summer breeze,
the way she once looked me
with delight and tease
only grows
as the wind does,
come and go as you please.
the gentle wind
it flows through me
like memories
of our chats together.
something about her,
as though some power
held over me...
she makes me feel better.
a penny for her thoughts
a mile for touch
that summer breeze worth chasing
for I enjoy the rush.

blissful meadow,
a calming shadow,
my inner happiness.
your words like flowers
the river flowing upstream
for when life feels numb
surrounded by a sheet of darkness.

I walk through your fields
as you feel my presence,
the combination shocking
the result an essence
no true emotion can yield
to.
the kinds of things
you and I have been through
it's astonishing
that we're still present here:
introverts
in our over-sized hoodies
in a small-minded
extroverted world
instead of floating out
into the vast
atmosphere.

Dear Diane,
introverted
beautiful,
underappreciated Diane.
your beauty glows
underneath the mountain
in the crystal lake of which
your inner you go to rest.

your parents treat you,
in a way too familiar,
the toxicity choking you
to the point that you scream.
life has gone to ****,
yet your pride wants them to say
that you are good, little darling
and mommy and daddy love you that way.

despite the pain,
the mental ball and chain
that they put you through
time and time again,
those simplest little words
make you forget everything.

you gathered the courage,
to leave given the chance,
found an eccentric romance
and a job not many would say
are in their bucket lists
of things to accomplish one day.
nonetheless,
you find a small portion of happiness
in the acknowledgment
of knowing your worth
is far beyond a bag of chips.

when you get this letter,
probably written in red,
know that which each syllable
sheer admiration and aspirations
are meant to be said
and that you deserve so much better.
as you slip into bed
with a sip of Dom Perignon,
typing away
the ideas of your new book,
I could go on and on
in my own little tidy nook.

in the middle of the night,
where the moon plays
a game of tag with the daylight
I lie in bed thinking of how much I hate how I appear to you.
sweet,
subtle,
submissive and slow
as the gentle kisses once delivered to you.
it pains me to think that
midnight blues
turn into shades of charcoal gray
when I think of your impression of me.
it is asymmetrical,
a puzzle piece that does not fit
to think that the words
so simple
so basic slip past your
peach colored lips,
"you cannot do ****."
misconstrued, I know
given in an improper way
but it wrestles within me
like demons
kept in their cages another day.
my capabilities are limited
to things humane
but am I that useless
to the point
that I am poison
to your veins?
do I make you angry?
do I make you weep?
are the demons in you
injecting their rage
into your skin with every word
that I am to say?
should I react,
or perhaps
I am to behave
like the little girl I once was...
scared,
cold
fear of what to say
disapproval so close to the corner
that any word slipped through my mouth
felt like an eternal mistake.

it is true what they say,
in the moments of weakness
there is someone,
something
about them that
makes the world's time
cease to exist.
you may not want to exist
for them
and yet
their happiness
the slightest smile
upon their warm face
means the world to you.
just to be in their presence
keeps you tethered
to the present.
such a feeling must be chosen
wisely,
with discretion
because such a bond
is almost motherly.
it is protective
it is kind,
with no room for toxicity
darkness
and distrust.
when you look into their eyes
you want to be everything for them
and nothing all at once.
their mark is branded
into your heart with content.
there is no pain
as the stained heart signs
its name of your newfound
connection.
why you may ask?
it is the sound of their
laughter,
the way they look
at you
with unbridled affection.

when we were children,
unimpressionable
innocent,
happy children,
the nature of a liar
were ill-behaved,
put to the corner
with their pants on fire.

when we were teens,
social lives
romance?
it struggles to
survive
an educational
stress in between
to lie was a sign
of betrayal and blight
one you could detect
from mere sight and reflect.
it was a feeling
a presence
that you avoided
for fear of getting hurt.
it was a waste of time.

when we grow older,
and the jar of cynicism
freezes colder
our definitions change
like leaves in the fall
for the upcoming winter's
frosty display
liars are what bring the bad
days.
it would never release
a more pungent beast
to see them lie to your face
on something that didn’t need to be said.
As adults
we learn to value honesty
Not as the cliched policy
But as a form of establishing communication
and trust in some way.
We feel like fools
when we’re used
abused
mistreated little tools
missing the detection
of a well-coifed liar.
Whether the excuse be
naivety or hopeless desire
Personally I’d rather die
Than to be caught
Or distraught
From something so simple
So easy
As a white lie.

walking along the dampened grass,
thinking of the moments
your hands,
so warm and compassionate
wrapped so tight
into mine
the way they would freeze.

I walked along the park
years later
arguments later
lonely nights
instant delights
later,
and I almost cried.
it was as though
the memories
painted themselves
again before my eyes
like a movie clip.
lights dancing in the sky
the sunset falling and shining
in our eyes
the camera clicks
from the pictures
we saved
of our smiles and first dates.
the actions
of our attractions
and first sparks of love
blooming from the children's
swingset where we'd hold hands
until the end.

three years,
we have a fight
of the memories
we want to make one night.
the back and forth
like the swingset so greatly missed
the fight leaving us broken
words unspoken
mistakes I've made
swallowing the pills
closing my eyes
yet opening the
shadows and shades
of midnight blue.

the anger and rage
in your tone of voice
so subtle and soft
but struck my heart with guilt.
and so I write these words
in my moments of weakness
wishing I could just go back
to the park
with its freshly cut grass
even if it made me sneeze
warm sunshine and gentle breeze,
instead of
this garden of withered leaves.

running through the streets alone,
in a tight little skirt
hand closely pressed on my shirt
waiting for the fear to be gone.
that striking,
cold
frost of a fear
that plagues me day and night.
"you're too nice."

a smile,
blushy cheeks,
a princess persona
that the world can enjoy
feeding the darkness
behind closed doors.
sure, I am nice
but I'm not naive.

does that scare you?
my undeniable cynicism
my internal critiques
about the world
how it functions
as I lie in bed
tumbling in
fitted sheets?

you want me to be mean?
to find everyone wrong
be stuck up
be a *****
be a trick in the magician's hat
presenting an illusion of a smile
but deep in the inside
a rotten peach pit?

that's not me.
I'm nice,
wouldn't think twice
to protect those I love
and give advice
to those lost souls
without a sense of direction.
but perhaps...
that's a weakness to you
and like all weaknesses
it should be kept secret
lock away the key
because heaven forbid
if your smile
was what I cared to see.

but I'm not naive.
I get mad,
get even
feel the eyes
judging me
and clearly could care less
of the whispers and
stares
unnecessary glares
as I walk on by
with style in my hair.

I'll have the music pulsing through
drowning out the noise
of those that give me grief,
like they dictate who I am to be.
Nice but not naive,
call it an anthem,
a force to be reckoned with.
just as easy as I can smile
giggle,
be all in your face
with sugar and gumdrops
like rainbows and birthday cake,
I make it my mission
to detect traitors
hearing the hissing
of snakes in the midst
and I will refuse
to put up with your ****.