Targets shifted,
Arrows fell.
Strings are broken,
Hopes are dashed.
People lead,
They're admired.
We see,
We try.
We fail,
We cry,
We hide.
Tables are turning,
Worlds are changing.
Everything is tumbling down.
Or
Are lies now easier to tell?

I cannot compare
Your swift actions
To the cool breeze.

I do not have the
Linguistic abilities
To describe your eyes
As the epitomes of beauty
I could get lost in.

I cannot fathom
How others
Can so gracefully
Liken your hair
To the rustling wild grass.

But I can whisper
To you
Over and over again,
"I love you."

I struggle with understanding the concept of
"Coming out"
as being gay
as being bisexual
as being anything.
I get that it is important for some people to inform other people
about their personal preference,
but at the same time,
no one feels the need to "come out" as being
heterosexual
or being
smart or talented or sad or confused or angry or irritable.
If someone asks, of course I'll tell them,
but I have become a rather private person in the sense that
I don't feel the need to make a huge announcement to everyone
on all the stupid social networking websites with regard to
how or what or why I'm living.
I guess that is a contradiction because
I am writing this poem and am clearly releasing it to the world for a billion strangers to
potentially read, but I'm a writer, whatever that means so
cut me some slack.
I like boys and I like girls and I love
whoever walks into my life at the right moment and it's
as simple as that.
It's nobody's business and I like being okay with that.
I don't love someone so I can flaunt them
I don't love someone so I can make other people jealous
I don't love someone so I can feel good or validated or worthy.
I love because I love.
Boys are simple, and I have grown rather tired of them I must say.
Girls are complicated and emotional and gentle and sensitive, and perhaps
it would be easier if I had a preference,
but I don't because
my love has no preference
my love has no gender
my love has no conditions
and if someone isn't okay with that,
then that's fine because
it's their problem, not mine.
And that
is just,
that.

It's hard to watch
People like you lie in
Bed all day, when
All your life you were
Running around, making
The most of your
Cherished life.

I do not want to face
The day I can no longer
Walk or remember your
Name. I don't want to
Be carried to be washed
Up or for someone
Unknown to me to watch me
In a home.

No, I don't want to see
Those days. But if
Any of this happens,
If I forget who or where
I am, your name will
Be the only one I'll remember.

when I wake up in the morning I want
your sheets to be tangled between our legs.
I want your arm to be swung lazily around my bare back and
I want your warm breath on my skin. when I wake up I
want you to love me. I want
the forests of your chest and the city streets of your
fingertips.

I want your smile to sneak around your lips and pull me in
close
because my fidgeting body of morning awoke the landmines of your pores. I want
that first yawn and
the sound of you
stretching your lungs. I want

to feel your eyes on me as I get dressed, as I brush my hair.
I want to see you t-shirt tug across your arms and
land on your torso. I want to curl up
beside you and drink coffee as I trace the
constellations of freckles on your forearms.

I want you to kiss me.

my mind is filled with shadows and weakness and
he is sleeping in his bed 6 miles away.

walking distance; running distance.

every pore of my scarred skin is filled with missing him and alcohol.
every dent in my flesh was raised by werewolves;
they only turned red at night.
my eyes only flow oceans at the hours I feel emotionless.

my mother puts crayons and coloring books in the backpacks of her children.
says that when they are angry, they should write down what they feel in the color that fits best.
now when I go to school it is all Ticonderoga #2

happy  gray
sad  gray
angry  gray
scared  gray

as the hot water
cascades over my body
and the dull gleam
of the procelain bathtub
blurs in my
peripheral vision,
i am in a slight trance
of contemplation.

*(as simple as
they may seem
showers truly are
the best times
to think.)