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Jun 2013 · 368
haiku for a friend
Nico Jun 2013
I don't pray often
But every night I thank God
For you and I, dear
May 2013 · 421
Untitled
Nico May 2013
After your mother died, you told me
just how aware you are of how little time we have to love one another.
It's probably selfish of me, then
to sit here, shifting in my chair
waiting for you to love me.
But you say nothing.
I'm to assume based on what you don't say.
The part of me that grew into us
she isn't feeling so strong lately.
She won't stop staring at my flaws
won't stop looking for a place to empty out hot handfuls of blame.
My thoughts are taking up too much of the bed again,
a wild skirmish of "why not" and "how come".
you stopped seeing the best in me when we got comfortable
i let you see me so close up that i went out of focus.
May 2013 · 243
Untitled
Nico May 2013
I've never understood
why you didn't understand
that how you met me may just be how I'm meant to be
alone.
May 2013 · 959
Equilibrium
Nico May 2013
Good ******* my wavering hands
and bless this tightrope walk.
May 2013 · 289
Haiku
Nico May 2013
I hope you realize
that i only get mean when
you don't love me back
May 2013 · 572
You
Nico May 2013
You
I wish I'd payed closer attention to my palms
because
that way
I could have traced the moments leading up
to when you embedded yourself into my lifeline
an errant lineament lying there
reaching towards my index finger
Wish I'd documented,
every twist of my hands,
to see where I wore them out gesticulating
telling stories about you.
Seen the moment my heart line feathered out and extended downward
like a giving tree.
Witnessed my head line curl around itself
like an overjoyed snake making a knot of itself.
I didn't pay attention,
so I don't really know
the exact moment our
heads
hearts
lives intertwined
But they say that in a dream,
you never know the beginning anyway
May 2013 · 383
Untitled
Nico May 2013
For you
I would love to be a mooring post,
the steady mast you hold fast to
when you feel the world is trying to scrape you off its back
but lately,
I am the wayward sea.
I can't help but to buck like a wild thing whose manners have come  undone
and whose side is perforated with thorns.
I am sorry for the way I'm behaving,
but the thorns, they hurt,
and you
you put them there.
I'm sorry I've drenched your clothes,
ruined your finery,
and upset your stomach
but when you took on a girl who runs deep as I do
the waters can't always sit still

— The End —