So..

Ive been thinking about you a lot lately.
At this point in time, i should probably be studying *Mathematics
But instead, I'm looking to add us two together
Because it wouldn't be nearly as complicated as long division
To subtract all the zeroes in my life
Until its just you and I as a final product.
The only thing I really got out of calculus
Was that a great relationship could be our derivative.
I think the function for Y
This is happening is because
You have made
an X-ceptional difference
In my life;
Your beauty's limits are just imaginary numbers.

But -
I think I should review my English notes,
Because, I swear- We're just like Romeo and Juliet!
... minus the whole killing ourselves thing,
There aren't enough words in any dictionary
To completely envelop the feelings I have that make me so wary,
Now that you've torn down my walls, I hate being vulnerable,
You've gotten so close, so fast -
i can almost feel you hugging my soul.

Pero, uhh, donde esta mi libro de Espanol?
Porque
hay una mujer que domina mis sentidos con solo tocar mi piel,
y solo por un beso con ella soy feliz.

But in all seriousness.
The Chemistry we have is undeniable.
You take away all the oxygen in the room
When you get my blood boiling
And stomach toiling
when our eyes lock;
A limitless amount of reactions are unfolding
With you being my catalyst for my heart beating
Every time our hands are meeting.

Its now 5th period, Psychology,
When we kiss, its visualized neurology
Because my lips still tingle when you allow me
To go clinically crazy,
I'm only left to plead insanity
After our physiological fallacy.

Or maybe i should crack open my History textbook,
Because all I ever hear about
Is how Benjamin Franklin was a ****,
And that crazy chick from 300 stabbed her love affair,
Or, quite simply,
How nothing good ever lasts.
Well, I don't know why I'm even in school anymore,
Because I feel like you and I reversed millenniums
Of misguided relationships,
Because with finger locked,
We ran through Berlin Walls that said
High school romance was stupid,
And practically caused World War 3
When so many jealous lovers realized
That the only weapon of mass destruction
Is the undeniable army of two that we have become.
I'd say
We're a bit closer
To that old couple from The Notebook!
..wait..
they die too.

So the last bell has rung,
You made me late to every class,
But if my homework was just to love you,
**There'd be no doubt that I'd pass.

Hey now, that was fun
It's been awhile since I could remember how it was done
In a long time, tonight has been the first
Good time that I've had where no one gets hurt

And I smiled wide
And talked too much
With so much to hide,
I'm not sure what's worse

But the smiles were genuine
The conversation was open
No judgements or complaints
Nobody on drugs, crying, or moping

And it's not hard to take
Quite easy to swallow
Let's do this again sometime
What are you doing tomorrow?

I am Ink
sweet blood of the
pen.
I **** the flesh of parchment with savvy strokes of timeless musings.
The poet is nothing without my inspiration to spur him forward forcing thought from mind into
visual conceptions of reality.
The written word is law and
I am law
We are one.
The ink ,not the pen, is mightier than the sword.
What is the pen without me?
The ink.
A wasted corpse
space used on a desk
worthless
to be without ink.
I alone am the soul of literature.
I alone raise words from the dead  minds of deceased philosophers.
My word has capsized continents
waged unwinnable wars
I do not discriminate
I have killed men women children.
I have breathed life into centuries.
I am eternity
I am ink.

Mamma read me a story
That had me more then convinced
That every girl needed saving
A castle and a prince .

I pictured how my prince would be
Loving tall and brave.
I wanted to be that damsel
Waiting to be saved .

But princes are for stories,
I learned that as i grew ,
They fed me dreams and wishes
That never would come true .

No one really needs a castle
Or silk robes that hit the floor ,
If love is so substantial,
Shouldnt it require more ?

Love gets really messy ...
And there are no magic spells
To make it all work perfectly
You need more then wishing wells .

I have absolutely the dirtiest
Most naughty thoughts
I've ever had
And they're all about you
I honestly think about your pleasure
Twenty four hours a day
Seven days a week
I die just thinking about the way we'd kiss
Slow and soft at first
Then they'd grow in passion
I imagine your tongue
The way it would easily slide into my mouth
Our lips chaotically battling each other
While my hands touch and caress your body
Neck kisses would make you weak
Just like the small moans you allow to escape your body
Are my weakness
They're lovely triggers
Forcing me to lower myself down your body
And stake claim over what used to be mine
I wouldn't just devour you
I'd worship you

I dont have a tendency to write things when im happy,
Only when things are breaking or crashing down.
Dysfuntion usually laces the words that end up on my paper
Going down my readers throat, so that im not the only one
Whos infected with mayhem.
I am still writing about dysfuntion
But with the flavor of fantastic confusion.
Because I used to think that when you met someone
Youd know right away, that they were important.
Until now, I found out that you could meet your best friends ex
As a sophomore in spanish 3 and wait for another year
And still not know that they make you smile.
That my dear is dysfunction.
You can then finally meet them in a class
That you werent going to take in the first place.
And let them read about your biggest fears and happiest moments
Finding out that you dont have one bit of trouble letting them in.
Still you wait though, because its highschool
You will either break up soon or break up when you graduate
So why bother in the first place, if you know itll only end in distaster and heart break.
But they stay and they let you figure things out
And you ask for time
And you ask for time
And you ask for time
And thats what they give you.
And you question and question and question
And they answer and answer and answer
Until you have no choice but to accept that they are special
Because they dont make you nervous when they say the word girlfriend
And they don’t make it awkward when you ask them questions not fit for 3 weeks
They arent juvinille with the expectations of hand holding and careless I love yous.
So you let them come to your house and meet your parents and you go to theirs
You make the mistake of developing a loose mouth, and take oppurtunities
To tell your uncles and aunts about how wonderful they are and you feel yourself
Digging a hole deeper and deeper into the ground made of them.
And you know that when it ends, you will be so deep
That it will take you forever to get out.
But you stay and that is dysfuntion in its finest
Because you know the longer you stay, the more itll hurt to leave
But you stay anyways because they make you smile, and they make you laugh
And they make you happy.
So if this is what type of dysfuntion my writing will be laced with then
Let it come by the gallons.

a Nabuenyo folklore says
you'll get tonsilitis overnight
when you sleep on the taste
of sweet candy in your mouth
my throat will hurt tomorrow morning
because of your goodnight kiss

During the war, I was in China.
Every night we blew the world to hell.
The sky was purple and yellow
like his favorite shirt.

I was in India once
on the Ganges in a tourist boat.
There were soldiers,
some women with parasols.
A dead body floated  by
going in the opposite direction.
My son likes this story
and requests it each year at Thanksgiving.

When he was twelve,
there was an accident.
He almost went blind.
For three weeks he lay in the hospital,
his eyes bandaged.
He did not like visitors,
but if they came
he'd silently hold their hand as they talked.

Small attentions
are all he requires.
Tell him you never saw anyone
so adept
at parallel parking.

Still, your life will not be easy.
Just look in the drawer where he keeps his socks.
Nothing matches.  And what's the turtle shell
doing there, or the map of the moon,
or the surgeon's plastic model of a take-apart heart?

You must understand --
he doesn't see the world clearly.
Once he screamed, "The woods are on fire!"
when it was only a blue cloud of insects
lifting from the trees.

But he's a good boy.
He likes to kiss
and be kissed.
I remember mornings
he would wake me, stroking my whiskers
and kissing my hand.

He'll tell you -- and it's true --
he prefers the green of your eyes
to all the green life
of heaven and earth.