I read about a certain type of bird.
Its nest is made from only what it finds beautiful.
If I were that bird
My nest would be sturdy and abundant, in beautiful.

My nest is a strong cup of coffee
Built on a foundation
of the heavy air that fills the space between our hands
It's framework is unmatched eyeliner, and forehead kisses

A facade of slow wedding songs
patched with wet puppy noses
wallpaper made of love notes and lollipops
furnaced with cold winter nights we spend together

And I'd share it with the most beautiful thing
you
when the ceiling caves and the walls collapse
I'll keep you next to me
and the beauty will never fade.

I've never seen such an explosion
and to come out of a person
it knocked me over.

but me? you.
you were white knuckled
with fist swinging
even your screams were swinging

I think each time you inhaled
a train pushed you over

but maybe it was just the bully
that made you skin your knees

or the pain of your goldfish
that jumped too high
yes, even fish commit suicide

did you get one too many paper-cuts?
because i still cant figure out
what pushes men off of cliffs

I waited years for those headlights
I thought I saw them once
But they never truly came.

he fixes cars
knows God
plays guitar
and sings me lullabies

he is mine
he is mine
he is mine

now I'm a wonder too

my back has been printed
with the soft pressure of your finger tips
my smile is now crooked
to accommodate your kisses
my cheek bones are filled
with a new feeling I just can't describe

my mind is filled with the wonder
if I've changed the tension of your skin
have I made you feel
just a little less hollow
do you yearn to carry yourself like a prince,
from the books you read to your kid brother


have we been rebuilt new
just for each other
why is it everything I do
feels different, and beautiful
I'm always the person that falls
who would've guessed it would be in love

To kiss
Definition:
Touch with the lips as a sign of love, ****** desire, or reverence.

Our kisses
are much less:
they're the marks of a coward, they're a breadcrumb trail of a fake.

Our kisses
are nothing more
than the simple action of lips on lips. Osculation. A contact without feeling.

I can become an armadillo any minute.
Every negative I see is one more inch of my spine that curves into a ball.
I can put up a sectioned yet rough exterior
But if you take a jab a just the right crack of me.
I become nothing more than water and dust.
A fragile flesh your predator mind can tear apart.

Hundreds of tiny people sit behind their perfect shutter speeds trying to capture love
I guess it could be easy.
A held hand here. A forehead kiss there. Maybe an engagement band or two.
Maybe if you captured a swoony eyed gaze.
That's love, right?
That's love?
That's what a 14 yearold girl makes the wallpaper on her disposable cell phone.
The same one she uses to plan her disposable relationships.
Anyone can capture that.
What about like?
Have you ever seen a photo of the nervous silent smiles, after a simple conversation?
Where's the picture of movie theather wishful yet sweaty unheld hands?
What exposure would be best for the simpleness of sharing a soda?
I dont know, but I'd sure like to see.

you’re the poem I could never write
staying up late, crossing out lines
replacing the hopeful words with disconsolate ones
closing my book, only to return to that page
reading through the lines that made me happy
and mixing in ones that evoke anger
it flows sweet off the tounge with perfect nostalgia and the right rhyme of bitterness
but it’s unfinished, dwelling in it’s uncertain psyche
waiting for more lines to be be added, just so they can be put out of date.