It was his first day at school
I noticed him amongst a crowd of people
I passed him in the hallway and
I admired his hair
At lunch I spoke and
He told me of his day
He smelt like home and he looked like it too.

It was our second year at school
I noticed him amongst a crowd of new people
I glanced at him in the hallway and
I noticed he altered his hairstyle
At lunch I cried and
He told me it would be okay
He smelt like mystery and he looked mysterious too.

It was our third year at school
I noticed him amongst the crowd that do silly things
I peered at him in the hallway and
I noticed he had covered his hair with a hood
At lunch I spoke and
He sneered and left
He smelt a lot older and he looked it too.

It was our fourth year at school
I noticed him amongst the crowd I'd been warned about
I darted from him in the hallway and
I noticed he had grown his hair to cover his eyes
At lunch I sat in silence and
He ridiculed me
He smelt like cigarettes and he looked like he hadn't a clue.

It was his fifth year at school
He drifted from the crowd every one knows about
People shift away from him in the hallway and
They notice his hair covers his sunken eyes
At lunch he sits in silence and
They ridicule him
He smells like regret, because I left too soon.

My brain is losing touch with reality
I wish you were here with me
So lonely on my own
Be my everything
And let's make a home
For us to live in
A future for us
To look forward to
Me and you

You said I looked like a
Boy.
With high waisted shorts,
Leather/Jean jacket,
Crop top and
Combat boots.

My makeup looked natural and
My hair was down.

Yeah,
I looked like a boy.

I hadn't come to the hospital since the last overdose of a friend that shooted whisky in his veins, in the bathroom of an old bar because of a heartbreak. I told the nurse to don't leave me, to be with me the whole time and that if she could light a cigarette for me, sure honey take a smoke, she said and rubbed my head softly like if my dreams where cotton pieces. The body. The night. The blood. Inside my body an invisible, warm hand was digging and took chunks of light and silence. A black hole was opening up through my bones and was filling them with blood and noise. Later a doctor came in and told me that the business was serious, told me to stay still, and asked me what was my blood group, I told him that I knew a little about blood groups, that if he wanted I could talk to him about rock groups, a little bit of Jimi Hendrix Experience, of Cream. No way, the business is serious, sayed the doctor, so I looked at the nurse and I wanted to be with her in a party dancing Spend The Night Together, I wanted to be with a glass of *****, I wanted to give her a kiss in the middle of her white teeth, I wanted to tell her Baby let's get out of here and make love in the beach, I wanted to be in her hands full of trees.

To the girl who sits behind me
On the city bus everyday:
I know they probably say
With your cat-eye and your beehive
That you look like you belong
Way back in the day
But I think you look beautiful,
Even more so yesterday,
When you walked onto the bus
with your hair down wearing tear-stains.
I think you looked best today,
With a messy bun and no makeup
Listening to a song
And laughing
While I tried not to smile

To the guy who wrote the poem for me yesterday:
I know you must work hard,
You come here at six in the morning everyday,
And I don’t know why
But when I look your way I feel safe.
I know you probably hear
That you should take a break
But I know what it’s like
To work hard
Because there’s not another way.
And I know they probably say
With your tattoos and your gages
You don’t look your age
And you shouldn’t have gotten the job,
But I think you look best
At five in the morning
When you’ve just woken up
And you’re sipping coffee
While we wait for the bus
And your hair’s all messy
And your tattoos catch my eye
And I try to read them,
But I don’t want to pry

To the girl who replied to my poem yesterday:
You can read my tattoos
Any time you like
And I think you look best
At six in the morning
When your eyes shine bright
And you sip your coffee
And don’t hide your delight
I like the way
You bite your lip
When you read a book
Or you’re thinking
Or bored,
It drives me crazy
How come we never talk?
Maybe one day,
Instead of poems at bus stops
We could go for a walk.
Well, I have to get off.
Your stop’s in a minute,
Try not to forget it.

To the guy who writes me poems at bus stops:
I feel like I know you better everyday,
But it’s really weird,
Because I don’t know your name
And you don’t know mine,
Which I think is fine,
Because if this turned
Into anything other
Than poems
At bus stops,
I’d probably scare you away
Like everybody else.
Maybe we should stop,
Before we both get hurt.
Signed tearfully,
The girl in the seat behind you

To the girl who told me to go away:
You wouldn’t scare me away,
Not yesterday,
Not today,
Not ever.
Please don’t make me leave
Like everybody else.
Signed hopefully,
The guy who writes poems at bus stops

To the guy who writes poems at bus stops:
My name’s Haley
And sometimes I close my eyes
And wonder what they call you.
I take pictures everyday
And that’s why I’m here at five
Or maybe six
Every morning
To capture the perfect sunrise.
Here’s the picture I got
Yesterday, just in case
You wanted to see.

To Haley,
Who gets up early
To capture sunrises:
My name’s Ryan and
I spend all day crunching numbers,
Praying they don’t crunch back.
The picture was beautiful
And I though that maybe
One day
We could meet for coffee
And turn this into something
More than poems
At bus stops.

To Ryan, the number-cruncher
Who stole my heart:
I’d love to go for coffee
And we can laugh while we talk,
Maybe I can even show you
My favorite place
In Central Park
And we can go for a walk.

Dearest Haley,
Who captures sunrises
And stole my heart:
I can’t believe it’s been
A year since we began
With poems at bus stops
And coffee while we
Watched rain drops and talked about us.
I know this may be too soon,
I pray you don’t think me a fool,
To believe a number-cruncher
And sunrise-capturer
Could have a happily ever after.
But what do you say
We give it a shot
And spend the rest of our lives
Telling our kids
About how a number-cruncher
And a sunrise-capturer
Had a fairytale wedding
And are living their
Happily ever after.

I'll keep smoking because it tastes like your lips
because the way the smoke rolls out of my mouth
just like the way you rolled the words "goodbye"
of your tongue.
Because the smoke twirls through my fingers
the way you did.
Because it leaves my hair smelling like the wind
and smoke
and rain.
And you said you always loved the smell
when we came inside
from a smoke break.
And i would lay my head on your shoulder
and you would twirl the golden strands.
Now i need a smoke break
because my heart aches
with the absence of your hands
with the absence of your smell
with the absence of your comfort.
With the absence of you.
So no i do not smoke to forget,
i smoke to remember.
And the memories are not the only thing that's killing me.
Because my lungs are turning as black as my heart.

Pretty bare rib cage
Rabid butterflies pick
At flesh in rage.

My fire is out
The steamy shower burns
My hands they bleed
And blister red.

Stoic smile
Bloodshot eyes
Words slip past my lips as lies.

But I believe...
Oh yes the stories.
Tainted doves fly free, impurities.
You know it's a problem when all you have left is these tainted doves.