Nirvana - a transcendent state in which there is neither
suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject
is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of
death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.

My Buddhist Queen,
Will you take me to Nirvana?
Will you take me to that place?
That place where we’re unshackled from suffering?
Because right now, this is intolerable.

My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana
why does my heart feel so aloof
and its beats, spectral?
Why does my body suffer from rigamortis?
Why am i teary-eyed
and why did you nominate my pillows to do the ALS challenge?
Why is my room a catastrophy?
Why do my walls succumb to the savagery of my fists?
Why am I suffering?
Why do I desire?
Why is karma still existant?


My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana,
why do you occassionally take strolls down to hell holding my hand?
- d.b.d.

pretty names, but you have the prettiest.*
angel's white dust pushed around by
the dingy desert winds dry meadow murmurs.

heated leather seats, **** smooth leather pants
and slender, skinny beautiful body with
a name attached to it, smoke smelled
of burnt raspberries

and the conversation burned like them too,
i feel things for you and perhaps
transparently similiar damage
bleeding rubies out like sap

the conversations dripped like sap too.

He said "I'm sorry," for the third time that night.

I said through broken sobs, hands rested on a tear soaked pillow, "There is no need to apologize friend, you did nothing wrong, we're fine."

He had been typing for a while before he said, "I just kinda owe it to her, ya know?" I decided to not make a tally of all the promises he has made me, and instead I said, "Yeah, totally. You've gotten better at taking responsibility."

I decided not to focus on the night before, when we held hands crying out pained words, emotionally charged from the whole concert, but the focus was still on our sweaty hands gripping each other tighter with every word that reminded us of each other. I decided to not remember him wrapping his arms around me, pulling me tighter, tighter, because we just could not seem to get close enough to one another. I chose to ignore how I could still feel his hands gripping my shoulders. I decided to neglect all the memories that were always too good to be.

Next thing I know, we're on the phone, I needed to hear your voice, I needed to remember I wasn't all alone. He said, "I hate this, I thought making a decision would make things easier, but it didn't, it just hurt you, that's literally all it did." Suddenly I switched gears, I turned off the tears, and reassured him that this was pain I could handle, dear. Just try to relax, it'll all be in the past soon, just go outside and look at the full moon, remember we will survive this too. He said, "I still have feelings for you ya know. I just made this decision because I owe it to her, that's the only reason. And we might be together one day, who knows."

"Yeah, I know," I said trying not to cry, but that hurt worst of it all. Holding onto hope I should've already let go of. Holding onto rope wrapped around my neck, waiting for that day. I felt comforted but pained. I felt sad, and just plain tired of feeling. I fell asleep that night holding a phone to my face, listening to his breathing.

​
They tell me that I'm a good poet
That I have a way with words.
They tell me that I can make the simplest things sound beautiful.
That I can make a flower bloom
Just by stringing 26 letters of the alphabet into a sentence.

They tell me that I'm complex.
That they have to read between the lines just to figure me out.
They tell me that I make the easiest things complicated
That I can turn my McDonald's order into rocket science.

They tell me this
They tell me that
They. They. They.
But you,
Oh baby, you,
You didn't tell me anything.
You never felt the need to.
You accepted me.
Flaws and all.

You accepted the way I made gardens grow all around us,
You told me you loved the way I turned the carpet into our personal meadow.
You accepted the way I ordered my mcchicken burger
Even if it took forever for them to understand my words.
You showed me that it was okay to be me,
To be unique.
To be able to turn the abc's into rocket science,
The 1,2,3's into the tip of the iceberg
To be surrounded by metaphors and little jigsaw puzzles that everyone thinks they can figure out
But when they get frustrated they leave, their mood gone south.
But you stayed.
Patient.

To this day I can't get the courage to thank you,
I've tried
God knows I have
But this,
This is my final attempt.
No metaphors,
No similes,
Just me.

So thank you baby,
My McDonald's order will forever remain encrypted
And my words,
Complicated.
But us...
We're asymptotes.
Destined to come so very close,
But never intersecting

lotus rising in my hands,
heat that heals the broken man.
clocks with crooked arms that span,
lands that hold the emerald pain.

inside her ribcage,
beneath her hide,
snow melts,
rivers grow,
rushing and raging,
into everything we know.

washing a furrowed countenance,
into crumbled crystal and sea glass sand,
where castles rise and fall,
waxing and waning,
endless dying,
endless rebirth,
rising and falling,
again and again.

~Lana Maree Haas

I used a black sharpie to write a love poem on your arm
Hoping the ink would sink into depths causing little to no harm
That the rough words may permeate through your tough skin
And the permanence may prove that forever starts from within
That the black is dark enough to hide all your scars from being used
And that my words are evidence and proof of my love for you

So let that ink sink as deep as it might
My words peirce your soul without a fight
My sharpie art fill you with awe and an imaginative spark
Be inspired by my loving words and the permanent scar they leave on your heart
You may forget my face, you may forget my name but **never forget where my love made its mark

Attract what you
expect.
Reflect what you
desire.
Become what you
respect.
Mirror what you
admire.