The closest she has ever gotten to romance
is through the imagery placed between the words
of romance novels.

Only is it here that rebel boys fall for innocent girls;
for how long could strong arms hold shaky bones
without breaking them?

He spends his nights getting lost in the bottle,
she spends hers lost in blank pages;

Her whole life is a written story
in the little composition notebook hidden beneath her bed;
the way his hands ran across her skin will only ever be as real
as the way the pencil ran hastily across the page the next hour.

Why would a spark-plug guy like him
ever find himself at the door of a girl
who only ever loses herself in romance novels.

Maybe the reason she flaunts herself
is not because she's confident,
but because her hourglass figure
fits nicely in his hands.

She feels secure when his fingers
move slowly from her ribs to her hips,
like the way wine racks keep glass bottles
from smashing to the ground.

She's fragile and transparent,
but he fills her with feeling,
and for that moment,
she doesn't feel empty;
she's vivd and colourful,
supplying liveliness.

Maybe she flaunts herself because
eyes turn glassy and watery,
and at least she can influence something.

Maybe she just hopes that one day he'll hold her
as tightly as he does that glass of wine.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

The first time I lied to my parents
was the day I found myself at your doorstep.

The surroundings were, to myself, foreign,
just as you were to me; unfamiliar, but welcoming.
I found myself shifting my fear through my feet,
hoping you wouldn't notice how nervous I was.

I've always abided to rules and structure,
but my construction collapsed when you held me for the first time,
and I ripped up the sequenced map I created in my mind;
it was the first time I found comfort in uncharted territory,
I was ready to get lost.

You take my hand and lead me through paths,
your eyes, yet another place unknown, like a forest;
and I couldn't keep my legs from sprinting.
Your hair, sandy waves, I couldn't wait to run my fingers through;
your arms, a safe-haven, a boat, I didn't mind getting carried away in.

That day I walked through the door,
I never thought I would get lost at sea,
and have trouble finding my way back out.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

Never look into anyone's eyes.
Always make eye contact.
But never look into anyone's eyes.

I remember looking at your eyes
and seeing different shades of green;
and splatters of gold and blue.
(or maybe they were just green;
I haven't seen you in a while,
and I have a tendency to romanticize.)
But I never looked into your eyes.

Like a prison, lines cross  your pupils;
I know if I slip through them I will be stuck,
I will be locked up and held hostage;
but curiosity is a delinquent
and he's made a home inside of my head.

I've always been drawn to sadistic and broken,
love the idea that I could be the medicine needed to satisfy;
but truth of the matter is, despite my efforts to try,
I'm only a placebo and you know so.

I've never looked into your eyes,
but I've looked at them,
and man, how I've thought endlessly about
what lies behind them.

Call me intrusive, because I am.
I want to know when you last cried,
and why? Is that why there's blue sprinkled on your eyes?
When was the last time you smiled, genuinely?
'Could I ever make you as happy
as the moment you are trying to relive
when you're downing that bottle?

I've never looked into your eyes,
but I've thought and made it so.
I'm prison-bound.*

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

I saw it coming-
footsteps leading out the door,
heart still in my hands.

(NJ2014) ©All Rights Reserved.

I identify you with the smell of cigarettes.
You've never been to my house,
but my father smokes too.

Father always said,
boys will break your heart,
take from you what they want and leave.
I'm sorry, dad.
Your little girl fell too hard
for a boy with a nicotine scent,
and deep forest eyes.
I should've listened.

You've tried to shelter me,
but I've always been someone
with a knack for adventure,
and an interest in mystery.

He rolled my poetry up,
took my match heart,
and set it on fire.

I knew I was lighting a flame,
but I didn't know it'd go out with the wind.

I don't think he cares,
I was set on fire,
and there's not even ashes there.
I went up in smoke,
and for all he knew,
I disappeared.

Daddy,
please stop smoking,
you smell like him.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

You kissed me like you meant it,
as if I was the firewood and you were the flame.
It seems we tried to set it a-light
each time we came together,
but there was only a little spark.
I thought something was wrong.

I soon found that I am the car running on empty,
and you are the loaded machine;
I am the wood, I am the fire,
and you are the gasoline.

You tried to set love on fire,
just so that you could enjoy the sparks.
The fun is over, and
Now I'm burned.

(NJ2014) All rights Reserved.