you spoke the words and they came true—
heaven had a crush on you.
they placed you on that cold bronze throne
as "gold dust rained down in sierra leone."

overdosed on poetry
hearing, composing, reading
searching for meaning
in everything literal
what exactly does my breakfast indicate ?
how to contain the overwhelming exuberance
of the spring day before me ?
is there a consistent theme throughout
my handling of mundane chores ?
are my HP printer problems merely a suggestion of life’s turmoil ?
a long break is needed
my head is tired

the attraction must be difficult to resist
the distance comforting
advertised as virtual but falls short

body language, nervous ticks or the lack of them
are a big part of collective contact
you know, two or more eternal souls in a room

that sense of nervousness, self doubt,
not because of the people involved
but meeting other sufferers of modern times

the emperor has new clothes
loneliness, few degrees of separation
nothing social about society

In class we talked about writing poetry
poets are outstanding
they connect two separate things
use similes and metaphors
think everywhere
and than within
skill, talent, expertise are needed
my heart skipped a beat
are my poems a mockery?
but then I read those cries for help written in the dark at 3 am
I realized
poetry can only come from the mind
and most importantly
a juvenile one like mine

it just so happens
that
    "sad song" playlist
   is complimented nicely
by a dry red wine,
coconut scented body butter,
soft sheets,
  and an ugly cry.

We break hearts and wonder why we are sad.

but never ever think that I can't take care of myself
because I don't need any ******* help
from anyone
ever.
And trust me,
you may have known me then
but every part of me has changed

i am not in love,
nor am i out of love, just
stuck in the middle.

sure*, i wanted to be yours,
but, really, more than anything,
i wanted to be mine.