One song title at a time
is how we we write our story
of secrets told in silence
and yearnings
sung by melodies.

Glances as we pass by
is how we make time stop
a few hundred hours
of us together
in that pause.

Fleeting brushes of our hand
is how we toe the line
the spark of heat
sending shivers
rekindled every time.

Distant in a crowd
is how we pull each other near
every nod is a connection,
each chin lift makes
the distance disappear.

Leaving things unsaid
is how we confess our feelings
broken talks, abrupt halts,
and heavy silences are
what we find appealing.

Daily morning greetings
is how we surrender to fate
following the course it sets
not yet willing to call
whatever this is
a mistake.

With one song title at a time
we are writing a story
of secrets told in silence
and yearnings
sung by
melodies.

Three words.

Say them and it'll end everything
And begin something whole.
Tell them softly, whisper them to me
And I'll willing let go.
Write them down, if you fear,
And I'll always hold it dear.
Don't explain, don't justify
Give me those 3 words
And I'll be satisfied.

I don't care about your remorse
I don't want to know you regret
I just know that I am hurt
And it was by something you did or said

It is not about your intent,
It is not about my interpretation,
It is only meant to correct
This awful awkward situation

Allow me to move on,
And ******, you move on too.
Tell me "I am sorry."
And I will tell you,
" Me too."

I tore you apart,
Because I wanted to bleed.
I battered you with my stinging tongue,
Because it was my pain I wanted to ease.
I punched and shoved,
Just to make my muscles hurt,
I bit and scratched and screamed
To remember that I could still feel.
Nothing was skin deep,
Not your scars,
Not my rage,
It boiled and sang
Deep within my veins
Like the bloom of the early sun
It only kept gaining way.
Love, so pithy a word
To describe the beast that takes control,
With each ******, jab and rent
It expands and widens its scope.
It makes me bitter and you weak,
It makes me docile and you my rock,
It makes me tremble and you my storm
It makes me destroy and you my toy.
Enslaven we are, to that chemical balance,
Swinging up, down, away and toward.
The pull and push of affection,
The hidden colors, left on simmer.

Let's fall off
the edge of the page,
sail beyond the visible line,
leap from the end of the ledge,
sink into the ocean,
then sink deeper beyond.

Let's slip away
from the rim of the cup,
slide along the edges of ice,
tumble into blades,
roll with the flowers,
soar beyond the reach of the sky.

Let's find parts of ourselves,
nobody sees, hears or thinks,
burrow deeper into a new skin,
move away from what has been,
crawl into a place, so far away,
the past will never come around.

Two cups of coffee I had,
and 4356 steps I took,
just to catch another glimpse
while I passed by you.

Planned what to wear the next morning,
and of topics that you understood,
an anecdote to gain your attention,
pink lipstick to hold that look.

Scrubbed my palm dry roughly
to have nothing between your skin and mine,
because when you shook my hand,
my heart fluttered, and did not calm
for a very long time.

You are not mine, will never be,
but when you gaze into my eyes, I see
what my life would be like with your beauty,
so those 3 minutes a day are more than worthy.

I don't like my poems anymore,
they don't quite have the same punch,
but then neither does my body rock from within
it is all even and humdrum.
Writing is not easy when there is nothing churning,
burning, singing and crawling under my skin
waiting to pounce, leap onto a blank page
uncontainable, unrestrainable,
using words that don't even make sense.
There is no furious typing trying,
no doodles or markers on the edges of my book,
I just sit and stare and think,
and that's the worst of it all,
when I'm at the brink of logic and reason,
I endeavor to write a poem.
Disaster. Failure. Best forgotten.