I find myself thinking about you
almost all the time now
as your words
rattle around in my head
and the things
that I've taken for granted
are all far too beautiful now
for everything reminds me of you.

Literally, please- ****** me.

I love the way you stare at me blankly from behind your coffee.
You take slow, painstaking sips...
It suggests exciting ***.
I love the way you sensuously lick your lips,
every time you put the cup down.
I love the way you're not flirting with me.  
I love that you tell me your **** looks amazing in those leggings.

I know.  

I love the way you say my name-
distantly,
boringly,
disinterestedly.
Your mind a million miles away, on another man-
You tell me how nice his **** is.
I smirk and tell you I'm glad that we're friends.


You're a special kind of torture.

I have an obsession with depression
When the sun makes summer days everlasting
and I'm left grasping at melancholy ideas
my mind slips back into it's natural state
self-hate will forever govern my fate
and I'm tired of living like it's all okay
and that I'm supposed to live a certain way
I'm over the monotony and hopeless love
that can't be found because constantly flirting and
never getting anywhere is doing nothing but hurting my
already shattered heart while the dreams that I once had
that people convinced me were bad have all been beaten down to more realistic goals based off of what I've always been told.
When I stop doing what is expected of me
that's when I can finally see
my true self gasping for air in the pit of my stomach where
I pushed it so long ago;

clawing to get out.

She loved me
and I threw it away.

The holidays are here
and the cold has frosted my heart.

I see everybody falling in love
and I'm reminded of you.

How lonely I've become
and how bitter I feel.

I miss you.
I miss the very concept of you.

All my cocoa has long since been frozen
and my porch has long since been a slick sheet of ice.

I suppose that all I really want this year
is to be warm again.

The way her hair framed her face
was unlike anything I had ever seen.
It accentuated her character far too beautifully.
She often stayed shying away under it,
but when brushed away,
it revealed the most adorable face.
Her smile hidden behind hands.
She was fragile and amazing.
And as I gazed into her eyes,
I felt something I haven't in a long time.

Let's run away together.
Leave everything else.
And please, let me look into
those passionate eyes of
yours a little bit longer.

Every time
I try to write her a
masterpiece
it falls short
in comparison
to what she has
already said

I'm fixated on keeping my mouth busy.
Sticks of gum leave their packs like cigarettes.
An addiction.

I peel the skin from my lips
with pearlescent spades
and think about
softer edges

Your mouth
Like snow on Christmas Eve.

You taste like spiced wine
and wear ribbons of black liquorice.
Nuzzled in your neck-
I breathe cool peppermint.

We collide as galaxies.
I become clay

Your delicate hands
slide across my form
as I bend and sway
at the mercy
of your creation.

Oh, hello lovely thing.
I want you to know that every time I close my eyes
I think of you
and I imagine your words are whispered to me
through each gentle breeze.
I can picture your gorgeous face,
and deep, sad eyes,
and I can see you're the most beautiful poem
ever written.
And every time I read your lines,
I linger on every word,
for I am truly overwhelmed by you.
There's never been a poem like you
and I suppose that's why
I cannot get you
off my mind.

My heart has loved so many.
Ever-changing and ever lasting.
Going farther than I could ever believe.
And yet, I still get hurt and no amount of bandages,
nor thread can hold all of my pieces together.
I'm hoping that you know I still think of you and
my heart aches because I shattered yours:
something so elegant and valuable- broken.
only now do I realize that I've been wrong
right now I find that you didn't need me at all
right now I find that I needed you. More than anything. I'm
yearning for you to share some words with me again, but I know it wont happen
and rightfully so. I said I wasn't good enough, and I believed it, now more than ever. And still, I
neglected that you were telling me otherwise. That you still wanted me around.
Distance was my problem. How I longed to turn our tangled words into reality.
I still can't step onto my porch without having my mind flood full of regret.
maybe I'll stop with all of this nonsense of 'what ifs' and 'have beens' but for now it seems
impossible. I know I
still haven't met a soul as beautiful as yours or
someone who could make me feel so full with only their words.
You were that only person.
Only you could have done that. And when I drifted out of fear that you too would drift and leave me
under the sea to drown in the misery of a broken heart, you promised you
wouldn't.
I'm complicated. I'm afraid of heartbreak. I break hearts to save mine. Before anybody else can.
The pain of loneliness is truly unbearable. I know and feel how I'm going to be this way forever. If
Hell is a place on earth, I must be living it, spending
all day going over the words you had so tenderly given. So wrongfully given. I remember when
love existed between us. How palpable and real it was. How I could
list all the ways you touched my heart. The only person who meant it. The only person who ever did.
My god how I miss you.
Your title, body, notes, and
soul.
Only I could be such an idiot.
Understand, I'm so complicated. I'm so sorry. I know you're not coming back, but I never got to say, "I
love you."

And there in the dark
I found it amazing
how perfectly
she fit in
my arms.

You're right. It wasn't yours.
They're just words
written on an idle Tuesday
and I need you
to leave me
alone.
We can never speak.
My heart belongs
entirely
to someone else.

Maybe this doesn't matter at all
Especially because the way I may have treated you,
and maybe you'll never even see this,
but if you do,
I think that you should know some things.
I beat myself up a lot.
Fully responsible for the pain that you endured.
I think about you
outside
in the rain
in the gutter.
I notice you. Constantly.
In the back of my mind.
Something completely beautiful.
There's something gorgeous about the way the rain hides your tears.
About the way you look with wet hair.
I constantly want to go outside
and bring you in
and make you soup
and cocoa
and tea.
I want to help you get undressed
and dry you off,
changing into something,
soft and warm.
Safe.
I'll wrap you in a towel
and wrap you in my arms.
Tracing your figure gently,
like the road going home.
We'll construct a blanket fort.
And it'll be our secret castle.
Away from the world.
I see you shrinking.
I know that you are.
But maybe we could shrink down together
and make our fort an entire estate;
where I can make a memory with you
in each achre.
And when it gets cold,
we can scrimp and save,
and rent a dollhouse
for our summer home.
You wont have to worry
about other people seeing you sweat.
We'll close the blinds and draw the curtains
and stay naked-
vulnerable.
A place of our own creation.
You and me.
I think about the things we shared.
The late nights.
The secrets.
I always wonder how you are.
I long for you.
I crave your words like I crave
the nicotine, or the alchohol, or the abuse
that I need in order to
keep my thoughts off of you.
Sometimes I still think about it
because I'm crazy
and unfair-
jumping on a plane, I mean-
to expect you to be waiting for me on the other side.
I think about you all the time. Whether you believe me or not.
Or whatever you choose.
I dwell on you. I haven't stopped.
Like a near death experience.
The only thing that's ever really made me feel alive.
Completely whole.
******* I think about  you all the time.
Forbidden fruit. Something I shouldn't be reaching out for.
I want to dress your wounds.
Take care of you when you fall.
Douse you in antiseptic
wrap your bandages
and seal each cut with a kiss.
I haven't stopped thinking about you at all.
There is something about the way your heart makes my heart flutter.
And the way your soul speaks beautiful perfect poetry to mine.
I'd also be a liar if I said I didn't think about staring into your eyes, or the way you smell like lilacs and honey, or the peaches and cream of your skin.
My favorite dessert.
Something that I indulge in.
I want to taste you.
Every last drop.
Warm saltwater
lemon juice,
birthday cake
life giving nectar.
I've held my lips against a rose petal,
unconsciously,
wishing it were you.
Dying for the real thing.
I miss your voice. A sweet song.
Deep lulliby.
The most humbling thing I've ever heard.
Thunder
the roar of the ocean
harsh winds
butterfly wings
bubbling brooks
gentle rains.
Perfection.
I long for you with my whole being,
and whether it means anything to you or not,
I still thought that you should know.

I knew you
in an instant
when I saw you
pass by
like I've known you
my entire life.

We lived out
each other's lives
in one another's eyes
making love with
awkward glances
and shying smiles.

We shared the simple
yet meaningful conversations
that one has at  2 o'clock AM
all without saying a word.

It was very easy to love you
and spend my life with you,
even if it was only for an instant.

You poured the coffee
and I left the tip.

I'm so very sorry for all of the heartache you endure-
someday somebody will come along that can make you very happy.
With Spring quickly approaching, I hope the sunshine warms you up,
and I hope you receive all the messages the breeze tells you.
Remember, everyone sees the same moon and breathes the same air.

Touching someone is only a matter of knowing they exist.

The tears rolled down your china doll face
as the dust drifted through a sliver of light
that came flickering from that old neon sign across the street.
The pastel wallpaper, peeling away from the walls
showing nothing but the rotting wood of a dilapidated building.
The smell of mildew wafting from the bathroom leaving you nothing to
look forward to except the next drip from the leaky faucet.
How had your life come to this?
All of those teenage dreams.
All those fantasies of love and adventurous living.
Those notions of being an artist and revolutionary.
Nothing but the taste of bitter coffee and broken cigarettes lingers
at every meal.
A love gone sour.
Your beauty far exceeding conventional standards.
That perfect 10.
Wasted here in a dingy motel.
Longing for that one last kiss.
Waiting for him to make you feel young again.
As you yourself become part of this place,
realizing that you are decaying just the same.

Every poet needs a muse.

I have never forgotten.
Have you? Even once?

As I let you slip through the cracks? I wouldn't blame you if you did.
But I know that you haven't.

It's funny. Talking about distance.
because in spite of it all,
nobody has touched me like you.

Do you still feel it sometimes? Do you still feel like visiting me in my dreams? Or when I'm on top of the mountains, sipping in the beauty of the world? The need to inspire? Inspiration itself.

I do. Constantly.
It's everything I've ever wanted. The loveliest thing I've ever known.

The way you manage to make words come alive. Like air. The way you could make them dance into my lungs and rush into my bloodstream
always leaves me craving more. Addicted.

I'm at the mercy of your language.
Your fingers.
Your smile.

Your words are eternal. Taken as scripture. I bow to them every day. Praise them. Share them. Let them complete me. Give me purpose.
Reflected in pale moonlight and written in the stars.

As I look up, into the infinity of darkness,
and see the words you left there,
I am left speechless.

I mean it too. That I fell. Hard. Impossibly.

We ended quickly. Abruptly. A car accident. An exchange of information. Words hurt, but wounds heal.

I know you've continued on. Effortlessly. Gracefully as you do.
But every single night, I still go to bed, with the desire of making love with our words. Tasting your syllables. Drinking them in. I long for a touch I haven't felt since you. In every conceivable way.

I shouldn't have left. I should have begged you to stay. I would have loved a little more time with you.

I'd wait forever for it.

Maybe you shouldn't, but muses don't work that way.
There's nothing more heartbreaking than a poet without a muse.
A sky without stars.
A page without words.

I'm selfish in wanting your presence.
Your poetry.
It's cruel of me to desire something so deeply.

But nothing could be better
than knowing that
there was a little infinity
where I captured your heart
felt your soul
connected with you
and became a muse
myself.

A dream come true.
We could have blossomed into something breathtaking.

Would it be terrible if I said I think of you always?

I feel helpless.
Like a very small fish
in a very small bowl.
But sometimes,
you make me feel
like an even smaller fish
in an infinitely vast ocean.

I am torn apart by the currents of your anger-
Tossed and shaken,
Until I am left confused and
Alone
in the depth of your problems,
which you choose not to share with me;
and watch in enjoyment
as I struggle to figure things out for myself.
But, at the end of the day, I know I will be captured yet again,
only to be placed back into my suffocating home-
where you tap on the glass,
until I turn
belly-up.

Darling,
please
kiss me
on my scars
it's been a long
and cold day
of war
and all
I want
is something
warm and soft
against my skin
because healing
is a slow process.

I need words that don't reflect myself.

Words that aren't empty.

Words that make you feel something.

I don't remember when the **** my poetry became about pleasing people or getting votes or views.
I don't remember when my writings were only created to be approved by a friend.
I don't know when things became about success or money.
I don't know why it turned into pleasing a lover.
But as soon as it did become about those things, I lost my spark, and suddenly writing was a chore.
I'm done with burning in my small spotlight with nothing flowing on paper,
I just want to be free.
It's time I get back to writing the way I used to.
For my emotion. For my passions. For myself.

I miss you.
I miss you a lot.
Dear friend,
There’s so much I still don’t know- that I won’t know.

Remember? We laughed and sang and cried and learned and loved.
I do.
Remember when we talked?
We talked for hours about everything. About nothing.
I do.
Remember late nights with a high moon and loud music?
Dancing and sharing dreams.
I do.

I will always remember you. How cool we thought we were. How close we became.

Where are you now?
Why did you fade away without even saying goodbye?

Remember when you said we’d be friends forever?
I do.

I miss you.

I bought
her love from
the second hand shop
it was a little patched
and a little worn
but it fit me like
a glove
and never
have I been so comfortable.

I never thought I could fall in love with somebody
the way I have with her.
I thought I knew what love was, but I never really did.
If you would have asked me what I thought love was three months ago, I would have said that it was hurting all the time.
That it was something that you burned up in-
Something that you find in the romance of hazy coffee houses and broken cigarettes.
Something that was unobtainable.
Now, she's made me realize, love is acceptance.
Love is making somebody love who they are.
Love is staying up until 5 o' clock in the morning just to talk.
Love is waiting.
Love is awkward.
Love is worrying about somebody, even when you know they'll be alright.
Love is a shared song that you both can cry to.
Love is a comfortable silence.
Love is wanting to be everything for somebody.
Love is a kiss that can't be felt.
Love is shirts on the floor and butterflies in our stomachs.
Love is her.

She came in
out of the green
Because any other entrance
would be far too common and simple.
She came in at the perfect moment,
when I believed the world was dark,
to shine a little light for me
and keep a beacon on that distant horizon.
Keep it shining,
Guide me to you,
And someday we'll meet face to face,
And share that cup of tea,
where we can see the other's eyes
and know that it
simply has to be-
Fate.