Lips be the knife
Because your arms
Are scarred enough
And words the sting
**** them and let them bleed
Resort to your tongue
The voice you were blessed with
Money flying out of your parents pockets
They work and live and cry because
Who knows where you are
Even when you're just in your bedroom
Therapist voice is the only thing you hear
In nightmares and through earbuds
You are deaf to music and compliments
I am the Positive Influence
You agree when I say things will be okay
But have you heard me hurl my dinner
Into the toliet lately?
The only thing I'm influencing is a heavy mind
You don't use what you've learned
That is your fault
And when we are laying
Next to one another
I hear you breathe I wish I never met you
And when the sun shakes us
You kiss me.

We were thirteen and perfect for each other. We had the same sense of humor and only survived those heinously awkward pre-teen parties by laughing at jokes that no one else understood. We used to play-fight like siblings and run after each other tossing synthetic threats back and forth. I was faster than him, though he wouldn’t say so, and would catch him often - but he always surrendered nicely with a sweet little kiss.
    At that time we were young, inexperienced and painfully shy, so our kisses were commonly swift and polite – never anything Nicholas Sparks would appreciate – but there was something about those contemporary-type kisses that stirred something inside my child’s consciousness. Our lips caused ripples in my belly that tempted me to believe that perhaps this was more than just a tweeny courtship.

A fair amount of months passed before her eventually kicked me off the wagon. Prep school was over and we were off to high school – him to a private boarding school and me to a public school the soccer moms “would rather not talk about.” I was devastated and have yet to open myself up to anyone like I did to him. You see, I had broken off such a large piece of my figurative heart that I didn’t have enough left to share with anyone else.

Now I’ve a high school’s worth of non-existent Valentines roses and I've yet to leave the faetal position.

I've been talking about it for so long that my pool of friends there to console me has shriveled up into an unhealthy puddle of nothing. Hell, I’ve drank up so much of that resource that I may have left a dent where it used to stand. Picture me sniffing around a dried up pile of nothing fruitlessly looking for someone to tell my sob-story to – it's not far off.

Now here’s the gold;
I suppose I had set my standards so high that I’ve not let anyone else so much as see the bar let alone challenge it. That or my first boyfriend was so utterly terrified by my company that he wrote an article about me in the Guy Code and I now walk around with a blinking sign on my forehead. Either way, I’m as lonely as anything and have reached the point where I think of fictional characters as more actual than many of my fellow humans.

Tumblr help me.

when i'm around you
       i feel the slow   paced    bass   line of the universe moving....

i can hear the galaxies turn
      and the atoms cascade as waterfalls in my mind with your electric fingers tracing my spine.



I am lightning without thunder, but you are not thunder nor the rain.

But a swift wind accompaniment to my silent flashes,

Wrapping the electricity with invisible peace .

*Do you know how beautiful it is to have someone that want to work with you? To take you for all you are and still manage to find the beauty in what you dreamt to be your ugliest scars...

showing beauty in the dark....

( yes, it seems  you too are another good one who knows the value of darkness...it seems many of us who seek this path do these days) *

---


We are
     the shimmer of light that reflects in the deep hollows of flute pipes      
echos around the womb like space of cosmos microcosm .

(I've felt love before , but this....this is not love as i used to know it..

This is a slow boiling , stewing and ripening with age mulled wine with toast and Camembert kinda thing )

----

Did you know coincidentally , your name is in the number 2013
and if i recall correctly ,
13 is the year  i met you in.

It's charming how these clever little signals appear when i'm around you -
contemplating you they emerge , another experience.


........

But in my space , i see the purpose here too -

perspective.

Because when i'm with you , it's pretty much just you.

(and whatever room we happen to be in ) - sometimes other things do appear but they are easy to dissolve.
---


we put definition on the imagination , sharing and the quest.... and that's one of the things i enjoy the most.

Peace x

I want to write a masterpiece,
that puts my ego and drive to peace,
I want to make something that gets the masses to stammer and quake,
feeling oot the true humanity and delivering nothing fake,
something to make them feel love and heartache,
to give them a rise,
by building them up with beautiful lies,
and tearing them down at their peak,
making their own head and heart something deep inside,
they have to seek,
but brick by brick I'll build them back up to my side,
they will feel consciousness spread across the great divide,
when I do this master work,
I'll give them each a piece of my soul to lend,
and then the poem will end.

Dear last meaningful kiss,

It's hard to start this,
because long ago I was in such a bliss,
I dont know what to write,
but this cigarette in my sight,
is counting down the end of our night
The guitar is playing its final thoughts
and I reflect on the what to do and not's,
as I start to write the script again.
People stare at me as I write this aloud,
for I want everyone to know, I am not proud,
that this even exists,
but it does.

Your face is what haunts me the most.
When I stare at the coast,
fantasies of memories arise,
but vanish as I feel the falseness of lies,
creep upon me,
like a villain in a play,
but these thoughts I must put away.
They won't get me anywhere.

Except a lonely stare,
into peoples hearts that I seem to try and confide,
but in this rule book I'm writing I must abide,
and leave your side.

I dont think you get what this hurts like,
to ride a bike,
into nothingness of blank words,
that I reflect upon in past writing.
But back to the script I keep fighting,
there is no shading or lighting,
just another poem that I follow.



Dear the love that was never true,

I wonder if your writing too,
or if you even know you,
cause you like to dance around this heartbreak,
like an old soul tries to avoid youth, just for the sake,
sake of wondering what to do next.

As I write this script on my invisible paper,
I have to remember too add the hooded caper,
that's nestled in the shadows, that I frankly never see,
and add reluctantly.
I will look back and think that part wasnt necessary,
but my heart and eyes are wary,
of knowing when to put down my pen.

This will be a sad thing to write,
because night,
is sadly ending,
with the stars starting to fade,
I must abide,
with the fears that reside,
that I must tap onto this screen,
and make sure in this last hurrah, you dont seem mean.




Dear the one who use to be the spark in my nod,

I hear many applaud,
but I wont let myself smile, for this love story shouldn't have ended,
or maybe it hasnt just yet, and just has bended.
Mind is amended,
the wrong doings of past fames,
I can remember the actors I write, but not their names.
As I put my script into print,
and watch the masses on their screen,

"I must say I hate the ending myself,
but it started with an alright scene."


From the heartbroken kid,
with love.