12.19.2014
Her lips they part like oceans do
Her hair sways with the wind
You sit and deliberate in your thoughts
Will I see her again?

Her laugh echoes like thunder storms
Her smile strikes like lightning
You sit and ponder in your brain
Do I love her or is she frightening?

Her heart it beats like music thumps
Her words they flow like poems
You sit and contemplate all alone
Can your rhythm mimic her tones?

Her talk reminds you of telephones
Always ringing in your ear
You sit and scrutinize to yourself
Why isn’t this all clear?
                    T.W.

It was painful
i will admit…
feeling so cold
so raw
like a carcass in a meat locker

Desperately craving his warmth,
but finding a chilly resistance instead
I shrunk back -
unsure...

Feeling terribly alone there…
in the dark,
listening,
listening,
to the deafening silence...

I was frantically searching
for you and I.
But
what my ignorance
failed to notice
was that you were right in my hand,
and
in my mad search for myself
I dropped you
and lost us forever.

the average human
describes their heartbeat
as a thud-thud or a few
rough pats to the chest.

i fall asleep with my ear
pressed up against your
chest. all i can hear is the
echo of a captain yelling,
"let me sink...let me sink..."
i ask you how you would
describe your heartbeat,
you point to the ship
in the bottle mounted on
your father's bookshelf
& faintly say
"the glass bottle keeps the
ship from sinking, completely
blocking out the captain's wish
to learn how to breathe
underwater because air just
isn't doing its job with keeping
him alive."

your break up letter to me
went a little something like;

"you were built in the fire,
stop acting like you burn in it.
you were never made to be fragile,
you were never made to be my glass."

my plead for you to stay
went a little something like;

(20) Missed Calls

your final goodbye
went a little something like;

a thud thud to the pavement.

& my final goodbye was
cracking open a bottle on your
headstone & standing in the sea
with the water rising up to
my knees, with a small ship in
the palm of my hand, a dunk
underneath the tide & a faint
whisper, *"breathe."

I’m not religious,
but you've got a tongue that can
make me see Jesus.

I write poems about beauty;
Your name is on every line.
And how your pretty little fingers
Were made to perfectly fit into mine.

I write songs about perfection;
Your name echoes all through.
And how this hellish life on earth
Seems so heavenly with you.

I try to form perfect rhymes,
But to what mere words can I rhyme thee?
For 12 lines are too few to put into words
How much you mean to me.