It's in the way she moves her hips
It's in the way her lips touch
It's in the way she bites her lower lip,
Oh how my world turns inside out when she does that
It's the way she says my name
In the way she whispers it, "Lefa... "
Sends shivers all over my body, goosebumps all over again

Problem is, she is taken. Unavailable

It's in the way she looks at me
All the whole new universe inside those eyes I could just get lost in
It's in the way she smiles at me
Just can't help but shy away

It's in the way she wakes all the once buried feelings,
Back from the dead with no regard whatsoever what people might say
It's in the way she makes everything around just lose sense

I know its been years but I can still feel her touch,
Soft, warm feeling

One look at her and I find myslef in high school all over again
Can still remember the very first time I laid eyes on her
Priceless, all words needed to describe her
Short stature
German-cut hairstyle
Gold earrings
Furnished with a smile
Grasshopper shoes
Short grey skirt
One hand in the pocket
Complete with the swing of her small waist when she moves
Still takes my breath away

There is still one problem, she's a taken woman

Maybe I waited a little too long
Maybe it wasn't the right time then
Is it right now?
Maybe I need a hard slap to put some sense back into me
Because right now, I'm deeply in love with a married woman
The worst problem is, I think she's in love with me too..

Remember the first day I came to fetch you, had no idea what was on my mind.
I had no idea what I was doing. No idea whatsoever on what to expect.
I had only seen you once prior to that. But the only thing I knew is that I had to go see you.
Didn't know where on earth you were, I had never been before, but nothing was about to change my mind.
As I got on the driveway thoughts and thoughts and feelings came rushing through my mind with no regard whatsoever that I was driving.
My heart started beating, slowly and gradually increasing.
What was I thinking? It was late; but that was not just about to stop me.
Got lost on the way, found myself deep in a foreign place to me, with no GPS nothing, but I wasn't about to turn back when I was just a whisker away.
Eventually arrived, and the moment I gazed upon you, standing there at the gate waiting, I started to tremble.
This time it was not fear but excitement.
Like I was dreaming.
You just like that agreed to come with me home.
On our way to my place I tried my all not to show any emotion, tried acting normal, but **** it wasn't easy; your beauty could easily distract a conductor off the rails. But I managed.
I touched your hand, you didn't move it.
I held it, you held mine too.
Got our fingers intertwined and sent my fever to FIVE times normal temperature.
Sent my heart to heaven and back.
Because even though I didn't have you then, I knew heavens had found the lost piece of the puzzle to my heart.
I knew I had found a Queen to My Kingdom, Our Kingdom.
And I knew what I held right there and there, I was never gonna let go.
That's the day I had you...the day I found home...

This is nothing new.
Kids are not the same, just as you and your neighbor or friend are not the same, so stop comparing us.
I'll admit it, generations have changed dramatically. I can try to blame technology or media or whatever the case may be, but we are not as strong as you guys were. Our physique and mental capacity are nowhere near strong as yours were.
Nowadays you can't simply chase your kid out and tell them to go defend themselves every time they get bullied. Bullying nowadays doesn't just end physically, it follows you on social media.
We die in silence because we got nobody to talk to, because we are scared of being judged by our own parents.
We not attention seekers, we just need you to get to know us. Know what we go through everyday, at home, school, work. Listen to us, dont judge. Give us motherly/fatherly love and advice.
Maybe yes, depression is a White People illness, but have you seen the stats? It's killing us too.
SAVE US!

Sincerely
# DyingInSilence

Black tie,
Black suit.
I'm Thinking of you.
Black dress,
Black shoes.
Good god Girl.
I'm missing you.

Where are you?
Where did you go?
Lord don't take her,
her body's not even cold.
I need you.
Please don't go.
Take my hand.
Let's grow old.
Don't give up
on me just yet.
At least wait
until my final breath.

These are words,
He never said.
Maybe he'll say them
when I drop dead.

So honestly, my true intention
is to live this life better than you.
        Petty, I know.

But just so tempting to declare
that I can come to my end,
somehow elevated with an esteem
that will grab the gods' attention.

Perhaps, they will applaud,
and grant me a life saving boon.
In my excellence, I will request
an honorarium for my sacred duty-

To leave this world with all of you
brimming in the knowledge
that it does not mater how well
you live your life.

Because you'll know that the love-
my love, your love, the forever love-
is more compliant than desire,
and more abundant than the wind.

Step outside, for you might leap
into eternity from there.
Gaze to the right
and be comforted and fearless.

Know that I am beyond,
and armed with my gratitude
for our imperfect loving, I have been able
to discipline doomsday.

          It looks away so sheepishly now,
          so aware of its inability to build
          an alter higher than the tears shed,
          the cries of joy,
                    on the day you were born.

I asked my son, “why are you crying.”
“I am finally in love,” he said.
And I knew it hurt, that forever
awkward landing, just to rise,
      so as to breathlessly fall eternal.

No longer in love with me, for
that must pass, but with the body
of his future, novel and bright
as the reveille of himself.

I am not strong. I turned away
as my limbs quaked, poisoned by that
curious concoction all parents
must drink if we wish to free

the future from our briny net.
One part pride, one part fear,
finished with a spit of envy,
guzzled down with rueful surrender,
      no longer the center of the fire’s dance.

The yellow sickle moon
is hay in the barn, the way
that youth is exuberant
and death is wise.
The dogwood is a tree
full of butterflies -
so life strikes,
then death strikes.
In the calendar of life, fall
just a handful of holidays
perfect for the making of love.