Two hands,
Going round, never stopping.
Always on the same face that never stops changing.
And guiding internally from the outside is forever,
Light to dark, and back to light again,
Traveling, high and low.
Holding everything and the spinning still doesn’t stop.
Rotating, round and round,
Hot to cool to cold to warm.
Even the light in the unknown dances.
Full and bright to dark and lost.
Nothing steady to follow.
But there is one.
One thing to look for.
One face that will always be there.
One hand that won’t leave.

Punished for walking away too many times,
You arms is around another.
She laughs at your smiles, and touches your hand,
And while you mouth says “happy”, your look is far off.
Our eyes meet through a room of sweat and facades,
And quickly, they part.
I flash back to a time, when the only thing we saw was each other.
All that mattered was how quickly we could be tangled in my sheets.
In a bed not so far off, he brushes hair out of my face and pulls my lips to his.
You jump into my mind, and soon I’m not with a stranger, but with my friend.
He is kind. He is sweet. He is good.
He is everything you aren’t,
And everything you were.
Back to the night where nervous hearts meet fickle eyes,
I meld my body to yours for the first time in too many days,
Letting the noise push us into a rhythm that feels foreign and familiar.
Unsure of how far is too far, eventually we are unable to stop it.
You hide from the cold in the warmth of my heart,
And even thought you fight it,
She was just steps away from me.
You chose my door to walk through.
Regardless of the way you run from us,
The night washes over you,
Filling you with memories of our laughter,
And you squeeze under the sheets where we began.
So just like the moon wanes and waxes,
It eventually will become full again,
Just like us.
Full circle, I’ll ride this ride until you are back where you belong,
For I learned my lesson the second you were gone,
And don’t intend on losing you again.

A  pine tree, standing tall and bare,
In the middle of a forest, surrounded by others there,
What makes one different? What makes one unique?
What makes one the so called “peak”?
Games of hide and run are very common for this girl.
The forest has many places for her to jump, dance, and twirl.
Picking many, but not necessarily the best,
She grew weary of her many tests.
It had to be strong, and it had to stand tall.
It had to have good roots, but still be able to fall.
And while she was still flighty, she managed to keep her anchors strong.
No tree had been able to hold her attention for long.
And the ones that did often picked other matches,
Even though the girl was true, and could bat her eye lashes,
She didn’t want to work for it, she just wanted to find the best fit.
One that would work for her room. One that she could decorate bit by bit.
One that could hold the weight of the ornaments. The good, the ugly, the bad.
One that would have a good story to tell. A “happily ever after”, not sad.
One that wouldn’t burn in the fire, one that could put up with her past.
One that would prove to her something could actually last.
A tree, a tree, shouldn’t be so hard to find.
One that wouldn’t ***** her. One that would be kind.
Not around for a month or so, and then out to decompose,
For if they did she’d sit in her room and create her telltale prose.
Letter by letter, word by word,
This girl wanted a good story to be heard.
But she didn’t want fiction and minor adjustments,
Or one that would end like the rest- in combustion.
She wanted the heat without the danger of a blaze,
Or one that would leave her smoked out for days.
So a “Christmas Tree” is for what she was searching,
Day by day, and to night with owls perching.
She was tired of living a long, fruitless metaphor,
And couldn’t figure out where she could find something more.
Right under her nose, was the answer to that.
She knew that’s what they always said, but it was like a trick from a hat.
One day he was just “Oh, him?” and the next it jumped to wistful sighs.
Every twenty four hours it was always day. There was always a sun in her sky.
He took root in her thoughts. He branched out in her life.
Her figurative language took actual flight.
Her smiles were more frequent, even though first she went through tears.
He taught her something good deserves a fight. Getting past your fears.
So fought she did. She held her ground. All she needed was a sword.
Luckily it didn’t come to that. He realized she was worth fighting for.
So now finally she can have her own Christmas Ever After.
And who would ever guess that he would capture her.
For she is now tied to him. Body, mind, and soul.
Rolling her eyes at her stupid love poems, and yet they never seem to grow old.
If she wasn’t hearing the pound of her heart, she’d be disgusted in herself,
But something about this just feels right. Not like something to leave on a shelf.
It’s there, it’s here, she won’t let it go. She’s worked to hard to say goodbye.
And he is finally her living proof that with a little work, you can fly.

In a perpetual dawn,
Light rains around you,
Promising hope. Promising a new day.
Glittering as heavens prayers fall to meet mere mortals,
Those they touch, they turn to gold.
Forever shining. Forever priceless.
And in this moment of bliss, I look to you.
Your smile making a goddess of a *****.
Giving a chance to Love’s orphan.
Troubles melt into the earth, never to come into sight again.
Everything here is better than it seems.
Everything is better than my most spectacular dreams.

I will write the words that hide behind my teeth,
Holding onto my tongue as I try to find them,
Clinging to my taste buds.
I will write what I’d say if I were brave,
If I could take a deep breath and shake out a sentence.
Pulling the covered metaphors from behind their costumes,
Showing you how you make me feel.
I can write the heavens and put it to words.
Heaven is put on paper when my poetry is of you.
But to speak this magic is a different task.
It’s far easier to hide behind the black and white,
The bold and italicized, the underlined and the faded.
But much like other things,
I find you hard to define.
You are so many things, how can I you justice with faulty speech?
For you, I will read over, fix, and perfect.
You have proven to me that I can do it.
I can be with another.
But my voice still shakes when I speak of my triumphs.
So for you, I wish I could share the joy in my heart,
But since I cannot, I will write.
I will write for you. About you.
I will write you.

Oh, give me my exile and send me away,
For passion is the bed that I lay.
My heart being the star poet,
Creating ideas not so foreign so that,
You can know you are the ink in my pen,
And I cannot create the beauty of words with an “if”, but a “when”.
I will not live in a land that blurs at boarder.
I will make it so that I am love’s hoarder.
But a strange habit, I am specific with my choice,
Desiring but one with an impromptu voice.
As my vice, I will fix you until you can see,
Using my words, you won’t have to read.
They paint pictures of what could be and what will.
Here they overlap. You are my lengthy thrill.
Knowing I should know not to indulge in your eyes or you touch,
Whishing that my hands and heart let me do as much.


Alas, I cannot keep myself from you any longer.
This game of catch will be caught. I will be stronger.
Enough for me, and the both of us. I will speak with conviction and pride.
No longer behind my prose will I wait and hide.
You and I are one in the same. I can see you see it too.
The silence overtakes the city’s traffic. It overlaps and cuts right through.
So in this last moment of silence, I hope you hear what everyone sees.
Vice or not. Scared or distraught. You belong with me.

Oh January,
Your sweet breath chills and cleanses,
Promising hope for the new. Hope for change.
Oh January,
Your ice is welcomed with crossed arms,
Your touch is pushed away while I wait for warmth.
Oh January,
Testing the strong, killing the weak,
Giving passion to those who make it out alive.
Oh January,
Bringing back the old to meet the new,
The past to compete with the present.
Oh January,
How full of puzzles, and ideas, and ideals,
Wonder, and confusion, and power.
Oh January,
How I can’t wait to see what you’ll bring
And how I can’t wait for you to leave.

Understated never was your key.
At the very least, it was never given to me.
Fingers run through my rain tangled hair,
And even though we’re surrounded, I forget the people there.
Teeth pressed to break my skin. Make me bleed from your “love”.
Why can’t you take a breath and see I wasn’t what I was?
And yet, so the same when pushed to you. I can’t seem to run away.
If only you could give your word that you were here to stay.
But nothing’s changed, you’re quick on your feet. Always on the move.
You never pause before you speak. Your words escape too soon.
Never heading anything worth reading, I make up the ending in my head.
Forever leaving us untitled. Even through everything you said.
Or perhaps, it’s what you didn’t say. It’s hard to decipher the fiction I’ve filled in.
But you always did manage to find the right phrase. Even if you only write to win.
Your lips on my neck push me to the brink. I hold my breath and wait.
Hoping that you’ll soon depart. No longer are you my fate.

I was hit by inspiration this morning,
What a lovely thing it was.
To be taken over, feel words flowing;
And then my hands came undone.
He was not the cause of my words.
Oh, no. Not you again.
It took place in an idea of sorts-
Nostalgia, my old friend.
That electric shock I used to feel, I fear is dwindling,
As the ghost of my past all came to me,
The fire to my kindling.
Now I’d be a fool to think I could go back,
To hold on to what once was.
But now I use it as a comparison-
What any female does.
Nostalgia, nostalgia, you are my unwanted home,
But perhaps you brought me back to see,
My hearts does want to roam.

Give me my deadly sin and make me regret wondering.
For a moment of lust in your arms disguised as more,
Is better than a life of what ifs, curiosity that causes stumbling.
Having you by a technicality and feeling your slip away,
Is worse than not having you at all,
But the memory of your kiss has more words than you could ever say.
You want to prove yourself, so have a trick up your sleeve,
Ones that I won’t recognize from before,
Ones that might not make me leave.
Exiled from my thoughts, I risked being trapped in a desert,
Stuck with only your constantly fading ghost,
But feeling you want me is something that cannot be measured.
Your hands rushed with desire climb over my skin,
Brushing hair back from my eyes,
And as wrong as it is, I want nothing more than to win.
Win you or win by walking past you I have not decided,
Thoughts roam that were long forgotten,
And so I’ll try not to pick people to confide in.
You are not dusted with shame, but a more humble emotion.
My cheeks grow red when I think of telling people we exist again,
For while at times you rose above, overall you lacked devotion.
I’ve often wondered before what made us miss,
So remind me of the poison that laces your lips,
As my favorite sin takes me over with a kiss.