walking from A to B,
no this is not geometry,
but it might as well be,
as with your eyes, see,
well what do you see,
unless you live in BC,
you won't see me and
I in turn won't be free,
to see you.

with your eyes, that first glance,
take a risk that is hazard's chance,
don't step closer or bend down,
log it away in your card file brain,
before it is washed away to the drain
or picked up as treasured claim.

use your eyes, with that first glance,
no glossing over, might miss romance,
call it flirtation, or orchestration, you
are the maestro and the other, the ensemble,
well, conduct yourself accordingly but tumble
safely.  

those eyes so beautiful you have, can find words,
to clear the tears off your cheeks with the
new merino wool sweater sleeve and
that intense emotion that has
you locked and loaded as
someone goaded you
again,
and again,
and again, if this was *** that would be fine,
but it is not and your vexed
at how poetry rocks
your world but
also rocks the boat,
whenever you take
the time not to memorize by rote (that would be too staight forward)
take the technology out for a walk,
instgram your photo of your poem and share it on facebook, and
twitter while showing your interest on pinsterest, how is that *******
working out for you?,
or dot those eyes and cross your teas,
take ink or graphite, and write about
your sorrows, your joys, your day, your dreams,
what you saw,what you thought saw, like a puddy cat,
you did, you did and that Bugs me I forgot the color or was
                 it just me and invisible over there?
You get conflict, at that first glance at your notepad,
or keyboard or mumble "I need to write this down,
before I forget".  That first glance you take, all else fades to black,
                                                          ­                 until you write.



©DWE012014

By a bitter birch's bountiful bloom
My child whistled madness at winter's howl.
The young feline jumped from Satan's harsh womb.
No more knowledge, all he could do was growl.

I prayed mother was home, and father too.
They should not see a waste of their sweet fruit.
With this in mind, in tears, my sword I drew.
If I only had an arrow to shoot.

For I am the greek and she the leopard.
She goes for the ****, a heart's dark Shepherd

I haven't been the man you've fell for over and over again. The truth is, I just want you to be proud of me again. I'm not sure what to fix or where to go. I don't like my face anymore. I hate the way my body looks and I can tell you do too. I used to feel your eyes on me at all times and now I can feel how hard it is for you to look at me and pretend that I'm something. A simple two days ago I was afraid to die. I threw away my nicotine because I was scared that it would take me from you sooner. I didn't realize at that time you were already gone. So I bought myself a new pack today because I want to be taken sooner. I can't really leave this basement right now. The ironic thing is I hate being alone, and I really hate basements, but I feel if I surround myself with the things that hurt me then maybe my heart will change the subject for a while. I remember at these times more than any, the people that have told me they've lost everything and I remember the sympathy I had for them. Never did I imagine what it really felt like to lose everything. To not have a single person believe in you anymore. Never could they imagine what this feels like. I can't stop crying, but this is different. I've been staring at a white wall with a blank expression, because it seems fitting. And the tears just invite themselves. There's no longer that curve on my face. You know, the one that only you can see.  I don't believe in me, because I'm a follower. I don't want to be the outcast. I want to blend in so badly, so that when I'm no longer here it won't make a difference. Regardless, it won't make a difference. But it can't hurt to pretend.

Hey girl, don't get me wrong
I just think that we could be friends
It'd be nice to have a confidant again
Instead of telling strangers all of my sins
I'm ready for a new life
Just waiting to begin

I know you may find me a bit intense
Or maybe you think that I make no sense
And I'm not sure what I like about you
Your humor
Your wit
Your innocence?

Be that what it may
And me being what I am
I still want to be your friend
Do you think we can?

Their love was obvious.
Hearts god made, but they break.
Eventually lost.

Evil found on the cross.
Nearing suicide's pact.
Don't die, I still love you.

I'm sure right now you're thinking that this is the part where I confess all of the terrible things I've done and kept secret from you, but it's not. This is the part where I tell you that I stay awake, because either I've convinced myself that I cannot sleep, or I've given up on trying to convince myself I can do it without you. I play music to distract myself from you and I smoke because it helps me breathe again. Meanwhile I paint you for my ears every time I write, and I smoke because I hope it makes you mad, and I want you mad because I'd do anything to feel something from you again. I want to take all of the blame, because I always said that it didn't matter what you did, I will never leave you. I don't care if it's a mistake, it can't be, but even if it was, I wouldn't care. I make a million mistakes everyday and I'd be okay with waking up to you being my first. It doesn't matter to me how terrible we say we are together, because it'd be terrible with anyone else, and at least I'd get to be in love with you. And maybe I was angry, maybe I am angry, but ****** you're beautiful, and I'd blister and burn if it meant holding you. Partially because we both know how stubborn we are, and mostly because  we both know how bad we want the same things. I want you to know that I look like hell right now. I haven't been upset, but I haven't cared about the way I've been seen lately. So, I just continue to look like hell, and this is the kind of hell you always said was beautiful. I've stood in the cold for you before. The wind stung my ears, but It felt good because I could still hear your voice.

One day we're going to be a "real couple." I'll invite you over, and you won't have to park around the corner. Maybe it'll even be when my parents are home. Maybe I won't need to sneak out. For now, you pull into the driveway of the church on the next street—but I don't mind the walk.

One day we'll be able to go on our First Official Date. We can go to that restaurant you like downtown, and I'll borrow a dress from my best friend because none of mine will look right. I think I'll love the city even more when I'm walking through it with you. For now we're grabbing fast food on stolen time, trying to get back to school before anyone notices we're gone. We get away with it every time.

One day I'll be able to spend the night. You'll wear those neon green sweatpants and I'll laugh at you for them, but you'll probably look good anyway. We'll watch old movies, like the one where Robin Williams and young Matt Damon go see about a girl, or the one where Audrey Hepburn spends her time in jewelry stores and doesn't name her cat. For now I can only come over for enough time to watch a few episodes of a show about a paper-selling company. I like it, though. I've always loved the theme song, and your laugh is still one of the best things I've ever heard.

One day I'll get in your car and we'll spend hours driving around, exploring and seeing where we end up. I won't worry about traffic being slow or getting caught, and you'll play your music as loud as we can take it while we try to find the best places around here to get lost. For now we talk about running away on the way back to my parents' world, and I wish with all my heart that we could one day. You don't let go of my hand the entire car ride.

One day I'll be free to make my own choices, and you'll be the only option that I want. For now I'm sixteen, and you're seventeen, and we're both young and naïve, and we both make wishes at 11:11. My favorite kisses are the ones that taste like your coffee, and you laugh at me for the time last year when I only liked tea. Sometimes I'm not good at hiding how sheltered I've been growing up, but you never seem to care. You make fun of my poetry, but I keep writing it anyway. I make fun of you for being way too into weight lifting, but I agree to try it with you sometime. And there's a lot we don't really know yet—but with everything I am, I love you and I love you and I love you, and that's exactly how I know that one day we'll be able to be anything and everything we want to be.

For now that's all I can say. But "one day" is much less of a daydream and much more of a promise.