Since we were born we are given these ideas of how the world is supposed to be

I always thought I couldn't be beautiful because I wasn't blonde, I didn't have blue eyes, I wasn't good enough and you didn't understand.

and I paint these words and see how they turn out, but when I read them back I can't help but think there's got to be a better way to get my point across.

If only we didn't have these eyes that mislead us to thinking the outside mirrors the inside

Maybe if we didn't have these ears that allow us to listen to the lies spewed from the mouths of those are are stained and damaged, trying to pull others down to their depths

Perhaps if we didn't have these tongues, we wouldn't have to taste one another, and become hooked on the expelling lust that causes us to do things we can't believe

Could it be that if we didn't have our hands, we would have to accept everything we couldn't touch? and we couldn't write these poems but instead we could feel them inside us, like blood keeping us alive

My heart is ear-splittingly screaming but my voice remains a painful silent. The disparity between the two bickering halves leads me to a final inquisition,

darling do you think it's conceivable that if we couldn't talk, we wouldn't have to? do you think you'd hear it all?

I can't recall a time when I wasn't trying to be your perfect girl; earth's dazzling creation  
I'd have you at hello, overflowing with infatuation
but this wouldn't fade away, it's an everlasting fixation
and I'd soak up your all love, praise, and abiding adoration.  
Write about me honey, I'll be your inspiration
It's just something about you, hard to compose an explanation
for why you leave me feeling dizzy, and my thoughts in aberration.
Oh I how I'd love you to bits, beyond any mind's imagination
but this is not the case, you see there's just one altercation,
I am not your perfect girl, no,  I don't swell you with elation.
I burn with jealousy of she who does, my heart weak with desolation.
Wish I could enliven you, wish I could set your soul to conflagration  
but no, i have no spark, i can't give you that sensation.
Sure you know i'll try, i'll woo you with flirtation,
but you'll give up soon enough, once i lose your fascination.
It's not long before my lukewarm love will reach its expiration.
My heart sinks thinking of the fateful words, the final conversation
shaken my palms and sodden my eyes, admitting devastation
my heart sagging lower yet, blaming you, departed dear, for its dislocation.
I'll miss your eyes that blaze sweet, my own personal constellation
even your flaws, i'll miss them too, because of their association
to the thief who stole my blissful blindness to delightful intoxication
and made me think these things would last, with steadfast stone duration.
But you left like all the others had, there must be some correlation
for why my love lays abandoned, and my heart in isolation
it must be me, I'm the problem, it's my own malicious mutation
that repels love from embracing me and allowing for sweet vacation.
I wanted to warn the masses, so i give you this proclamation:
don't dare fool me with your words, because given this deformation,
I know you will leave me so empty, but somehow full of deprivation.
Oh my poor soul, I can't cure you with apologies, so if its any consolation
I've shared my affliction with the world, through this aching manifestation.

The dirt and the heavens have sat and shown us everything at once, telling about the heart has grown gray hairs on it's brim waiting to be groomed.
I say they are roots, not hairs.
I say all the words anyone can ever spill into you are a rainstorm or a desert and they are going to make you wilt or drown you but either way you are as much of yourself as you can be.
We live in a world that is plagued with shadows that are taken apart by sun beams and sparks of the moon yet they do not know how to stop coming back to our hips like black horses that ride with what we allow Them to ride with.
And they sleep like they know there is a tomorrow, they have courage welded from wind and reverence from the cathedrals of giants that do not know how to be anything less than their very own purpose.
I think of the chapels of light, and the towers of dark, and how there are not even kingdoms filled with both of them, and I am reminded that they love each other too much to be consumed with the presence of one another knowing the world may stop it's dancing.
I hope come to be that way.
That I learn to love someones precense so much I cannot bare to be around it.
Infesting the night or the stars dictating the day as if something that cannot be held is not worth hoping for.
I think of what does not return and what does return, and ask that I have the wisdom to know the difference between what keeps me from seeing, and what has spent it's entire life giving my eyes gifts wrapped in flesh and blood and bone and filled with secrets not made to be kept on shelves or shoulders.
This world is not a child that can lie on your chest in slumber and fall asleep as easy as it wakes up. And I say, there cannot be evil where there is music, and that both what we give, and what we take, are the mosr beautiful thins our bodies can produce and that,

that is what is hidden in between shades of the Earth and her silence.
And from the loss and the blind places of land,
we run.

What day was it that I lost your love?
Was it when I gave you everything I had,
Did I lose you because everything wasn't enough?

Should I have given you my skin and my ribs, too?
If I would have wrapped up my ****** heart,
Would that have been enough for you?