Some things are not meant to be shared
There are places that haven't been explored
Sights that have yet to be seen

But you somehow discovered this dark place of mine
It was never meant for you to find
Some things are better left unknown

In the depth of our existence, the ‘real us’ dwells,
which often remains untouched, ofttimes unspelled.

Don’t empower the peeps to impose their thoughts,
Be the brainchild of your conviction and you’d be sought.

Books that ****** ideas and structure our notion,
Make us go astray from our real aspiration.

Don’t let the world dilute your soul;
You are a born sierra, not a trivial knoll!
-Elina Dawoodani

I could write another boring story of her comprehensive beauty,
How all before her are brought to a pause,
But that's not the case or the truth

Truth is her beauty is finely balanced, To some she's ugly
She's not sweet tasting, but rather, strong and passionate

Words tempt my tongue, as hers are often crude and unnecessarily pointed
Her look, somewhat disguised, is not soft or subtle,
Her gait lacks elegance and fluidity

Her ideals, still orientating, while her desires begin to de-fuzz,
Her intellect steady, growing, but rusty in its current environment
Experience limited, yet pursuit of it growls, signifying a growing hunger

So womanly, so weak, so strong, such foolish bravery,
So much wrong, so little right,
Such an attraction I have never felt,
Such beauty I have never known

Weathered and calloused,
Your fingers weave my hair into a braid,
But only so that you would have an excuse,
To steal a moment touching my neck.

Rough and manly,
Your hands stir honey into our tea,
While I watch in only underwear,
Dancing to Santana.

Tense and shaking,
Your hands grab my shoulders,
Pulling me in for a kiss,
Every time as if it's our first.

Cold and clammy,
Your hands hold mine,
If only to keep me still for a moment,
So that you can get a good look.

Small and feeble,
My hands type these words,
As an inadequate thank-you,
For all that yours do.

Surely you will call tomorrow
Unless of course you've changed your mind
Unless there was a woman in the airport
The likes of which you've never seen
No, no, surely you will call tomorrow

And if a week goes by, I will not fret
I have worried so much in the past
The worry I've had could fill an ocean
But this time, I will not fret

I do hope you got there safely
And I hope you had fun on the plane
I hope they played your favorite movie
But above all, I hope you got there safely

I'd like it if you brought back a gift
You don't need to spend much money
Even if it's just from the airport
Just a magnet with my name on it
I'd like it if you brought back a gift

I'm anxious for you to see your dad
You're a full grown man with beard and all
It will be like two old friends reconnecting
But I'm still anxious for you to see your dad

I'm sure you will call tomorrow
After all, we've made a pact
Though, the terms were never clear
Just that we'd stay together
So I'm almost sure you will call tomorrow

I have found the one with whom my soul is in a budding love.
In this, for simplicity, we'll call him Mr. Blue.
Not jade, nor gold, nor copper rust,
but a morning glory hue.

He's kindled a light inside my bones,
and left my thoughts askew.
Tell me is this true?
Mr. Blue, what say you?

There was another when you came;
let's spare his name,
just call him Shame.
He warrants no backstory,
but I'll give it just the same.

Shame walked around the world with a silver spoon a-gleaming.
So when I looked inside his mind,
I found words with little meaning.

There was no lasting glow from he;
my bones rapidly re-dulled.
Though I spoke and moved quite freely,
apathy manned my body's hull.

So again, Mr. Blue,
I demand your reassurance,
that this flutter will soon cease,
that I'll have light in abundance.

Mr. Blue, don't ignore me,
I know you've read my mind.
So you should know that on these questions,
there's a strict limit of time.

Or maybe you're just human.
Mr. Blue, can you read thoughts?
Or am I expecting too much,
for you to connect invisible dots.

I'm sorry Mr. Blue,
I see now that it's my doing .
I'm scared to let a light shine,
to let it glow without flitting.

I would promise I'd do better,
but, alas, I know not how.
Seventeen never taught me this,
just endless ways to plow.

So Mr. Blue, I'm sorry,
but this glow will flicker more.
For I am much too guarded,
to let it shine for sure.

Until the day it gleams with fire,
I may seem far away,
but really I'm just waiting it out,
to see how long you stay.

But if you pass this test of will,
and break down all my walls,
I swear to you,
Mr. Blue,
you'll have my heart and all.