He is the one who compliments my adjectives and structure saying I always have a way with words
When honest to God he is the one who takes me a little bit higher every time he says those cliche 3 words
But from him cliche is the exact opposite, I could never grow tired of his love
And I hope he says pretty words out of sheer heart throbbing, butterfly inducing love and not because he needs to

But he is not fake
He is not the people I encountered before who loved me just because they felt obligated to
He is not the people I've met before who threw torpedoes of harmful names but claim the did it out of those cliche 3 words
He is the man who brought me to my knees with this feeling 72 hours in
He is the man who I willfully want to get down on my knees for late at night and taste the love after
He is the man who I see my future with front row on a huge, bright, white screen titled "It's Now Ours"

And although I never was the one to be held down I love the way he puts "my" in front of love because now I know I'm his and I hope he knows he's mine

you're so pale like the finest porcelain doll
your veins pop out like my grandmother's childhood toy
they trickle down your arm starting from your wrist
they branch out in the most beautiful, bright lines a painter could ever hope to paint
they leak down like rain or a river
and they flow happiness

i could drink your water forever

I feel something slice my cheek
It sends shivers through my bones
My blood is boiling
But the hurt keeps hell frozen over
How does something drift
But somehow permanently stay
I try to reach out
But my tongue is tied with decisions
I did reach out
But you blanketed the truth with promises of the future
The blanket that covers me
Thawed my own frozen hell
How long until my pores burst
How long until my bones crack
How long until my cheeks tear
How long until you see these promises of the future are barely keeping me here
I need more reassurance

You linger beneath my skin in this familiar town.
The wind creeps on body and leaves a trace of chills that travel to the bottoms of my feet.
The cold travels, but I'm left stuck to the pavement and trapped in thought.
Maybe if I remain motionless I won't get bruised by tripping over my own feet, my own words.
But you'll catch up to me.
Fear pushes my stiff feet forward and I trip with every step.
I'm better away from you.
I'd rather be stumbling forward, slowly learning how to walk.
Than to be held back and remain unaware under the mercy of you.

I wear mittens when I'm with you
So I never get the urge to hold your hand again
You took my fragile fingers
And bent them in different directions
You bent them in the ways I should've went
Instead of clinging on to some sort of hope that the December in your smile would turn warm

I'll be keeping myself cozy for the winter

He was a new teenager
Went to the middle school down the road
From our decaying house that was below a great oak tree
Early red sky morning, riding his bike to that construction filled Hell
There wasn't a sailor in sight to give him a needed warning of that reckless car
He was hit, ****** and bruised but he was alright
I was only 6 when I saw him get patched up by mother in our bathroom
I was only 6 when I realized who I wanted to be
But my first realization wasn't my last
That new teenager became an adult 5 years later
Went to the community college down the road
From his grandfather's rustic house that was just like everyone else's
9 a.m., blue sky morning, riding his bike because his nearly blind eye kept him off the road
9 a.m., I wish he had sight in that eye, he would've had a warning of that reckless car
He was hit, ****** and bruised but he was alright
I was only 12 when I saw him take cat scans and MRI's
I was only 12 when he was diagnosed with something I only read in medical articles
I was only 12 when I realized who I wanted to be
Joseph Yodsnukis was his name, but we called him J.J. since I was born
I learned the alphabet at my elementary and I said J twice because of that name
I learned after 8th grade that cancer was ruthless
I was only 14 when I held my mother crying
I was only 14 when I saw a hospice bed roll out of my front door
I was only 14 when I saw him in his casket
I swear I saw him breathing
I was only 14 when I realized his name wouldn't cut my lips again
I was only 14 when I realized who I wanted to be
Who I would live for

The veins on your arm branch like the great oak tree in my grandma's backyard and suddenly I'm entangled in my childhood memories.

I'm going to be honest, I'm really not a love poet
But every time I go to write down my aspirations or expectations of love
Because I truly never been in that position
I get up and distract myself with something else
My writer's block is completely torn down
My inspiration, vanished
And maybe I run away because it's something I'm afraid to experience
I distract myself from the feelings love brings just so I can ignore the pain for a bit longer

I grew up in my grandma's den with my eyes pressed upon the TV watching Disney movies about that one man who will surely wisk me away
He will wisk me away in a pretty dress that was created by some miracle
Created by the pain and agony I suffered alone
And surely I need a man in my life to ever love someone
And surely I need to become dependent to be loveable

Believe me, I'm really not a love poet
I grew up in my mom's living room with my eyes pressed upon the TV watching the local news about that one man who will surely physically and emotionally break me to the point where I'm going to court after I'm released from the hospital
And I will go to court able to walk, healed, some would say
But the outer portrait of my body is clean compared to the filthy, ***** mindstate I call, "penny"
... Worthless
And I will have to explain and try to convince the judge that laying a hand on me is horrible and that I didn't deserve it
And he will ask what I did, thinking to himself that there's a reason to ever lay a hand on a woman, or even anyone
And his hand will grab that gavel and smack the wooden block meaning the offender is let free
And while that gavel was smacking that wooden block I am tortured by the memories of my offender as he smacked my face, bruised my body, and murdered my self worth
I guess all this, was meant to be reality

I'm telling you, I'm not a love poet
The contrast between expectations and reality is movies and the news
the hot August day and cold December night
and the keys upon the piano
But you can't have seasons without the highs and the lows
And you can't create a melody without your fingers creating a united, elegant sound from pushing on those black and white bars
So surely I cannot have something true without having expectations for myself but with the fear of what reality holds

See I'm going to be honest, I'm really not a love poet
But if I woke up, whether it be early in the morning or late at night and decided I wanted to write a love poem
It would be about you
All of you
Because with the failures and successes I've seen that were about love
I learned something

Trust me when I say I'm not a love poet
I'm 17 years old
And I grew up in the same small city with the same small people
I hear snickers and sly comments about.. having to reach some sort of expectations to love
But we're all born with the capability to love
We love our mothers and our fathers
Our grandparents, our pets, our friends
Religious figures
So when you deny one's love because of who they are
Aren't you denying your love that has grown and flourished as time goes on
Aren't you denying the love you've given and received from your friends and family whether it's during a holiday or casual visit
Aren't you denying the love you've given and received from a man's best friend every time you return home
Aren't you denying the love you spoke upon on your knees before your head hits that pillow and you awaken, grateful for a new day

So I learned in this small city with my small friends
that love is always present since birth in different shapes
So I learned that love is strong since birth
So I learned despite the petty judgement
Love is there

I'm really not a love poet, I like the idea that I speak the truth
And the reality is that people will try to tear you down
They will try to corrupt the seasons and music you share with another
Because they are ignorant about love
And they preach about how you can only be this and that
Or do this and that
If you want to love

And your expectations are crumbled by the sheer reality of the world
You are afraid to hold hands with the person you adore
But the key is to persevere because surely your expectations will turn into reality
And you will no longer live in fear

I brood with the silence and company of these squeaky floor boards that crack with every step I take
I pace these dark hallways in search for something to look forward to
A friend, lover, family or history
As the shadows blanket me like a weak child
I realized that this darkness is home
The bleak realization of discovery hits me
My ignorance guided me through these compressed walls
But the beauty of this darkness is that everything and anything is undiscovered
With every bump, crack or gap I come across
I learn something new
And for once
I feel purpose in this undiscovered world