She condensates
a cloud of confusion
while her presence
continues protruding
from thoughts.

Not enough memories so the mind
can only replay the same  clips
and as I start to fall in love I can't
keep her name from my lips.

Only have we met while audio
is being played out of monitors.
Don't want to ruin this yet
so let me slow down as my heart
I begin to monitor.

Studying her words for a deeper meaning.
Consume this love and realize my words are a drug.

Keeping you up from sleep
as it's effects cause
you to grind your teeth.

The past I kicked to the curb.
They yell that my words
for her are absurd.

Admiring beauty.
Hung up on her like
I'm standing on the stool with
the rope necklace around my throat.

No time wasted.
Love is served for dessert
and I want to taste it.

[momma] just listen I'm in love.
You don't have to be worried.
She's beautiful and I know exactly what I'm pursuing.
You don't have to worry this time I know what I'm doing.

Hopefully this situation
doesn't become a mess.
And if it's consolation
just know that none of it is in jest.

Didn't mean to bother you like spam
but if you think this poem is about you
figure it out like an [anagram].

Long walks, long talks under the south sky, we knew it was love
December, snowflakes, cold night but you made it warm
White gown, black suits, sweet vows, but that’s not how it ends
Black lies, midnight fights, angry cries, we know it’s not love (not anymore)
  
This is the morning when the French man curses Paris
This is the morning when the sun loses its light
This is the morning when promises become lies
This is the morning when are love kisses the lips of goodbye
  
Chorus:
Because on the eighteenth, summer turns to winter
All that we have withers
Everything warm and bright fades on the arm of September
I can ******* tears, I can feel my fears
You walk away with no words of love to remember
  
Whiskey, dancing under the night sky, I have heard you died
November, tears fall, sorrow cripples like a thief
Ugly box, pale cheeks, another goodbye, I pray to see you breathe
Regrets, lost love, indecent goodbyes, you left me twice
  
This is the morning when the French man turns to dust
This is the morning when he takes his life
This is the morning when memories fake the aches
This is the morning when even fears and tears can’t bring you back
  
Chorus:
Because on the eighteenth, summer turns to winter
All that we have withers
Everything warm and bright fades on the arm of September
I can ******* tears, I can feel my fears
You walk away with no words of love to remember
  
Coda:
Your awkward smile, your deep blue eyes
Old  photos will remind they’re once alive
Your broken dreams with an unfinished song
No more Tuesday nights for you to sing along
  
Because on the eighteenth of September there’s no morning, only mourning

I finally did it today.
Tired,
Out of breath,
Ready to collapse,
But I finished.

I've always trailed behind everyone.

But at points in which I wanted to give up,
You told me to keep going.
Stay strong.
Build endurance.
Fight and win.

I trusted you and kept you in a special place in my heart,
Whenever I struggled, I looked for those words of inspiration,
Of Hope.

Then a fight happened,
You insulted me,
Told me I could never do it,
You destroyed my pride,
Made me humble.

Did I cry? No.
Did I give up? No.
Was I furious? Yes.

How ironic.

At the finish line my friends congratulated me,
the coach gave me a pat on the back,
but you weren't there.

How weird,
In the end the one thing that kept me running.
Was the pride you helped me build and destroy.

How ironic

After everything, I only have one thing to say to you.
You built everything and destroyed it,
You assaulted not only my pride, but myself.
Then you left...

But when you left, you left me something.
You left me a blueprint and a message.
The message: You are on your own now.
The blueprint, a blueprint to self training and self reliance.

You showed my humility,
You showed the true state I was in,
You showed me who I truly was,
but you also showed me my potential.

I built on that knowledge,
and with the blueprint,
I rebuilt myself and who I am.

It is ironic.
Because at the end,
The logical thing for me to remain mad.
The logical thing for me is to hate you.
The logical thing for me is to despise you.

But it is ironic.

Because at the end,
On this hill,
Staring into the sunset,
As sweat dripped down my face,
As my heart began to calm,
As my lungs began to quieten,
As the cool winds blew past me,
On the Hill of my Victory.

At the end I only have one thing to say.

Thank You.

Thank You,
with all my honesty and integrity,
I thank you for doing what you did to me.

If you hadn't I would've never been where I am now.

So at the end,
although it is logical for me to be angry, to hate, to despise.
I nevertheless thank you.

With dogeared pages and vanilla smell
old, good books are all fine and well.

But, I can say, I'd much rather mind
kissing my way
                     down a drowsy man's spine.