A Poem For Each Of The Boys I’ve Ever Loved

Ⅰ.
sometimes your scent travels in the wind,
suffocating me like a nasty perfume,
leaving me to wonder if i’ll ever forget your smell.

Ⅱ.
you wore the sweatshirt you let me borrow a few days ago
i mean, i don’t even think you remember i had it at all.
it was just another sweatshirt in your drawer.

Ⅲ.
your handwritten notes sit in neat pile next to my bed.
it has occurred to me that maybe thats the cause of my nightmares.
but really i think you’re the reason for everything and anything.

Ⅳ.
you have the prettiest eyes in the whole entire world.
im satisfied knowing i was once the reason they lit up so bright.
I’ll never let someone take the sparkle in my eyes away again.

Ⅴ.
we used to listen to music together and we’d laugh a lot.
you’d snicker at they way i lip sang to myself.
and id laugh because you really didn’t care i was a ******.

ⅤⅠ.

most of my days are spent wishing you were still here
you never really know how much you love someone
until they don’t love you anymore and thats a sick thought.


(ps, each of these poems are about you and only you and always you. i miss you. love always, the pathetic girl with a big heart and green eyes.)

A small girl came up to me today.
She looked up at me with her big, blue, honest eyes and simply said;
"Hi, can I ask you something?"
She didn't even give me time to respond before asking, quite matter-of-factly,
"What does love mean to you?"

Well, I guess I had to think about that one.
"Trust." I said.
"Love, to me. Means trusting that your love for others will be taken care of with careful hands."
She looked up at me, not knowing at all what I meant. She just told me,
"Thank you miss." and walked back to the playground.

I found myself thinking about what this little girl had asked me. And I found myself thinking, I am so dumb.

Love is a lot of things. Love is a color. Love is a type of dessert. Love is sweet as ice cream, and it can be just as cold. Love is the scars on my wrists, and love is the bruises on my knees.
Love is the way the sun shines on every single one of us. There isn't a person that the sun refuses to shine on, so, I guess love is honesty? I don't really know.
But I know our love was infinite. We lived in infinity for a year and three days. Our love was also tears at 3am, and 9 hour phone calls with no sleep.
Our love was no secrets, we learned to spell love as Y-O-U and never as I-O-U. Your love never owed me anything. My love never stopped giving.
Love is non-judgmental.
Love is blind.
Love is deaf, love is irresponsible.

Second loves, are different.
Second loves are awkward, because they try to fit themselves in places where only the first loves should fit.
He tried to fit his kneecaps behind mine, but they weren't shaped the same as yours. My body before you hadn't been, imprinted. But the first time we spooned, yes, I just said spooned, your kneecaps created crevasses in the bends of mine. So when he tried to fit his fingers in the spaces between my own, I think he found your fingerprints still etched where they should have been washed away long ago.

Love, is a crack in the sidewalk.
Love turns your heart stone cold.
Love loves to see you suffer, and love loves the see you go through all the pain of broken-ness.

Be careful who you give your love to.
Be careful whose hands you drop your heart into, because some hands are too big and too strong and too unforgiving to hold your heart with the tenderness and care that it deserves.
Love will kick you in the stomach, and stab you in the back. Love will twist your words, love will make you lie.

Love is a pen and piece of paper.
Love is in every poem that I write.
Love is words, that sink into your blood and travel through your arteries.
Words that make your heart pump.
Love is your heartbeat.

Today, I walked up to a little ******* a playground.
I asked her, "What does love mean to you?"

And she replied, with absolutely no hesitation.
"Love is how when you fall off the monkey bars, you get back up and try again. Because even though I keep falling, I really wanna get to the other side."

what's my pen name you ask
really?
if I wanted to say something out loud
nothing would stop me
I do-- say whatever I want out loud
but what I put on paper
is none of your business
because you couldn't possibly understand

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

you
are nothing but
the cool breeze
on the hottest of days
drifting off the ocean
smelling of briny
healthy life
inspiring hand-holds
first kisses
and sighs off relief

you
are everything
serene and lovely
about the way that the world smells after the first rain
following a long drought
spreading the promise of new life
children frolicking in the fresh fields
total disregard
for anything
that could try to spoil their fun

but you
cannot see this
i do not understand
why
or
how

all i know
is you
are lovely
and
you
are everything

Pocketed hands and escape routes,
run as fast as you can.
Before the truth comes loose,
bury it in the sand.

**** me with a stare,
and break me beyond repair.
Speak up, or shout out.
I really do not care.

The move is yours to make,
make it or not I know the truth.
But with this slow, dull, ache,
I'll waste away my youth.

Weightless paper plane,
I float about the days,
severed from reality
hoping to lift this haze.

A fragile heart can only beat so long.
Without it's other half at hand.
Make your move before the tide comes in,
and I wash out with the sand.

I have lived my whole life
just supposing that I was nothing more
than wasted youth wasting time,
Standing here on planet earth
beckoning to the stars.

“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” the Universe always answered.

Nothing.

And so it appeared to me
that I just was sitting here alone in the cosmos,
tracing constellations to pass the time.

Somehow I failed to realize
How lucky I am to be anything at all.

Our very existence, in itself, is glorious.

And here we are,
a small part in this mess of madness.
Do not waste a precious second – sing out.

You, too, are a prophet.

Let your wisdom reach out
to the corners of the galaxies,
So that the echoes may bounce back
to the very spot you stand right now.

Make something of yourself

so that one day
you may join the stars
just to shine a little brighter
when a lost soul is right here
beckoning for you.