love is more than just a language between two people.
it's several phrases, actions, and words
foreign endeavors and behaviors,
thoughts,
all together as one.

as those speaking acts of love,
we expect those we speak to
to understand.

but we all speak different forms of love;
compatibility of such revelations are misunderstood.

love is an adventure
a search for whose language of love,
though different from one's own,
can be interpreted and understood;
and wished to be learned.

though to learn a love is easy,
to comprehend anothers love cannot be forced.

love is tragic
an algebraic expression with several substitutions
and a million different answers;
but only one is correct in the mind of the beholder.

love can be the worst or the greatest thing;
unrequited can ****,
but when it works out;
it can live forever.

N.R 2017

this heart of mine
has been thrown into the fires of hell
way too many ******* times

i'm getting ******* tired
of all the third degree burns.

The love is gone, right? There's no chance we'll ever get back together? Because I can't be here halfway. I can't look at you and not see the boy I fell in love with -the boy who's hands shake constantly, the boy who pulled me closer in bed, the boy who whispered unrepeatable things in my ears. I can't look at you and forget that -I can't see you as just another person. How could you look at me knowing that what was once yours isn't anymore; that the body you once ran your hands all over is off limits, that the words 'i love you' will no longer spill out of my mouth for you. How can you be okay with that? Because I'm not, and I wish I was, but I'm not. Because I ******* love you more than I have ever loved anybody, and I can't flip a switch and bring back only the part of you that was my best-friend. Even though I miss that part of you too. I wish I could be satisfied with part of you, but I can't forget that I had all of you at one time. I can't be satisfied with half of you when once I had all of you. And it hurts, and it *****, because I want you in my life but it hurts. Sometimes I wish we never fell in love because I would have my best friend right now. Maybe that's all we ever should've been, and we ruined it. And I can't forgive myself. Because here I am caught between two extremes of having to let you go and not being able to, and knowing whatever choice I make is going to send me screaming to the sky, clutching my chest, and curled on the floor in a pain that will never fully heal.

I've learned to love myself for everything that I am -including, and especially, my weird little quirks.

I'm the girl who laughs a little too loud at newspaper comics, and has to take a picture everything that has ever made me happy; whether it be taking a photo of my coffee in my favorite cafe, or taking a photo of the typical average looking field that I happen to be laying in the grass of. My mouth tends to run one-hundred mph when I'm speaking about something I'm passionate about, and more often than not I will probably stutter my words, or stray off subject the minute I remember something slightly alike to the story.

I have a tendency to believe in 'gut feeling' a little too much when it comes to people and their abilities; I put a little too much faith, a little too much effort; and become a little too much overall for anyone I feel 'connected' to, but thats okay. I avoid company, but hate being alone; I'd rather be in groups of three, and more often than not, unless I've taken a great liking to you, one & one interaction makes me uncomfortable. I try to make everyone happy to a fault, and worry a little too much about how my choices influence the next event, and the next event, and the next event.... I romanticize the thought of some people, and don't give others the time of day they probably deserve -but that's okay. My greatest weakness, yet best quality is my ability to romanticize simple moments.

I view everything in my life through foggy glasses and romanticize -everything- and it's absolutely ridiculous; but the time you laughed a little too loud, or danced a little bit out of tune, to me is probably beautiful, and I've probably already written a sappy love poem about it.
I daydream a little more than I should, and I have my entire future planned out right down to the rocking chair on the porch of my house by the lake, yet I can't tell you what I plan to eat for dinner in two hours.

There's so much more to me than I'm willing to write, because to know me is a journey I wouldn't want to spoil. Call me arrogant, call me weird; but I've learned what it means to love myself.

I'm a ******* mess, but god, I wouldn't want to be anything else.

NJ2016

what's wrong with wanting to be in love?
I want to fall in love -is that such a bad thing?
we've been told that one does not fall in love ever when they are looking for it; but who decides that? who says that I can't find love?

is love suddenly not going to be love anymore because I was looking for him? what if we were looking for each-other? love can not be forged -the act of love can be, but love itself, cannot.

why can't I search for love? why do I have to wait for him to find me, or pop up out of the blue? Why can't I look down the path and scream, 'Love, I am coming for you. You're what I want and I will search everywhere until I find you.' Why does love have to be some mysterious lurker? why can't I notice love as a gust of wind before he becomes the full blown tornado?

Whats wrong with looking at someone you admire and thinking, 'hey, I think maybe I could fall in love with you' and actually, truly, believing so? You can't forge a feeling -so why not look for the spark? If it's there it's there, if it's not, it won't be.

So ***** all who tell me to stop looking for love,
because when I find him I'll be able to say,
'thank god I finally found you,
I've been searching for you my whole life.'

NJ2016

The shower is her therapist -spilling tears all over her body, the way her heart aches to, but her eyes lack to in capacity. She combs her dark hair while she hums an old My Chemical Romance song,

When you go, don't ever think I'll make you try to stay

Gusts of wind come in through the window to remind the foggy glass that it will soon dissipate -that there is a world beyond the dewy structure. She massages the shampoo in her hair with enough strength to try to cleanse away the dirt, and thoughts.

in the morning I'll be off to find another way

She steps out of the shower and wipes off the fog of the double mirror above the sink and stares for a moment and proceeds to grab her tooth brush. Simply brushing her teeth.

The hurt isn't enough anymore to think of it as a metaphor, or anything other than what it is -it's not erasing the taste of him out of her mouth, it's not cleansing away the remains of broken innocence she gave him. That's all over now -he doesn't own that part of her anymore.

a good for nothing, I don't know.

Her face she washes with "Let The Good Times Roll," a face-wash that supposedly smells like caramelized popcorn -she hates popcorn, but she loves the smell of the Lush product; of course, she refuses that it smells anywhere similar to the corn-popped snack.

She throws on a maroon lace bralette and matching skivvies, and slips into an oversized Hanes white t-shirt that she probably purchased at the supermarket as a pack of five, and basks in the feeling of purity and freedom. She looks into the old-fashioned mirror that sits upon her dresser and puts on her retail store bought diamond earrings and $7 Walmart tree necklace and tries to give herself a smile. She's always been one with nature but like an autumn leaf, she drifted wherever the wind, or rather, he would take her. But he's gone now, and the necklace reminds her that she was always rooted -she just expanded her branches a little too far.

I don't love you like I did yesterday.

She takes a seat at her laptop that she worked hard to earn every penny for, and decides she's going to write about this girl she knows, this girl she is falling in love with again. Because even if nobody else does, she see's the beauty in herself -and she deserves to be written down.

And thats the origin of this poem.
NJ2016 [All Rights Reserved]

It takes a hand to light a candle, and a gust to blow it out;

I loved a boy who would argue that his hair is brown, but I have always believed it to be an ashy blonde, a boy who's eyes changed from green to golden depending on the light, and who had skin of porcelain that he never quite liked. In the mornings he would wake up, put on some music, and dance around his room with a cigarette in his hand, grabbing his jeans off the chair and his shirt from the drawer. He would run cold water through his hair, take a glance in the mirror, and then exit down the stairs. I would always take a seat while he had one foot out the door, because he had a tendency to always forget to grab his keys.

The hand that lights a candle could also hide the flame.

Years passed and his hair was not quite as long, but still very ashy. He still danced around to music, but to a different song; Bruce Springsteen couldn't match his mood quite like The Weeknd could. He'd grab his cigarette, run his fingers through his hair, and forget his keys, still, before reaching the door. The flame may have been hidden, but the heat left my fingertips raw

I loved this boy with my whole heart. I still do. I hope he never stops dancing in the mirror before he goes to work, and I hope he still watches Jeopardy at 7 'o clock. I hope he never stops rapping the words that fill his heart; and I hope the world never tears him apart.

I loved him once, and always will. But we're not in love anymore.

& the flame burned out**
NJ2016