When I walk in the park,
I hear the bees whispering their secrets in my ears.
They tell me all of the juicy gossip from the winds that blow their way.
They are telling me about your beauty,
They talk about your green eyes that stand out in the murky fogs of San Francisco,
They tell takes of the wars scars you wear on your arms with pride.
Sure these Bess were telling me these stories until I meet you.

Looking at these scribbles right now,
Trying to solve this math problem.
ahh, its not right !
all of these numbers are just swirling in my head.
Lets me just rewrite this one more time

you take love and you and subtract the trust
and all you get is the one night stands with that cigarettes
still burning in that ashtray on that night stand
and a bottle of Jack hanging right beside it
but you if you take that bottle of Jack.
you add it to an average home,
it stains the story book of life
and now all we see is tales of a broken home.
Tales of fear and uncertainty

Now if we divide this broken home into our broken world we get a girl in her teens
staring into a pregnancy test.
She broken like that ****** the broke her dreams.
because we try to sweep up all of our broken traits into the dustpan called or minds but we don't get all of the glass in the dust pan
if we multiply that shattered glass and divide it into a broken home
we see a man sitting with that Jack,
jacking around with his family's money
because that bar stool is closer than the churches.

Lets take that Church and factor it into that teenage girl
praying to a god she doesn't believe in
because all of her friends aren't really friends.
you see, her friends are dealing with their own broken homes
and have a mother who is dealing with that bar stool
you put it all together and we don't get a math problem
we see our problems with coping and our societies biggest fear
admitting that we have a problem.

I knew who you were the right one when you stepped into my life
you had your thick rimmed, non prescription glasses
that were way too big for your face and you secretly knew it
your apparel consisted of Urban outfitters,
your grandmother’s closet or
“cute things you found on amazon”
and the scarf in the middle of august means one thing,

you're a hipster!
You stand out like fireworks on the 3rd of July
No not because you are one of a kind,
It's just that you were 15 minutes late to my History class,
you don't follow time because you go to places when the “vibe is right”
you pulled out your Mac Book Air out of your satchel and you waved at me.

Okay now you are one of a kind
After class We started talking about the music we listen to.
and we listen to the same music
Which is the equivalent of finding the holy grail in your studio apartment in downtown Portland
where the air taste like that Caramel Macchiato that you had this morning.

We talked more out of class
We talked about Michael Cera movies,
and how anything with a filter looks better on instagram
and how she writes poetry with her vintage typewriter,
and the undeniable fact that you will never be proud of what you are.
H
I
P
S
T
E
R
One day after class, I was walking you to you bicycle
(you don't use a car because you like going on your own path)
and I found the courage to ask you out on a date,
you sat there puzzled  for a while and you said yes.

Later that night, I rode in my bicycle to your apartment as you hopped on your bike and we rode to a drive in theater, drank PBR, and loved every second of that moment.
When we stopped at your house
I held your hips and said, “lets fall in hipster love like Matt and Kim, I wanna see your Bright Eyes peer into the Pixels of our lives . I want you to see that
maybe a little Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver will make our lives a little Clearer
You bring the Modest Mouse out of me as it  crawls through my wall of lies
You make me wanna jump in a Passion Pit with The Nationals,”
and then I hugged you like a Grizzly Bear

You kissed me as it gave me wings to fly off to the back of my mind
and that honey is what  makes you one of a kind.

I peer through this window,
Looking through life’s magnifying glass
Examining and questioning meaning in one’s life.
When I thought all hope was lost,  I found you

Your freckles were dusted on your face like sands of Michigan
As your light blue eyes peer into a crowded room
And people seemed not to notice you,
As the group’s ego, eagerly overpowers you and makes you stay in silence.

But I notice
I noticed your quirky laugh, warm smile, and blue eyes staring at me
And I don't know why but I can't stop staring,
The outside noise ceases to exist, and I just get lost.
Lost like a rock star without a guitar or a poet without words
And it feels like a valet is taking off my coat. The Coat I often wear called stress.
Your smile warms a room like fresh baked cookies on a cold winter night.

When I'm with other people,
I start to think about what you are doing or what you are up to because you run in my mind all Night like reruns on Nick At Nite.
And for once in my life I didn't hear screaming in my head.
An old wise man once told me that if its too good to be true then it probably is,
And you know what.
He was right

Because now I peer through this window
Staring down at you, yet you never look back.
No matter how many times I tell you that you're beautiful,
you never say thank you.
Instead you took it for granted and moved on to someone else.
Someone who lacks respect or doesn't see the beautiful women you are,
And you simply flush me out. Flushed like T.P down a toilet as I call out like ET so I can phone You, but you just ignore me and flush away my existence.
You ripped out my soul, dragging around the town for everyone can see what hopeless soul you Have captured this time.

You make me feel empty.
Empty like a politician's words or empty like a newborn’s mind.
Now when I see your freckles or your Innocent eyes and
When I get lost, all I feel is pain.
I escape to my mind trying to figure out what is wrong with me?
Is it my beliefs, my lack of muscle or smarts?
And when you ask me how I’m doing, I would lie and say that I am fine and that you are not on My mind, and  you running in my mind like that TV shows that haunts my nights.
What rips me apart the most is that you are fine with your slab of meat.

So now I look down through this window,
All I see is white mist called dreams haunting my wounded heart night after night,
Dreaming that one day, I can hold you into my arms,
I can feel your lips touch mine, I can waste my time with you,
And call you mine,
But a dream is just a dream.