're weird, grotesque, mature, immature, laugh, smile, cry, dream, write.
And that some people watch, some read, some write, some frown, some
Take the time to grow into cases the world lacks the capacity to withstand.
And maybe explain why you're content with this mediocrity that is laughing at yourself.
Singing loudly to empty rooms in a dark house with an off-pitch voice.
Walking the silent, cold streets with your head down arms closed around your chest.
Never excuse yourself for this.
Only explain that this is who you are and no person of worth can take that away.
And no person of worth will take that away.
They will embrace the surprises and the emotions and love.
Without needing an explanation.

I want you to buy us a house on second street.
The one with the bed right there on the porch.
Twinkling lights overhead
Surrounded by a dense garden that definitely doesn't belong in this
***-hole filled, trailer trash neighborhood.
There are at least three cacti growing out front, and the house is so tan
Like it's spent way too much time in the sun.
You can go to work every morning with a cup of fresh coffee in your hand
Wrapped in a lipstick stained note saying
I love you honey
Make some money
I'll be here when you come home.
I can spend my days playing violin to the weeds
Writing love notes to strangers to pay the bills.
Or maybe a few sad songs, depending on the rain.
When you get home I'll have a new poem for you
And we can drink iced tea on the porch
And fall asleep under the stars.