I don't want to see the world.
I just want to be with someone that makes me feel like I already am.

never trust a poet's words
they sound sweet at first
but you'll notice the emotion in their words
it all sounds too...
fake
"i love you like the sea loves the shore"
becomes too scripted
you hear the small tinge of love actually left in their voice
hoping
hoping it could mean something
but it doesn't
it never does
it's just the way they say it
one day, after they have left
you will find their poems, and they will be the exact words that they had said to you
once long ago

She just needs someone to hold
so she'll grab unto anything
a pack of cigarettes
a  lighter
anything warm
anything
The filter
will graze her skin
like no fingers
ever have
and the flick
of her thumb
on the greased metal
will light a flame
the only warmth she's ever known
And she'll light up
And she'll breath in
wishing the smoke
would never come out
that it would fill her up
make her tingle
make her warm
like no one ever would

She
She was everything
She was cool nights and sweaters
Mint leaves and tea
She was the softest shade of a morning flower
And when she laughed
The leaves shuddered against the simple chime
Her long soft hair was the color of maple pancakes and coffee in the morning
And also smelled like so
The wind would twirl it around its fingers
And sing against her peach skin
Her lashes, so long, would shine against the stars
And when she looked down
They seemed to reach to her toes
Lady bugs would crawl along the soft hairs and daze off into sleep
She never seemed to mind
Her full pink lips
Were soft and pure
Her tongue never spoke a trick
Even though she could
Her smile could freeze the entire world
And turn it to winter in a second
Though she preferred the flowers
Her eyes were so big with wonder
They were the color of water and sky
And seemed to flow like a running stream
Her body was so light and delicate
That the trees held her against their branches
Afraid that if they let go she would evaporate like the dew on a cherry blossom
She was so beautiful and pure that she seemed too good to be true
She could cure the world’s problems with a single sentence
And turn hate into a blissful state
She was everything
She was the crisp air on an April morning
The soft fuzz on a lavender stem
She was lace bras and chapped lips
And she was a sight to see

I don't talk
about you anymore
like I used to

Before,
I would speak of you
to anyone and everyone in my life,
sharing pieces of you with others
so much that people started wondering
if there was something between us.
It was never intentional
but rather an involuntary response
to the pull of gravity I felt towards you.

I used to like the way
your name sounded in my tongue
I used to practice uttering it
and whispering nothingness into your ears.

I used to say your name
like it was sacred

but now it has become taboo
to even think of your name
Every time it comes up in my mind
I have to hit the mental brakes,
I no longer mention you
to anyone else
it's like you do not even exist,
never did -
you are just the ghost of a name
that resides somewhere in my head,
collecting dust.

details of my life
won't turn a stranger's head
neither would the 411
of who's sleeping in my bed
to them i am a picture
of what they see so plain
to them it doesn't matter
to whom i give my name
i am nothing to the man
that plants his crop and seed
i am nothing to the woman
who works tirelessly at her weave
i am nothing to the folk
that bake and craft galore
but to myself i am best friend,
lover and so much more