Sometimes I create my own
Writer's block;
It sounds ****** up,
Dozens of us at any given
Moment
Genuinely searching for
Any single word at all,
And here I am,
Wishing my words away,
Creating every writer's
Nightmare
Simply because I'm a
*******
Coward,
Too scared to pick up
My fresh black ballpoint pen
And put it to my
Worn out notebook
Because I'm too
Scared to feel
The dark, painful,
Scary things I know
Will come in the
Free flow of my
Disturbing verses...
So yeah, I'm
That *******,
Creating writer's block
For myself
So I don't have to
Let it all go.

****, that's lame.

With your brevity,
I start to disintegrate;
Only dust remains.

Sometimes I think about you.

I know it's been a while,
But there are these times that
You just cross my mind,
A glimpse of what was,
What could've been.

I remember those
Cold afternoons in your
Dorm room,
Your arms wrapped around mine
On your sofa couch,
Watching some cool movie
I had never been hip to before,
The laughter bouncing off our chests,
Reverberating against the off-white cement walls,
****** and maybe a little drunk,
But mostly just high off of our chemistry.

You were someone so different to me,
So full of stories of mischief and misunderstandings;
I used to get lost in your words,
Hanging onto every slightly twanged syllable.

You told me your secrets.
I let you unzip me,
Physically and mentally,
Seduced me so with your blue eyes
That I didn't even mind that you
Smoked cigarettes.

Months that felt like eternities
As I stumbled into a kind of love
I still don't comprehend,
So fleeting yet the moments
I spent with you
Are so vivid,
Sometimes so that I
Can almost feel the
Softness of your full lips...

You might just be that cliche,
That one
Who somehow got away.

To the one who has my heart,

I love you.
I love you as deeply as the deepest trench,
As vastly as the expanse of the universe,
As greatly as the highest mountain.
I love you so much
I have been consumed by it,
I have been swallowed by its tidal waves,
I have been dried up by its arid air,
I have been devoured by its rabid hunger.

I love you.

But I'm realizing,
I love me more,
And me loves me back;
I breathe life into myself,
I inflate and empower and embolden me;
I am neither consumed nor weakened;
I am on top of my own mountain tops,
Cooled down by my own streams,
Tackling the corners of the universe.

Sincerely,
Yours truly,
I will always love you,
But I choose me.

2 years, 5 months, 19 days.

That's the last time a man
Looked me in my eyes
And told me
He loved me.

Nearly one thousand days have passed
Since someone looked at me
Like I was his whole world.

And now I'm at the point
Where I wonder if I'll be alone
Forever,
Not like the cliches,
The woman who chooses a career over a family,
Or the crazed lady who clings to her cats...
No, just a girl
Growing into a young woman
Who doesn't even remember
What it feels like to have someone
Love her.

Not sure if I've really ever even been loved,
At least not like it happens in the movies.
I've continued to pine hard,
Chasing the affection of conflicted souls
Who never bother to appreciate me,
Those cliched types who are
"Too damaged" to really love someone.

Sometimes I wonder
If I'm gonna be able to accept love
If I finally find it,
My fragmented soul having grown
An allergy to kind gestures,
Compliments,
Or anything that actually might be deemed
Indicative of affection.

Slowly sinking down to the baseboards,
Rotted and gnarled roots
Clinging deep to the underground,
My body dissolved into an anterior realm of
Cynicism
As I grasp the realities of my own
Unrequited love,
My yearning to demand more,
******* and twisted with my
Fear to stop settling
And actually obtain
"better."

2 years, 5 months, 19 days.
I'm just hoping it doesn't take me
As long
To look at the
Golden brown eyes that I
See in the mirror and tell me
I love me
Enough to not care who
Else might.

I guess you could call me
a people addict;
I live for the exchanges,
momentary or prolonged,
the satisfaction of smiles substituted for
verbalized salutations;
the how-you-do's and hello's,
the pleasantries of chit chat,
talk of my oh my, I am not ready for this snow
and how was your holiday?;
catching a supposed-to-be-sneaked glance from that tasty
stranger,
allowing your eyes to meet for longer than
you meant to;
a compliment that drips off the lips so sweet,
its nectar invading the taste buds for hours
on end;
individualized or multiplied,
I relish in the conjugated haze,
in the gazes and the giggles,
in the potential formulation of inside jokes,
in a have a good day to a grin I will never see again,
the whirlwind of vowels and consonants,
of coincidences and sarcasm,
of the impressions we may leave of which
we will never be aware;
I crave the mundane,
I get high off the monotony,
I am swallowed by the simplicity;
Yeah,
I guess you could call me a
people addict,
and I'm cool with that.

Sometimes after I've
Had a drink or two,
Or a few more,
I convince myself that I can
Find what I want
In the superficial distractions,
Building my ego in faked conversations,
Pretending to be the careless girl
I've never really been able to be,
But pass me one more beer
So I can text every other
Y-chromosome in my phone
And pretend the meaningless
Exchange of dialogue
Even minimally replaces the gross
Urge I repress
To send you the stifled sonnets
That lay dormant at the pit of
My suppression.