you comforted her late at night
a new friend
bracing her from the wrongdoings of another man
you spoke the words to me,
"if someone ever hurt you like they hurt her, i dont know what id do"
but it didnt matter when it happened to me months later
maybe it was because I had cried so many times in front of you before.
how many times am i allowed to cry
before the words i say are heard as crying "wolf"
have i used them all up?

I'm sprinkling seeds upon dry soil.

We confidently dove into the blue river-
The two of us, swimmers at heart.
It didn’t matter that sometimes we shivered,
We never wanted to be apart.

Now you say there’s too much of a current.
But... you told me before, that you were a swimmer.
What you said to me that those other girls weren’t,
You said that I was. I was your winner.

So you ask to let go; you say you’re exhausted
And you want the current to take you away.
But I am afraid- what has this costed?
Will going with the river cause us to decay?

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve done him right.
As a mother watching him grow,
Not letting him out of my sight,
Oh I worry so.

Authority isn’t my strong suit,
I have never been in charge,
But better than being mute,
Like his father, at large.

When it comes to being a single mother,
There are times when I must let him go,
And although I want to hover,
Being a good parent is what I must show.

I love the boy who I pledged to raise,
From that very first moment, that very first day.

Don’t look at his arms now.
Stiff and swollen, small muscles
curled in like a mountain:
needing someone to open the gym
an hour to workout.
That arm held the weight,
made the ladies say
ripped and attractive.

Don’t think of his heart
behind thick abs flirting
with girls, his voice
drowning in grunts and moans,
his daily routine.

Think of the bodybuilder who slid
3 steriods down scaffolding esophaguses,
every meal,
who stood up to Death the Dealer
for more hits to take on.

Keep him the image of the unhealthy,
straight-backed on the gym floor
in sickness, sighing
from his choice.
Keep his image holding
needles, syringes, and pills,
bringing your heartbeat down
not on the muscle,
your mind’s logic sweeping off fantasies.

I fell in love with him so easily. I was starstruck from the moment we first started hanging out, and I have been in awe of him ever since. With every passing month I knew that my feelings for him wouldn’t go away. He immediately got all of my love. My heart was his. I held him on a high pedestal so I was scared that one day he would throw it away and realize that my love wasn’t good enough. But nevertheless, I didn’t take my heart back. I wanted it to be his.

I took the risk of loving him, and it is still really scary. Loving someone gives them the power to hurt you. Sometimes I feel like I’m too vulnerable giving so much of myself to another person. But reflecting on all of this past time spent with him… I don’t want to take my heart back. All of the car rides where he touched my leg, all of the times he nudged me to silently ask if I was okay, the times when he would hug me, pick me up, and twirl me around... I would take any risk to have those moments. If I know that there is a chance to have these moments of happiness and love with him, I’m going to go for it. He is worth that risk.

I use my tears to paint watercolor pictures of us.

writing was my escape
so no wonder these feelings can't take shape
to feel we must express
without doing so there is no success
in dealing with emotions
we'll be left with cluttered notions
of urges and needs
and forgotten creeds
because bottling it up is not the way
because it will be worse the very next day.

so why can't i write
and escape this plight
of boiling feelings
that are filling my ceilings
my hands are tied by writers block
that will sit here and mock
the tears on my face
get me out of this place
because its getting hard to deal
with my mouth and its sickening seal
that keeps everything a hush
even if my mind is a rush
of my feelings of rout
that will never get out

With a nervous grip, the girl picks up the paintbrush;
She glances at this boy's life, a blank canvas that gives her a rush.

She asks his favorite color; he says it is always baby blue.
So she listens to his preferences and across the canvas the paintbrush flew.

When she looks at the monochrome array, she holds such disdain
For she is an artist who cannot stick to such colors mundane.

Eventually she pulls away from the baby blues,
And gives him vibrant colors and vivid hues.

She fills his world with a colorful glow,
And puts her heart and soul into giving him a rainbow.

Jupiter and Venus join in a magnificent partnership, and
Amid your great power, I, the Goddess of Love, am thrown off orbit, so
I bow my head in reverence to the King of the Gods.

The beauty in which your light-beams pour over and enlighten
The darkness that has twinkling lights for freckles,
Dazzles me deep down to my flaming core.

But if it shall happen, that your torch turns dim,
And your radiance doesn't reach the farthest ends of the galaxy,
Worry not, for my light will grow ever more incandescent.

Because pulling stronger than gravity itself,
There is a love ablaze deep within my essence,
That transcends the expanse of space itself.

Shining on in this infinite azure,
We split the quiet air with rays of brilliance,
For we truly are emblems of Power and Beauty.

There we lay, our bodies tangled and our fingers intertwined, my hair in his face and our legs wrapped around each other. Such perfect knots make up the one image of our bodies laying next to each other. We can’t tell who’s finger is who’s, what leg belongs to which body. When we are together, we become one beautiful entity. A single being. His eyelashes are butterflies that are taking an afternoon rest. When I open my heavy eyes I notice that his lips are slightly turned upwards at the ends, and that is cheeks are tinted with pink. His jawline is constructed so perfectly and its chiseled edge cuts through the dim room. His fingertips press into my back so he knows that even when he drifts off, that I'm not going anywhere. I wouldn't dare leave his arms. They are my home. There I am laying next to him and I see perfection in front of me, and I listen to his heart give the beat to the song that is made by the rhythm of his deep breaths. My absolute favorite song.

He is the Colosseum,
With high walls built up that have withstood centuries of harsh winds and violent storms.
He is looked upon with such admiration, this looming citadel of aestheticism, and is unmatched in any respect.
All who pass pay reverence to this fortress of great strength.

At first, navigating the Colosseum is a daunting task,
But as I started to wander down his narrow hallways and stroll past his looming arches,
I began to learn my way around and figure out just what it was that made him so magnificent.

And then, Thank the Deities,
I wandered upon the brilliant stadium of his heart.

But sadly I came to realize that behind his stable facade was a decaying sight, for his walls were crumbling on the inside.
The stones that were built to protect his fragile insides served a different purpose, to mock him of the storms that have hurt him in the past.
He was hidden behind this fortification and writhed in the cold darkness, alone and scared.
He was afraid to go out and fight, convinced that the violent storms outside that have battered him so, will surely come again.

I pity his soul, for having to take the time to put up each monstrous pillar, put down every concrete block, and fill every crack with cement.
He felt that this was necessary in order to be sure that no evil forces could hurt him ever again;
He was filled with hatred for the world because of what it had done to him.

But as a dedicated warrior, I musn't let him be scared any longer.
He has been gracious enough to let me into his life, into his amphitheater of a soul.
He is my Apollo, and I want to show him how beautiful the cosmos can be.
So I will be his gladiator, and fight for his name.

he never let her wear lipstick
in fear that her kiss
would leave evidence
of their love

A leather-bound work of art catches my eyes and convinces them to feast upon what it has to offer,
They gobble up each word, those gluttons, stuffing themselves,
Until they get full and dizzy to the point where I’m reading the same line, the same line, the same line, over and over again.
I fall into a trance and my mind begins to curiously wander.
My soul takes this atlas of all that has existed, exists, and will exist, and uses it as its play ground,
Jumping over the letters, sliding down the “J”s, weaving around the “S”s, jumping over the “O”s, and ducking under the “H”s.

I pick up this narrative of life and attempt to decipher the map of all that was, all that is, and all that will be.
For this novel tells a story of one and tells the story of a million,
And it is my mission to read every single word, to pause at every comma, and to flip every page.

I realize that out of all of the stories in this compilation of creations,
I am just one of them.
I am one sentence,
I am one word.

There will always be a time, when he is leaving me.

He leaves now, as a test for what is to come. This month I will be alone, and the only things I will have are the technological communications to suffice for my emotional cravings. His body won't be here. I won't be able to hear him take in deep and peaceful breaths. I won't be able to look up to see his eyes gazing down at me, or him attempting to mask an ever so slight smile on his lips. He won't be here to take my face into his hands, to kiss my forehead, my eyelids, my nose, my lips. His kisses will be whispers in the wind, traveling far distances to keep our relationship alive.

In a few months, he will depart for what I fear is to be for good. He is going take on the world and to live his life. He is going to give true beauty to the world with his alluring smile, and show the world what it is like to truly be passionate about something. I do support his every move, I do.

However

I am utterly terrified because he soon will become a memory. A sweet reminiscence of what I had. His being will become merely an image in my mind, instead of a concrete person in front of me. I am sad to say it, but I am realizing that I am selfish. Because I need him here. With me.

There are always times where he will go off, to do greatness. This is my curse for falling for a free spirit. I just hope and pray that there will always be a time when he comes back.

once upon a time, she believed in love.
until he pushed her away with an awakening shove.
because when she opened up to him,
about why there were scars on her limbs,
he left her and ran away,
and so, the very next day,
she told herself that love isn't real,
and closed herself off with a sickening seal.

his bony fingers
are frail and thin,
and hide beneath,
his falling skin.

the wrinkles on his palms,
a calloused story,
telling the time he fought in war,
for freedom and glory.

his deteriorating nails
are chipped and cracked,
when he protected his wife,
she was brutally attacked.

the hinges in his hands,
although worn out,
creaked with the same song,
that used to be his patriotic shout.

There are some people in this world who bring out the best in you. And then there are those who bring out the worst. But there is a third type, the rare kind of person that is extremely hard to find. This is the kind of person that brings out the most in you, whether it be good or bad.

They make you cry at ten pm and then make you laugh hysterically at three am. They gingerly trail their thumb along yours while holding your hand and then stay horribly silent when they see tears tumbling down from your eyes.  They make you love the arguments, because everything they say is driven by ardor instead of acrimony. They make you begin to recognize the genuine affection that is hidden in the smallest of smirks.

They don't gently wipe away your tears and tell you it will be okay, but pick you up by the arm and tell you that yes, life will ******* over. Because they know that this is what is going to get you to finally stand up for yourself.  They tell you blatantly when your jokes ****, and insist on better ones. They make you feel so alive that you know you would follow them straight into hell if it means you can keep getting your fix. They cry easily, but due to the fact that they feel so much, and so much of it is for you.

They aren't your significant other, but they sure as hell give you a significant life.

tonight i realized
that you do not entirely belong to me

and that the best days
really are the first to flee

Tonight
I couldn't tell
What shone brighter

The twinkling lights in the sky
Or his criminally handsome smile

listen to my rebel yell,
because i refuse to conform,
breaking out of my shell,
i am the eye of the silent storm.

The only time you talk to me is when you want ***, but all i want is to be more than an object.

"i want you", "let's ****", it's all that you'll say, but what would be great is for you to call me first the next day.

Why can't i be more than a body to touch? i guess these days that is asking too much.

Your fingers tell me stories of passion as they tiptoe down my sides. Shivers dance on my skin where your hot breath can't reach.

Can you taste your awakening words, that you gently whisper to my inner goddess? Leave passionate reminders on my body with the sweetness of your kiss and the harshness of your bite.

As I spell out your name with desperate scratches on your back, allow your eyes to forget what is real, and what is a fantasy.

Watch as my tongue speaks the same language as my eyes, and my heart moans the same desires as my mouth.

Seducing your soul,
I exist in you.