My body wants lust
My heart wants love
And my mind is confused

I want to live simply;
And enjoy the small things in nature.


-When I invision my idea of a perfect life...
I see us; running through wheat fields hand in hand.
For no reason other than to feel the tickle of grain
As it brushes against our sun kissed calves.


I see dark, rolling clouds dominate the sky
And they weep for the tragic reality we live in.
But as you look at me
With raindrops sliding down your eyelashes
I know that we can be detached from actuality
Together.

Flushed cheeks
Wild eyes
Alcohol on his lips.
Wind blown hair
Salty air
I can feel his fingertips.
Hot breath
On my neck
And your hands on my hips.

Some nights
I lay awake,
And wonder what life would be like
If you loved me too.

Your eyes so blue.
And a heart so true.
Lovesick in it's deepest degree.
Oh I wish you could see,
My point of view.

He liked
Those dark girls
The ones that
Wear all black
And lots of makeup.
Disturbed and insecure,
They were always
The ones for him.

But she was light and different,
And he fell harder
For her
Than the shooting stars
In the night summer
Sky.

It was a love
Deeper than the ocean.
And nothing even needed
To be said.
Sometimes you would
See them smiling
At each other silently.
And you knew they
Were speaking with
Their eyes.

The two of them
Changed each other.
And they loved more
Than they had thought
Possible.  
She opened up his heart,
With a key she still keeps.

And for her,
He was the bad boy
In a black leather jacket.
He gave her
A sense of wildness
That she so desperately craved.
A rush, a high.
Being "bad" was fun
When they were together.

And the sunset continued
To hum their love song,
As they kissed underneath
God's masterpiece;
In a fury of color
Then darkness.

But if you were
To ask them now,
What went wrong
And why the sky doesn't
Sing anymore;
There would be no answer.
Because they didn't
**** their love.
The people around them did.
Society.

It's been almost
Three years,
He was forced to move away
And they haven't
Seen each other sense.
He's taller and more handsome now.
She filled out and looks better.
They both matured.

It's heart breaking really...
Because that fire
Burned so brightly
And now it's just
A pile of ashes
In the corners of
Their heart's.

Crying in the shower
Makes me feel like
The rest of the world
Is crying along with me

I want to be
Your late night
Lullaby
Barefoot on the beach.
Your sunshine
Summertime
Swimming in the waves.
I want to be your
Freedom anthem.

What if scars were black?
A deep and cold black.
We'd see all the pain
That people try to lack and conceal,
Sadness exposed.
And the world would know what it does to people.

Is it too high of an expectation
For someone to treasure me?
Too much to hope for?
Does that only happen in fairy tales,
Or once every hundredth couple?
I hope not...

Untitled poems are always the best
Because poetry can't be labeled.
To me it's a miracle
The way a poet can convey emotions using words.
Some are better than others
But no one can identify
Every emotion they've ever experienced.
And if someone says they are able to
Then that someone is lying.
But that's a whole other ball game.


**Untitled poems are the best

he is clothed in adventure  
radiating beauty, and basking in danger.
all these things my soul desires
think of the end; oh my mind tires.
but the bad boys always look this way
masked by charm
and they all act the same