How troublesome it is trying to forget you.
Every twist, turn and shift
leads right back to your eyes,
which never seem to be looking back at mine.

I'm stuck in this pool of quicksand
filled to the rim with memories of seeing you,
feeling you, hearing you,
loving you.

In my head - like a flash of lighting or
Halley's Comet -
I beg and plead for a wish,
any wish in the moment to

guide me away
from the tormenting vivid doubts of my own mind
and lead me back into your arms.
But it never ends up that way;

what a troublesome act it is trying to forget you
when all I can see,
feel,
and hear

triggers the inner depths of my emotions;
the shallowness of my breaths;
my liquid stained eyes similar
to the stains of red and purple you once left on my neck,

and my gleaming pearly whites I flash for the cameras
who know nothing but my face -
contrary to the knowledge I have of you touch,
your stride, your lips on mine,
your scent hypnotic in such a troublesome way.

It truly is such a troublesome act trying to forget you,
when everything I've been left with
is sewn and threaded with reminders to
always remember.

- g.d.

He- was alone
Oh so alone

He - wandered life’s paths aimlessly
He - was just another face on a busy Baltimore street
She - floated in on a summer breeze
She – lifted him from the gutter
And calmed his stormy seas
She - stole his heart
And locked it away and
He – didn’t seem to mind
She – gave him reason to write
And reason to fight
He – held her close in the fading light
He – promised he’d never leave.

He – returned home,
To learn, to grow,
He - felt absence as a knife between ribs
He - cursed the gods
The buddahs and the allahs
He – just wanted something to go right.
She – told him that everything would be alright
He – didn’t know if he’d last the night.
He – felt his mind toss to and fro
He – simply had to let her go.

He – thought it was for the best and when
He – realized his mistake
She – was already gone.

He – is alone
Oh so alone.

He's never been one
to collect snowflakes
with his tongue—
says that they melt anyway

And yet, he's always been one
to fold his hands
inside a radiant flame—
says that he'll burn out anyway

fragments of life
scattered on the photoshop floor
discarded moments
deleted before fully developed

urgency depicted as living for today
overexposing the instantaneous
cropping a disjointed existence
from the bitmap of impatience

why the aversion to time's darkroom
where future's blur slowly comes into focus
giving clarity to the contiguous
splicing realization from potential

cut to ending...

a panoramic view of destiny's horizon
where paths converge but never vanish

this is a poem dedicated to distance.
to every time i have wanted to kiss you, but couldn't.
to every time i looked at my empty hands and thought of yours.
to every time i was in a crowded room and secretly hoped that i'd find your face.
to every happy couple we see that inadvertently mocks our inability to be near each other.
to every time i've played your laughter over and over in my head to drown out the silence.
to every time you just wanted to hear my voice, but i was busy.
to every missed call and every undelivered text and every time your internet was down.
to every miscommunicated statement and every typo.
to every time that one of us was asleep when the other needed them.
to every time you wept and i wasn't there to hold you.
to every self-destructive tendency we share.
to every pill your mother has hidden and every razor blade i have flushed.
to every worry that plagues my consciousness whenever you take long to reply.
to every night we have been together through a screen, but alone in our beds.
to every, "i miss you" and "i wish you were here".
to every broken-record apology that never makes it better.
to every makeup stain that mars the sweater you sent me so that i could
feel like i was sleeping with you (and to the fact that it doesn't smell like you anymore).
to every hour, every minute, every second of difference in the time between us.
to every dollar i don't have, and every time i wished for your chest against my back.
to every, "why are you even with me?" and "you could do better".
to every spectator and cynic that has told us we'd fail.
to every doubt of mine and to all your jealousy.
to every ounce of water in the pacific ocean.
to every ******* mile between my head and your chest (i checked, and there are 9,752).

you will not win.

- m.f.