I pity you because you"ll never truly know the feelings you evoke
Searching for the perfect words and overcoming all my nerves
Finally mustered up the courage but to you I'm nothing but a joke
To you a few seconds worth of thought is all a man deserves

Invite me with your eyes until I finally make my move
Then you act surprised with your ego"s point to prove

Or else she's interested, engaged, polite, and very nice
But ladies please listen close to this next piece of advice

Instead of leading us all on and wasting both our valuable time
Would it be so hard to just say no, would that really be a crime

Tell me you have a boyfriend, I don't even care if its a lie
And give me credit for the courage that it even took to try

Take it as a complement and just for a second wear my shoes
All that we could be was dreamt and I woke up with the blues

You burned the blueprints, a beautiful skyscraper was to be built
I looked for clues and hints, now I pray you can deal with the guilt

I envy you, so lucky to be blessed with the ability to ignore
Sweep us under the filthy rug and strike us deep at our core
To be thrown into the junkyard that any man would abhor
You forgot we're also human beings, so I really must implore

Give us a fake number at least it will make us laugh
At least our glass will still be close to holding half

I understand your point of view, I know it must be hard
So many offers every day, always keeping up your guard
Deciding which ones to let in and which ones to discard
All while trying your best to not get emotionally scarred

But believe it or not we have feelings too and hope is like a drug
So stop our digging right away before we have our own grave dug

So I'll say a prayer for you if you truly lack the empathy to really care
Seconds of unnecessary negligence multiply into years of utter dispare
Quite an extensive list of backups just in case your heart begins to tear
The next life we'll all be roadrunners and you a coyote, karma's only fair

I got an aching in my bones
I need you
I got an aching in my bones
I want to feel you
The feeling is so strong
Hitting me with your cyclones
I brace myself for their power
But they continue by the hour
I got an aching in my bones
I long for you
I got an aching in my bones
I want you
I’ll throw the sticks
You throw the stones
Let’s break these aching bones
Spirits are one, above the gravestones

I feel like i tell you too much
i tell you everything
your voice hits me like truth syrum
my words fly past my teeth
fall over my lips
and into your ears

i dont know if this kind of truth scares you
somethings im sure i should keep it to myself
of corse i wouldnt be lying to you
but my secrets could stay mine
and my thoughts be my own

im sure i will freak you out when you see how crazy i am
my thoughts sound crazy
they bounce from here to there
about this and that
about nothing and something
things that havent or will not even happen
what-ifs and scenarios that are unrealistic

the truth about how i feel about you
i like you too much
your ****, cute, sweet
i like you too much

you will think im obbsessed or something
truthfully i probably am
the way you feel
they way you look at me
the lines you get around your mouth and eyes when you smile

gah

.

A week can start with blue
And end in red
A look can start at my feet
And end at my head
A day can start on the street
And end in my bed
A journey can start with a birth
And end when you're dead

Red hair
Everywhere
The water bleeding through the fabric of you
Red hair
Everywhere
I'm not sure if it's good or bad
But there's someting about you

Sometimes the poem
doesn't want to come;
it hides from the poet
like a playful cat
who has run
under the house
& lurks among slugs,
roots, spiders' eyes,
ledge so long out of the sun
that it is dank
with the breath of the Troll King.

Sometimes the poem
darts away
like a coy lover
who is afraid of being possessed,
of feeling too much,
of losing his essential
loneliness-which he calls
freedom.

Sometimes the poem
can't requite
the poet's passion.

The poem is a dance
between poet & poem,
but sometimes the poem
just won't dance
and lurks on the sidelines
tapping its feet-
iambs, trochees-
out of step with the music
of your mariachi band.

If the poem won't come,
I say: sneak up on it.
Pretend you don't care.
Sit in your chair
reading Shakespeare, Neruda,
immortal Emily
and let yourself flow
into their music.

Go to the kitchen
and start peeling onions
for homemade sugo.

Before you know it,
the poem will be crying
as your ripe tomatoes
bubble away
with inspiration.

When the whole house is filled
with the tender tomato aroma,
start kneading the pasta.

As you rock
over the damp sensuous dough,
making it bend to your will,
as you make love to this manna
of flour and water,
the poem will get hungry
and come
just like a cat
coming home
when you least
expect her.

He is laid to rest in hues of purple and gold
beloved Sun-down
imagine how it might be to live free
I have only ever lived in love
his follower
he has never looked back at me
on a rare occasion in which we meet
a euphoric eclipse projecting ignorance and bliss
lasts for a moment, and then he is back at the lead