i was feeling empty, lost
without you.

on days when you were far away or busy
i didn't know what to do with my free time.

i would sit and feel strange.
i would miss you;
not used to alone-ness.
never wanting to get used to alone-ness.
I was afraid of free time.
I was afraid of silence.
I was afraid of myself and the thoughts that sit in my own head.

I wanted someone to take care of me

these past few days though,

i've been finding things to occupy my time.
yes, i cry a lot.

but
last night i played music.
and i danced alone, in my room.
like i did when i was a kid.

and today, i got some work done.
i'm eating right.
i'm reading a book that i never had time for before.
i'm playing music again.

i'm taking care of myself.

and now i'm writing some poetry.

yes, i cry a lot.
yes, i miss you.


but i'm starting to be okay.
i'm learning.



i'm starting to learn who i am,
what i like to do.

i'm figuring it out.



and i'm realizing that i'm not just surviving anymore.
i'm living

and i am so glad that i'm giving myself that chance

Thinking of you as my savior, my hero.
Making it true is dividing by zero.

Error.

Where are my words?
Should my poems be taken from me?
They are my heart, my face, my name.
I say I write poems,
but they are but words;
ink and paper and rarely rhyme.
Words of love and power,
joy and sadness,
words of courage and war,
of wisdom and of life-
but mostly of love,
and so mostly of sadness it seems.

She called him her cherry
because of his bright cheeks-
               and he called her his daylily
                              (she wasn't sure why,
               but she liked it)

               He was patient and protective
               and liked the way her socks never matched
                              and the way she ate muffins (upside-down)

                              She was impatient and prideful
                              but she liked the way he read (eyebrows furrowed furiously)
               and his squinting, laughing eyes.

They were always having small fights
and once she heard her pride say-
"I'll never talk to you again."
               she never thought his eyes could look so sad
               when he slowly nodded at her
she wanted to scream.

Her life continued as years passed
and she met a boy she grew to love
               but who never quite understood
               why she ate muffins the way she did.

One day, as she was packing
               preparing to move across the country
she found a dried, wilted daylily
               and she cried herself to sleep that night, hating herself
                              wondering if he ever felt the same of cherries.

Wasted years chasing an image in my mind.
When you were before me.
Wasted days chasing after this sight and picture of love.
When you were always before me.

We grew up surrounded by one another.
Even attended the same school together.
And, now we are lovers.

I never figure it.
Hardly imagine it.
Until your worth rubbed off onto me.

It's been said that love walks around in your company.
And you was within mine.

I never knew it.
Always looked through you.
Until the day I saw you.

And you became more beautiful.

I now know it.
I now can tesify about it.
Cause when I look to my right.
You are beside me.

Love found me.
When I found you.

We sit poised with pen over you

So much to divulge ... explain ... confess

But the sight and smell of your brightness, your freshness causes us to hesitate

It's not your fault that you fill our hearts with hope and sadness

At the sight of you, we are filled with the longing

To know the opportunity of having once again, a clean page spread before us

A new path eager for our markings to meander over it

Ones that are not weighted down so heavily

As to smear and tear with a past that bogs down and trips up


But you know there is no such possibility

You know there is no future where the past does not make itself welcome


And still you lie there spread open before our disquiet

Silent in your trust and in your vulnerability

We marvel at your courage and wonder if we could ever be so noble

Prudent and gingerly is a careful way to spend one's day

Although it makes the passing of time move dreadfully slow

Gives too much time to notice hair dwindle and grey

And to have ninety nine years of that...oh please No

Taking care of our minds and bodies is a right thing to do

But seven days a week, that's a bit much to bear

We might take one day or even two

To rebel against the steady, our trials and cares


Dance these mornings on grape laden floors

A rose in hair and one between *******

To a Spanish guitar that makes spirits soar

With a love that knows its quest

Gobble up cake!  Eat with bare hands

Strut like a peacock in finery

Living spontaneously, every moment unplanned

For a day or two ~ limitless and free

You cannot press the page as if you are trying to tattoo meaning onto it. People so often forget the words as supposed to do that for you, ink askew, words committing Hari Kari ***** nilly as they derail into one another, meaning unintelligible as the point of the modern day history channel programming schedule. It is a varsity track jacket for the masses, mass produced for those unable to sew it themselves or earn it through bestowed prowess. Even national bestsellers are written in pencil these days, and before their sentence is pronounced, the verdict has been erased by the side palm of our ever-loving adhd. The thinly split nib, the exposed *** crack of a wayward genius is mocked until covered, no longer ******* the stuff of sanity, and as a result the fools rule literature with a tin scepter of complacency.

because i miss you.

i miss you so much.
i miss your hands
the hands i used to write poetry about

before i started feeling empty again.


and now i feel alive, but it hurts so bad.


and i want to be near you
and smell your scent
and rub my face against your chest

and feel the skin on your back
against the palms of my hands


and your lips against mine


and that's why i don't want you to read this.

because it means that i'm wrong
and scared
and weak.


but if you read this
you would look at me and tell me that i'm beautiful and strong



and i would just keep being angry at myself.




i just want to stop missing you.
please don't read this.



i miss you.