I smell a home cooked meal
Which does not make any sense
Because all that exists here
Is bitter coffee
And undercooked rice.

i stopped wearing my heart on my sleeve,
when you peeled it off and made it your home;
now i keep it hidden away
somewhere within the depths of your own.

Everyday.
I sit with you
In a never ending sea
Of algebra two.

How I wish we were as simple
As solving these problems.
One question at a time.
With an answer,
Or many answers,
Or no answer at all.

Now that I think about it,
This isn't that simple.
This doesn't always have an answer.
Are we pi?
A never ending, irrational number?

Well, I am definitely irrational,
Being with you.
But maybe you,
Maybe us,
Is the only real
Thing I would really find happiness in.
I know you feel that way too.

I'll be pi with you,
Pi is real.
Pi is something.
Pi exists.

5 o'clock in the morning,
We're half asleep on the floor.
A conversation that makes no sense,
But to me it might mean more.

Look
          Into
My
        Green
Eyes
          And
Dare
           To
Kiss
           Me

Writing poetry is a lonely thing
It looks you square in the eyes, smiling
It asks you to write alone
Even in company
When writing poetry
You are alone

And even lonelier still
It asks you
To go inside of yourself
There are things there you must find

There is a man inside my body
A boy
And they look just like me
They each hold letters
I do not know what they say
I must find them

Poetry is love you want
Is someone you want to be in love with
Poetry is a child tugging at the pant-leg of someone
You want to be in love with

Poetry is the coffee stain on long sleeve shirts
Right over the wrist
Your mother called them chocolate stains
Never blood

Poetry is my drunk fingertip stumble
My white-boy wasted
My way of loving less awkward

Poetry is someone telling you they love your poetry
Poetry is loving someone for loving your poetry
Poetry is also kissing that person

There is a man
In mirrors he might be me
We have a letter we want to give to you
But they read like a feeling

We spend hours in solitude
Finding ways to step into the daylight

Poetry is convincing you
You need a reason to step into the daylight

There are words etched into your teeth
All white
No bling
The letters change with the shape of your mouth

Smile more often
Even when you don’t want to

Poetry is trying to teach you to speak peace
with the words in your smile
To people you don’t want to speak peace to

Poetry is an angry father
Is neck bruises from belt loops
Is rug-burn from being dragged across the floor

Poetry does not love you
It simply asks you
To find space inside of yourself
And then it wants you to give it to someone else

There are people inside of you
With stories

Writing poetry is a lonely thing
Giving it away
Until no one can be a thief to your soul

That too
Is poetry

Phones reflect the self within us.
We use covers that show a hint of our personality maybe a panda cover, covers that mask and hide the scratches and bruises but they are still there.
They seem to grow and deepen each day and we have the power to stop it but how do we stop the scratches from showing, stop the smudges from appearing on the screen?
The point is we can't.
If the phone drops, it drops simple as that.
yeah we should make a big deal out of it especially when new scratches appear but we have to pick the phone up.
When it slips and falls again we must again pick it up.
When the screen cracks we feel like we should have put a screen protector on.
Then we try to protect it as much as possible.
We try to prevent the cracks from deepening.
We can't get new phones though, the self might be able to reassemble once cracked but fragments of the older self still remain , it can never be replaced.
We can only try to take care of it like we would our phones.

when you were a child,
they told you you were special:
you picked flowers instead of playing with dolls,
you colored in the lines when everyone else finger-painted,
you were shy and it was sweet

when you were with others,
you felt un-special:
you were afraid,
you never wanted them to dislike you,
you held your tongue even when you had no words

when you were alone,
you wondered what was so special:
you didn't relate to them,
you weren't understood,
you were a misfit in a place with no norm

when you were sad,
they told you you were un-special:
you were having a hard time adjusting,
you were new in an unfamiliar place,
you would be okay

when you were afraid,
they told you you were un-special:
you didn't try to be strong,
you had a bad outlook,
you were in control

when you were with friends,
you felt so special:
you told them your name,
you laughed,
you let them see the person that has a hard time sleeping at night

when you were in love,
you felt so special:
you were embraced,
you cradled their heart,
you were loved for everything you tried to hide

when they left,
you felt so un-special:
you blamed yourself,
you thought you were worthless,
you slept away your life

when you cried in front of them,
they told you you were special:
because nothing else could explain why you cried so much

I once read an essay that made perfect sense
It gave an alternative to cure expense

It was a proposal that was quite modest
I wish I'd have thought of it, to be honest

It was from the early eighteenth century
It would empty the full penitentiary

Babies are free until they are at least one
Then they are fat, tender, and ripe in the sun

Parents can sell them to the politicians
They will use them as part of their nutrition

It is a win for everyone, you can tell
After all, we're already going to Hell

Sell the babies for politicians to eat
Use the money for a superfluous treat

We should kindly thank Mr. Jonathan Swift
For solving all our problems with this great gift

Your name is the loveliest word
I've ever said. In my life
I've never known someone like you.
Your aura is a quilt
that I could spend all day in
if you'd let me.
I think the chances of me meeting
another you are absurd
and I find the whole idea
to be terrifying.
I could make so much room
for you in my heart.