so many memories,
instantly made in a short time
that i will hold with me forever-
the raindrop that landed on your glasses,
a giggle that lilted on the air,
or a look as your eyes gazed into mine-
searching for the answers you longed to see.
memories made,
as though looking backwards,
they felt like they were always there,
that we have lived this before,
and once again have searched each other out.
and i soak up every new moment,
looking forward to each, and fondly at it as it passes,
winking,
from moment to memory,
weaving a new tapestry to tell a new story.

So fragile any sound breaks it,
Sometimes awkward give or take it.
Sometimes gives peace or concentration.
Sometimes needed for contemplation.
Sometimes treatment if you did something bad,
Or when someone catches you doing something you shouldn’t have.
Maybe silence’s composition,
Has way more than just one definition.

Expressions of the abstract,
Thoughts we can't retract,
Exquisite solar towers
of our mindful powers,
Into the glass ceiling,
Collectives of ideas and feelings,
Whence these expressions of abstract?
Thoughts we can't retract......

She tangled herself
with her own stories
legs tied with guilt
and mind free to roam
curious of what's out there

She confused realities
with dreams, she diluted them
with ice cubes
to chill the hot pounding in her heart

She confessed her sins
and graffitied them on walls
hoping others will relate
and connect with that messy fate

Days are silly and nights too
why take things seriously
she asks herself before her waking hours are due

Why stutter and stumble
on pebbles of hesitation
when your heart is in overdrive
and never asking for directions?

Why panic and gag over anxiety
when it lingers in your throat
long enough for you to *****?

It's been a while
your heart is rusty
add some acid, wash it off
it will fool you oh it will
but darling
what's better than a fool
who knows himself
to be one
and willingly
fearlessly
welcomes
all sense
of
spontaneity

There was a poem I wrote before this one
I wrote it somewhere between midnight and morning,
you know, the place where the tides are too heavy
they're cement,
too blue
they're black,
too sharp
they're knives
and you can't help
but drown.
The place where I sank into a well of words and emerged
as black as every single one of my demons.
You know, the place where the feelings come out
and where there is no delete button,
no escape plan,
no Plan A to begin with and no Plan B to end it.
I poured everything onto that poem,
every **** feeling
and every horrible thought that had the audacity to come true.
And when I realized what I had done,
I took that poem
and I burned it—
every drip of ink
and every drop of emotion.