You are a demon.
Haunt me after I have become stronger,
Letting me know you still rule.
All your evil resides in your subconscious,
Thus I am a girl livng with her favorite demon.
I protect you. I love you. I won't let you go.
But you don't want to either!
Go!
You stay which makes me stay.
Since you do not mean these things, I can't hate you,right?
I was taught to fight for what you love.
You were taught to love other things so you don't have to fight.
Temporary.
You are a demon and you are beautiful,
I wish I could see you differently.

Red, square table.
Empty hot chocolate cup.
Reasons to stay are few.

Friends, synonymous with companions
Family with love,
Lovers just know,
this table won't move,
this salt keeps pouring.
I can't stop it.
They won't stop it.
Keep eating,
go faster!
before I burst,
before you say something you don't mean,
before I say something I do mean.
The answers to the questions you won't ask,
they need out.
They aren't bad.
I'm not bad.
The salt needs to stop pouring!
Someone move this table,
someone chop this ******* table apart!
I need to go through it because going through things is how you come out different.
A professor once told me that.
You won't ask the questions I want to answer, so I need to go through this table.

Strong, then fleeting
after each meeting.
One is never like the next or last and
as times pass I want to preserve the greatest feeling I have ever felt.
It brings me to my knees that we may never be,
that you could be with someone less deserving than me.
See Me, please see me like you once did.
You aren't looking hard enough, long enough.
I want your eyes to melt into me,
like they did when seeing was our only activity.
We were lucky.
We were perfect in that hour glass.

When I sleep in my stone cold bed,
I dream of your warm arms holding me,
your silky lips touching the back of my neck and your life
breathing into me, sharing itself like it once did.
Waking up from that fantasy binds me to the bed.
Still.
Motionless, except for a stream of salt that stains my face for hours.
Me without you is what I will do,
but me without you is not me...
I wish I could be young like I am and find another,
but it isn't fair to compare,
I don't want to run my fingers through just anyone's hair.
I want to run, fly, to another land to erase this mourning,
but I'll only wish you there and not understand why you're not.
So I'll open it later,
your texts, your emails, our photo albums,
I'll open it later when you are here beside me to stay.

Big white fluff,
you have no form really but you are every form truly.

Your distinct milky knobs present a welcoming entrance; a "Three's Company" vibe.
I wanted to catapult up to say hi
And ask "What parts of you, were parts of other clouds I've seen?"
I wanted to know where it has been; what it means.
This kind of magnificence is a collaboration.

You strike me through the glass as I wind around the pass.
I know there is more that I am missing.
Your colors may be richer, crisper but as I see you now
is blissful–
Orange, pink and bright white hues surround the few cues you are giving me,
that say " I Choose you, sullen traveler ! Look at me and be happy!"
And I was, right then– Happy.

That word that is over questioned and often fleeting went through me and however brief, I can say it was there.

I am a woman.
Does that make you want to hurt me?
Do you look at me as weak, vulnerable, ******, emotional, insignificant, manipulating...a pleasure dummy?
Am I excluded from conversations, education, emotional relations, fair evaluation... I am a woman, here is my exclamation.
I eat. I ****. I read. I sit. I learn. I grow. I don’t like to be called a **.
I have thoughts. I can take a joke. I care for others. I’m not just something to poke.
I work for my money, 77 cents to your dollar.
I have control and my intended purpose is not for ironing collars.
The notion of the nagging woman bothers me most.
There is much beauty to us, if you look close.
Not on the surface or underneath our clothes.
Listen when we talk and you will see we are not foes.