~


How is it I think I find what’s real within your eyes
But from your mouth comes words comprised of endless counted lies
Falling at my feet just like a charm without a chain
Tarnishing the wisdom that shall never be the same
Whisperings of darkness slowly selling off the proof
Scribbles on a sidewalk as a chalk line alters truth
There upon a billboard with its message loud and clear
Written in graffiti is a clue that you are near
Still you fight the reason that our worlds have come to be
Hidden in the sentences your voice it sends to me
Tell me if you kindly will, what I have done to you
That brings about this wrath I feel has jumbled up the view
When all I really needed was directions to your heart
And now I see that hell is at the place you said to start
Once I did believe in every tear drop that you cried
Sitting on the cushion fighting off your fears inside
Now I wonder if your ears can hear this slamming door
Because my ears have heard enough, can’t listen anymore

something's wrong when kids are running away from homes
and taking comfort in alleyways
it's "one of those nights" every night
where the moon mocks your very existence
laughing at how minuscule you are
because you are just a strand of dust
floating in this vast universe
maybe it's that very thought that drives kids to runaway
in search for something more than what a home can offer
how can anyone feel at home when the stars you see are dead
and you don't know which god created this thing called life and why
how can anyone blame the kid for taking comfort in alleyways
at least the darkness won't judge him like the walls in his bedroom do
you know something's wrong when your kid left the window open
and the suicide rates are increasing
with social customs and ideals
we missed something along the way
the missing puzzle piece to this thing called life
what importance is it if no one's going to leave a mark
but artists will still starve on the streets of cities
while corporate sellouts run them
and maybe that's why the kid ran away because he's an artist

A tangled heart
Is a work of art
Sweet, deliberate, crochet.
Spare no thoughts
That the prettiest knots
Must all unravel someday.

Please love me, although I have loved before.
Please know that even if
I have worshiped foreign hands,
Marveled at constellation eyes,
Shed tears for other minds and hearts
That tore from me some brutal, awesome love,
Know that nobody has ever made me feel safe
For any measurable length of time.
That not one of them ever stopped in the midst of kissing me to say
"You are just so beautiful."
The way you did, Lover,
2
3
4 times,
Just yesterday.
That all the flowers I ever gave them,
All the gifts and poems and artwork
All those things to show my love
Were tolerated
The way the sun is tolerated on a blistering summer day
Because to escape from it would be too difficult.
Know that I always knew that,
Felt it from them,
Felt shame for it.
And no matter how many photographs I have obsessively taken
Of a face I thought they must have molded the face of the sun after in every ancient carving,
Know that she never wanted me to see her.
And that that
COUNTS.
You looking up at me from those white sheets, Lover,
And never glancing away in embarrassment or apprehension
Counts:
Skin
Counts
To someone who has been held at arm's length for so many years.
Kisses count,
And I count them, every single one soothing the ache of the losses I never asked
To suffer.
It is true, you are not my first love.
But never have you pushed me away.
Never have you shut me down,
Never
Have you been cruel to me.
And all this
I find it counts
More than the awe I felt for those who would abuse me,
More than the fear and loss and devotion and destruction that they demanded
And then blamed me for the consequences of.
Although I have loved before,
Please, please, please love me now,
For that is something you can be
First at,
Lover.