You were bad in bed,
I’m talking from the outside looking in.
You never could push against me
Quite right, never quite long enough
And it was never as rough as I,
Or any sane woman,
Would want.
We all want to bleed, you see,
Convulsing between ***** sheets.
Castles are for princesses and I’m not royalty.
Don’t ask me why, then,
It’s your clumsy, hasty touch
I crave
Here in the stupidest hour of the black,
My irritated fingers pressing
Into half-hearted folds.
I can taste you on my lapping tongue,
I wish you’d come here
And be bad in my bed.
Turns out,
I seem to miss your incompetence
Most of all.

Those who love will never find it.
Those who love will write odes to crisp fall mornings
And hear symphonies crunched out of the yellow leaves beneath their feet.
Those who love will smile, even though they know
it will give them away
They will offer themselves up as if they had never given the mirror a second glance,
Let themselves be beaten like drums,
And a drum is just a bucket of silence
until you beat something out of it,
Beat something out of it.


Those who love will find poetry in the steam of their coffee
And beauty in even the worst of times;
Leave names like kristallnacht in our history books because they know that broken glass looks like stars,
And when a person truly loves there is nothing, nothing that can stop them from hoping.
People are like buckets of silence
Until you make something out of them,
Make something beautiful.


People who love know that tears
are the same as rain, and they are ready for monsoons
Because loving is lonely,
and for every drop out of shining eye
there are hundreds more waiting in the sky
and the people who love will dance in the downpour,
Collect every drop they can hold where the silence once was because drums can hold tears too,
and they will still be silent until you splash
and make something out of it,
make something beautiful.

Joey Comeau
Writes things I sometimes don't understand
They're like little bones in a tiny
Bat skeleton
I don't know what they mean
Or what they do
Or how they fit in the whole scheme of things
But they make me feel powerful
And that's mostly good

Joey writes sentences that start with
"I want to"
And end with things like
"Break into an old lady's house and tell her I am the FBI"
He writes sentences that make me think
Of all the things I want to do
I want to crash my private helicopter
Into the side of a mountain
But escape just in time
I want to write like Joey
Simple sentences that hold the world in their hands
And crush it a little
Just because

Stephen King
Writes books that sometimes scare me
Right back to the second trimester
Right back to fetal position in the womb
But he tells the stories so well
The actions are so true
I believe them all
And I know I'd never be the hero in a horror story
(I'll be dead in the first twenty minutes of the film)
But I get excited at the prospect of reading
Because it requires less running on my part

Stephen wrote of his drug addiction
And his mom's cancer
And his ****** jobs
And his alcoholism
And his multiple failures before his success
And his loving wife
And it made me think
That even though I'm an itty bitty little person
With but one life to give for this universe
Maybe, just maybe
I can make it
In some scheme of things

1.
so young and unsure
of what feelings even were
we do not talk now

2.
I knew you shortly
I met you on a cruise ship
You are far away

3.
We used to be close
Now you have habits that scare
and you hurt people

4.
Dated you shortly
I'm sorry for how things went
I made you so sad

5.
You were my first girl
you made me question a lot
feelings had been weird

6.
we were both so drunk
made the mistake and fell hard
was nothing to you

7.
we were best friends for
so long, things changed and
now we do not talk

8.
we clicked right away
you left me for someone else
not over it yet

9.
I was so so drunk
you used me for attention
I resent you now

10.
You are a vision
you're from another country
why would YOU kiss ME?

11.
we are together
you make me feel important
I hope this will last

Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which may be the chosen spot.
No toad spy you,
Hovering bird of prey pass by you;
Spin and die,
To live again a butterfly.