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I remember when you told me to
let it go
The words slipped out of your mouth but never did you let pride slip out of your fingers
I know, because every syllable still stings
The surface of my heart.

Mr. Building, you let go.
Allow the wind to blow against your hair and
create wrinkles on your clothing
But never let it
Knock the dreams right out of you
Because
I believe in them and never will I
Even stutter those words to you
le-le-let
Me take your hand and help you carry those burdens
Don't ever drop your ceramic hope,
Cling on to your glassy aspirations because dreams
Are made of fine china
So precious
So fragile
So so so beautiful
Please don't let  your chin fall to the ground.
Lift yourself up,
Because the world deserves to see
How tall He's built you
But prove to them
That when the earthquake comes,
You height's got nothing on your
Foundations.
And if telling me to let it go
Is to break me back into concrete,
Powder,
Cement,
Then by all means demolish these
Stories and hammer through these
Crevasses
Because every broken window
Is worth seeing you succeed.
It'll hurt me to the very ground,
But your standing tall
Will help me recover.

I remember when you told me to
let it go
Your breath smelled of coffee.
I can tell you've had a rough night.

And maybe
Just maybe
you spent
those sleepless nights
Deciding whether you should
Let it go, too.
It's late and my mind only knows how to speak in metaphor.
 Aug 2014 Ironatmosphere
k
Untitled
 Aug 2014 Ironatmosphere
k
lets ease our loneliness together
tangle our sadness together
and
bind our unbounded madness
to each other
Let's rise high on violet,
breathe in indigo skies,
taste deep maroon magenta,
blueberry pie.
Slide down with me
beneath the olive green
and tread through turquoise,
sweet aquamarine.
On goldenrod
let's softly trod
and wade through streams
of rich, rusted bronze.
We'll dance in pools
of electric blue
and splash our knees
in the velvet azul.
Let's kneel and drink
from rivers of red,
sip crimson and cranberry
to open our heads.
We'll submerge our souls
in tangerine gold---
won't you take my hand
down this rainbow road?
Another oldie. Another goodie.
The most **** thing about a guy has nothing to do with his clothes, hair or eye colour.

It's in the way he looks at you with longing, when you finally find out he wants you just as badly as you want him.

When he pulls you so close to him that there is literally no space between you, because he can't stand the thought of there being any.      

When he kisses you, so that it feels as if he is stealing the air from your lungs, and for those few seconds you forget what air even is.
    
When all thoughts go out the window and its just him, with you,in the most simple way possible.

Now that is the definition of ****.
Pure passion is ecstacy...
I pray for rain
So that I can place my head on yours
And together we can meditate upon the ambience of the soothing trickle against my window.

I beg for storms
So that we don't need an excuse to lie in bed for endless hours and stop time and the world, then lose our minds in each other.

Oh I hope it blizzards
Then we can snuggle under my blankets and get entangled amongst each other like glorious vines on a house.

I plead for thunder
Because then I could lay with you in the absolute darkness, and see the beautiful shards of light spark, and hear the thunderous roar as we lay excited clinging  on to the very bones of each other.

I dream of all this and more,
But for right now I just can't wait to see your face again.
For beautiful times, with a beautiful person.
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