I like being underwater because it reminds me
of a different world.
Like the rim of the atmosphere, or the inside of a womb
where everything is slippery, even the past, and all
I can remember is the air in my lungs.

I like being underwater because it reminds me
of when you held me above the water as a child
that time we walked too far past the ******* and could no longer touch.
You hoisted me up on the hips that birthed me and  
beatering your legs you struggled, your hairline trimming the surface
so I could breathe.  And when we finally swam back onto the ridge you panted to the rhythm of the waves.  Looked down at me and smiled,
“That was fun, wasn’t it?”

Fingers interlocked on the way home down the beach, where
bare feet walk on wet handlebars in the morning and footprints are flooded at night by the moon.  The ability to erase but mostly

I like being underwater because I am made of water. And so are you.
And the ocean surrounds me with the salt of your last breath
felt stroking my cheek with weak, small hands waving goodbye.  

You were so small and
the water is so big, yet when I’m under,
all I feel is you.

What is there to do?
Sleep, awakened by alarm.
Go to class.
Pay attention.
Notes.

Now it's time to work!
Clock into your demise.
Eight hours later,
going home.
Tired.

Now I have to study.
Finals are coming up
Worried about grades.
Homework *****.
Done.

Now it's late at night,
I need to sleep.
Distractions, texting, games.
Finally asleep.
Relaxed

Wake up and do it all again.

Do you ever get that feeling?
The one that you can't explain?
Engulfing you, consuming you?
The feeling of happiness
It is what everyone strives for
This is what I want for you
Even if it endangers me
Even if it hurts my feelings
The best is what you deserve
I can't help my feelings towards you
But I can help how I deal
Emotions are tricky business
If you ignore them they grow
If you feed them they will ****
I cannot help how I feel
But happiness is something that....
I would like to share with you.

I'm frustrated
with myself
No, better yet with time
Or rather, my count
the amount of times you have crossed my mind

Whether lyrically or in theory
I've imagined our make-up
A love that would spur from 3 simple words
and like a dream
I'm awakened
wiping my eyes and stretching
not fully realizing that my mind's fabrication
has no relation
to my present situation
which consists of
my determination
to get you to accept our relations

I'm frustrated
with myself
No better yet with time
or rather my count
the amount of times
I've uncapped my pen
to let it dance along my pages
yet my hand even as it tires
working to depict my heart's desires
but when I look back at what I've created
all I see is you
subliminally written across my pages
hidden behind poetic rhymes
I hate it
I know deep down its truth

I'm frustrated
with myself
no better yet with time
or rather with my count
the amount of times
I lay my head down to sleep
and can't help but think
of the nights you spent with me
those of tranquility
where I would lie awake to listen
to you blink
Those nights where you forgot your oath to discretion
and showed if only for a second
your affection
The rub of my cheek
or my hands yours to keep
as I pretended to sleep
daring not move
fearing your retreat

I'm frustrated
with myself
No its not time
for he is a figment of my imagination
personified
that I use to describe
distant memories
which still seem
to occupy my mind

When in fact its my own heart
which beats distantly in my past
as if that
will resurrect
my grasp
on another we cherished
my mind pleads the memories to cease
because my time spent on what was
shreds my peace

But I cannot help but admit
that my frustration
or better yet Time
or rather my count
those times
seems to forever briefly
brighten my day

envied by the current generation,
able to go out wild and free,
for i long the taste of freedom,
and eager to begin my journey.

envied by the current generation,
able to see the light of the world,
i wish the ancient would understand,
the craving i’ve been looking for.

“the world is full of danger,” they say,
and i deny not what they say,
but life is never full of roses,
so why still must i stay?

i wish i have another life,
a life that is full of rhythm,
so beautiful yet so deadly,
and not as melancholy as already is.

I tend to imagine myself, 15 years from now,
Being one of those sad people you see
In the corner of cafés,
Pouring whisky into their coffee,
pathetic,
Drained.
Bags drooping from their eyes,
Adding another 20 years
to their tarnished appearance.
In some low income career,
No friends,
No livelihood.
Just themselves and a dingy apartment,
Cigarette butts scattered
From an overturned ashtray.
What sad expectations,
I set for myself.

Have you ever looked into someone's eye?
Some come as dashingly blue as a clear days sky
Others as green as the leaf on the mighty tree
Even some as dark as blindness seems to me
But did you know that every eye tells a story?
Some of happiness, others of sadness and worry
Throughout time people will pass by
But to say they know anyone would be a lie
Unless you really spent time and looked into their eye

Doubt
Insecurity
Anger
Confusion
Pain
Suppression
Sadness
Whatever you feel I understand.
Express yourself; it's all there is.