If I was to die tomorrow,
I'd hope that you would know
that I really did love you
I just have a hard time letting it show
because I've been hurt
had my heart smashed to bits
so I find it hard to admit
that I love you
I'm just afraid
because deep down I know the truth
I know my place
I know my use
and so I keep my half hearted gait
moving opposite your path
for I know that all the love in the world
can't make it work between us
but despite the world being magnetic
and using all it's forces of repulsion
I have a hard time just forgetting,
I love you

When the darkness of night settles around me
and the silence of the dark grows louder
I find myself thinking,
dreaming,
clinging to the wisps of memories
escaping from behind closed eyes
glistening with an old lover's flame
Oh, how I long for those days
ghosts of lives past, reminding
finding,
hiding themselves in my present life
contently discontent in the twists and turns
to jump at me without a proper notice
your voice, hidden in songs of the past
soft and sweet, gently spoken upon
the ears of the hurting,
soothing,
removing the present stresses of the day
Your face, dancing upon my eyes
eyes of the mentally broken, forcing them closed
Healing the mind, if only temporarily mending,
tending,
rending my best days pale in comparison
to the resounding beauty of your eyes alone
And yet, I write, hoping to find solace
away from the bitter taste of my present place
that your memory reminds me of, yet
your name, common as it may be, keeps reminding
rewinding,
unbinding the cords that contain that sliver
releasing a sudden rush of emotion that is uncontrollable
never knowing what to expect
a tear, a chuckle, a sigh
They torture me from the inside out
and yet I cherish every second of the pain
silently hoping it doesn't fade while praying
that the end comes quickly, if only to save face
To hate the feeling would be to hate everything
severing,
suffering the pains I'm not ready to face
of letting go of all the memories that hold you in
But to love these feelings, would be to hate where I am now
This present life, this reality with her
In comparison to others, there's no comparing,
relating,
relenting her image against the memory of your touch
I can't face these thoughts either
so I sit here, contorted in emotional pains
deciding how long I should listen to you today,
Beautiful angel, fair in face
wonderful by thy name, sing me your grace

We're losing the art of writing,
The sensuality of written words on a page,
Too many people are just typing,
Never feeling the words true pain.

The intensity of a letter,
As it flows from a pen,
The ink splotches that mold together,
To tell the story we hold within.

The signature that shows them,
Exactly who we are,
From pen to paper,
From heart to heart.

this poem has been a long time in the making,
it's not easy like stating, how the sky is blue,
or the grass is green
it's more like how I feel so BIG,
but never seen,
how I loathe that girl in the mirror, and her taunting, nasty screams
she is evil
as she pokes your sides, laughs at that belly you try desperately to hide
calls you chunky, just look at those thighs
girl in the mirror, so full of self hate
your mind is such a powerful thing to waste
on thoughts solely existing to enforce doubt and a need to keep pace
with those matchstick, anorexic figures
always shoved in your face
when it comes to beauty, when did less become more?
when did real, wholesome girls get traded for the *****?
when did your self worth become something you could pay for?
when did being beautiful become dependent on if you shopped at 'that' store?
they used to say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder
and I've noticed as I've gotten older
that you cannot quantify beauty based on what we see
'cause this world will look a little different to you
then it does to me, and there's no cookie cutter
labeled "beautiful girl", no molded shape to uphold
so big, tall, slender, small, dressed in rags so fine, or dressed to the nines
you're all gold
so long as you're sold
on the fact that you are beautiful!