When did love rear its head and turn its back?
We were once very close friends, love and I.
We shared deep passion for one another, hazing our minds with a faint sense of happiness, whatever the circumstances.
Now I still see love laying right before me, but I no longer feel its heated passion.
The fiery touch that shocked my entire body has dulled down into a cold, piercing touch of steel, scraping through my very skin.
Now I gaze upon my former friend in hopes that it may return to me.
In my heart, I can feel that love is no longer with me, that it has left my body for whatever reason, abandoning me.
And so I wonder, who is this love that lays before me?
A traitor, maybe?
Or perhaps an imposter?
Regardless, I can not bring myself to look away and abandon what was once held so close to me.
I cling to hopes that have long ago shattered, filling my own mind with lies.
As hard as I try, I cannot face the reality that it is no longer here.
For if I were to do so, all fire would leave me until I were stone cold.
And, if I were to be left in such a position, I would inevitably shatter until I am no longer.

My scars are simple, silly even
The result of shaving mishaps, stovetop altercations, mosquito bites, and the subsequent relentless scratching of said mosquito bites
These aren’t real scars
But I’ve seen true scars
I’ve seen that girl
The one whose mouth says she’s fine but whose eyes disagree
I’ve seen her, I’ve known her, and I’ve seen her real scars
Scars that aren’t simple
And not even close to silly
And intently watching her, I sit upon a wish:
That I could give her my scars instead.

The most beautiful thing I've ever read-
was a love poem that I found,
hidden between the dusty cupboards of my mother's room,
filled with things that just
"didn't matter"
anymore.

It was flooding with thoughts I waved off as-
"foolish"
with fake plastic vows of love,  
not unlike those crisp, shiny valentine heart rings,
only given to the most attractive every February.

Stories of parting,
from which shone a glossy sparkle like that of a fake glass diamond,
labeled with black numbers as something worth a thousand.
I've always thought that if you were going to leave someone, you should be aloof and cold.
If you make "warm memories", won't the parting just be that much harder?

That sunset that was described as being unrealistically
ethereal,
I tried to see it myself,
even hooking my feet around the cold metal bars of the balcony,
and pretending that I could fly.
But that sunset was fake too, I discovered.
A synonym of those medals that you eagerly await to get, but in the end,
aren't gold,
or silver,
but just a sheet of mocking plastic,
thousands of identical ones of which have been made,
in a factory choking on smog,
thousands of miles away,
in China.

There was always that villain,
who would try to break the lovers apart.
Sometimes,
the villain was described as, "dark", and "Irresistible".
I was puzzled by that fact,
mulling obsessively over the idea,
Why didn't the protagonist get with the villain in the end?

I was undeniably jealous, of the heroine,
who seemed to draw everyone to her with a warm light,
that I didn't seem to have, no matter how hard I tried.
She was a perfect damsel in distress,
waiting for her partner, who would always,
always,
without fail, come to save her from danger and the unknown.
They were both risking everything for what they loved.

"Stereotypical love poem,"
I scoff,
willing myself to throw that piece of paper away with the trash,
But-
to this day, the most beautiful thing I have read,
is that stereotypical love poem,
now tucked between two bookshelves,
which are full of things, that
"matter"
now.

and i've showered four times today
    already
and i wish i knew why
i cannot scrub off shame
and disgust
and all other filth
like i would if it were dirt.

*n.d.

it's just for a few days
i just want to try it out
i just want to know
if it's like they rave about
knowing that you're skinny
getting those jealous looks
it feels even better
than described in these books
oh what's the harm
so i skip a few meals
"nothing will ever taste as good
as being skinny feels"

*n.d.

Twenty is a number of perspective
To a kindergartner it is old
not "really old" like thirty
but still old.
To a man in his nineties
it might seem young, a long-ago-young
a time through which many of his friends,
Americans abroad,
didn't make it through.
Twenty dollars is a lot to a man
in an old coat
sitting on a bench in DuPont Circle
being handed a bag from CVS
containing a toothbrush
some soap and
new socks.
To a woman standing in line
at a Starbucks
glancing out the window to admire
her new Range Rover....
Twenty dollars is nothing
pocket change
she'll spend it here in this line
over the course of the day.
And what of me?
Of my perspective?
Twenty is measured in years
Hard ones
Not quite as hard ones (face it, it's never easy)
Years filled with laughter and watery eyes
Of jubilation and anguish
But years through which I can not imagine another path that I could have taken
to get here
to this point
this moment
with you.

The more we deeply Love the self, the less we will feel hurt by the lack of Love from others. Deeply loving the self, is not about love of the Ego, its about allowing the Ego to open the door to the Soul, where we explore our depths, our darkness and our light, our wisdom, our truth and our inner beauty.

Intangible yet actual the force of love attacked you
As I walked through swiftly and attracted you
Cracked you like Attila crack skulls, intertwined souls
That empty chasm in your heart is what I filled like holes
With my charisma as my shovel, whispered that I loved you
Heart raced when I leaned in and touched you
Kissed you, rubbed you
Felt the curves on your body rise and fall
From shoulders tall like mountains to your hips I crawl
Heat radiates so I know you’re ready for my invasion
Fall into bed like we fell in love at our liaison
Gazing into each other’s eyes we knew we couldn’t stop
Soon as underwear dropped the red cherry popped
The tango we danced with our eyes took me by surprise
As I began to rise, throbbing doubled in size
Slipping inside without realising
We had just made ties with each other forever

…

As I laid you down on the softest silk mattress
And explored your body with my tongue like an atlas
The way the moonlight hit your face as pretty as an actress
No tactics it felt right no way this was a practice
Sweat began to pour like rain, shouting god’s name
Your body felt like some sort of beast that only I could tame
And ride you, inside you, above you, beneath you
Opening you up ever wider so I can reach you
I meet you and kiss you then retreat, only briefly
Beneath me you feel like a queen and I’m your king who
The sweetest fruits from exotic lands I would bring you
May we reign on our quilted throne for ever more
I’m forever yours do you feel the same honey please
Don’t tease, I’m shaking like I’m walking a trapeze
The heat built when your hips tilt, nerves began to spasm
Heaven has granted blessings and let us have them
Ecstasy that even angels couldn’t fathom