We are but two roses in the same vase
sharing the same water
same light,
but our leaves never again touching.
You've grown colder
we've grown apart
separated yet together dying.

Tell me, why do we, roses, die so easily?

Our scents fading,
but our thorns getting sharper
in a world where all the flowers bloom
we are the ones to be wilting.

Tell me, why does the moonlight darken our colours?

I know
I will love you with all my thorns
and with my fading shades
until the last petal will fall
until the sun upon me
will stop shining.

*Tell me, why is there blood on your thorns
and why is my heart leaking?

love is a funny thing, it's true
sometimes it seems made up
until it happens you
until you find yourself in a crowded room
and you realize , suddenly
that maybe this world was made for just two

1.) Start with the base of your ribs
feel the panic spread, eating away at all that you have built
tumbling over the rocky shores of your throat
feel the magma of self-hatred spread to your neck- fluid, disproportionate.
Feel it wash over the ground that you walk on, feel yourself
bite your lip
sharp pain
it's what you need to distract from the skeletons dancing in your closet.

2.) Watch him, and ignore the fact that he has never seen you as more than a transparent windowpane
Never noticed the landscapes within the confines of your rounded frame.
See his gaze follow her, and tell yourself
that your hopeful shadow will never be traced by his sparkling eyes
that he will never look to bask within your uncertain figure
will never see the soft glint of passion that fervently glows at the core of your spine.

3.) Dig your nails into your flesh and swallow back the tears. You didn't earn them.
Feel your skin grow red and angry
Feel yourself grow red and angry
Know that you are nothing, are nothing. Deserve to feel nothing.
To fall into infatuation with no sleight of hand
To have the floor drop below you at the sight of his face.
Not even a conversation, never even a conversation.
You are an amateur, playing a game that you never qualified to enter.

And he? He is the unassuming sun, stopping only to reach his illumination down into the cavity of your lightless eyes. Once, maybe twice. Maybe not.
He is the perpendicular street
Unexplored and full of complete and utter wonder
He is the manifestation of all that I wish him to be.
He will never be what I wish him to be.

4.) Go home. Write a poem. Go to sleep. Listen to music. Anything to stop the racing of the glow of your heart. Dream of a future. Without him, without this.
Keep Dreaming.

From youth, not unlike the love
I received from my family, I surmised,
that extended love might be everywhere.
With artless, open arms and heart,
I embraced this simple notion.
In time, sadly this childish wish
was honed to a hard truth by maturation.

Friends and loves come
and go, fleeting in heart,
and committed soul.
Unreliably, flowing in and ebbing out,
like deep undulations of an ocean,
all too often with sneaker waves
that pull us under. Breakers pushing
our ship onto the rocks, in a sea
of shallow unfulfilled expectations.
Encounters becoming disappointment,
with too many frogs kissed.

My educated suspicion is,
beyond our family of blood kin,
Faithful canine love is the only
other "truly committed devotion"
we are likely to get.

In the end, that may well be enough.
Perspective wisdom can be a bitter lesson.

I'M NOT OKAY
And I am so sick of pretending
That everything is fine
There is something wrong
I can feel it
I just don't know what it is yet