Bitterly clinging to my skin,
the windows of your car have frozen over.
4:00 AM
and you're curling up to me,
making jokes in my ear.
I've forgotten who we are
to compensate for who we were.

Waiting on the other side of a screen,
                          
                              ­       Hoping you'll send me a message.

Seconds tick by...
                                  Minutes tick by.....

                                                        ­                Hours tick by....
                            
Then I realize.

                                              There is no one on the other side.

                                                          ­                        
*Never was.

there are many types of love
while I might feel phileo towards him and
eros towards her and storge towards Her
I might feel agape towards you
and I would say that the difference between romance and friendship
while I thought it was ***, for a long time,
is not- it is something more, intangible
an inseperation between souls
a terrible desire to be one-
a necessity of agape between the two
and a feeling that you will be insufficient
without it.

"Dear God,
I want to be a poet."

I want to speak in silver metaphors that slither into ear canals and seep into cortexes.
Words that turn eyes to a new perspective,
that crack your skull wide open with honest art.
Reality and creativity,
Taped together and painted over in the truest colours of life.

I want to speak in that powerful, yet still human, voice.
To quake the ground beneath you until you are shaken up
and you shed that exoskeleton of hurt,
or fear,
or doubt,
or ignorance.
I want all of that lifeless skin to loosen its grip around you,
and not bind you so tightly to complacency.

I want to establish communities of words,
that take you in as their own.
Delivered so rhythmically that your own pulse will begin to race inside of you,
parallel to the lines I've written.

I want to make you run with these words,
feel the winds against you,
push past the resistance and onto freedom,
as every weight lifts off of you.
So I can show you that your shoulders were not made to carry boulders,
your eyes were not meant for harsh tears,
and that everyone needs a break sometimes....

I want to be a poet because if I know the truth, I want to share it.
Wear proclamations on the palms of my hands,
hope radiating from my worn skin.

I want to write poems because I know that we're all human,
so why hide it?
Why hide our emotions when we can let them take flight?
If we've gotten through the tangled mess, why can't we reach back and help the next hero climb though?

I want to show love.
I want to understand,
I want to now who I am.

"Dear God,
Thank you for giving me a notebook as a best friend,
and giving me a copy of yours.
I know that no matter how far off I stray with my imagination,
I will always know what is truth."

I wanted to be a poet,
but now,

*I just want to be me

Dear Beyonce, I love you, but I loved your thighs more. They gave me a reason to believe my thighs were just fine. I believed that they were worth the time it took to get my jeans on or trouble when I found a dress that fit the rest of me perfectly, but finding another because my thighs were making it too short. I was under the impression that the pressure on his lap from my thighs was just fine and that if he couldn't handle them, he couldn't handle me.
My thighs were supported by calves that were the pillars that support my *** that is almost too much for the eyes to handle.  It was okay that my thighs jigged cause my muscles were chiseled from my *** to my heels when I walked in a pair of heels, revealing marble stone that Greek statues envied.
Where did they go?
Now I'm told that I have to cover them from the summer sun and they can't wade in waves the crash on them when I stand in water that's just below my waist. They can't be mimicked by a pair of jeans or matched exactly by a pair of leggings. They have to be lonely and never be reminded of one another's presence because they can get lost with increased degrees of separation.
But I will not eat the lies that media, airbrush, needles, and people feed me. My legs have walked a thousand miles and have carried others along the way. I will not doubt them because they have never failed me.
I think I've made my decision. Thank you.

We claim to be children of God in this age.
We claim to want peace as we fire hand grenades.
We want the truth as we tell our own lies.
We want promises but break our own ties.

Corrupted, mislead, riots turning the streets red.
Turn off the TV, tuck your children safely in bed
With these images stuck in their head.

Our brains are rotting what has this world caused us to be?
21st century zombie-
Plugged in at all times.
Why is our laziness not considered a crime?

Why has He
Not come forth to teach us there's
So much more in this life-

Besides the pillage, the ****.
Everyone has their own *** tape.
The ******, the politics, the News
There is no difference, no one wears a cape.

We claim to know what's best, but let the wrong govern us: the minority and the rest.
We claim to want to help, but lock up the wrong because he is not like our self.
We claim to be equal, but won't let me marry who I want to still.
We claim and we claim, but it all stays the same.