My chest aches differently today.
It's not the heartbreak,
It's not the pain,
I'm not even sure if it's a mixture of both.

It might be the memories of us disappearing into the abyss of my soul.
It might be the essence of you detaching from me.
It hurts, but it doesn't hurt as bad anymore.

I hear my heart thumping.
One beat at a time,
Slowly, but surely regaining its strength.
It reminds me that I am still alive.

I feel the wounds.
Bleeding, healing,
And building back stronger.

I feel everything.
All at once.
And for once, I feel okay.

The ache in my chest is different today.
It may be the heartache.
It may be the pain.
Or even a mixture of the two.

But for once,
I feel okay.

I'm still alive.

My chest aches differently today.
It's not the heartbreak,
It's not the pain,
I'm not even sure if it's a mixture of both.

It might be the memories of us disappearing into the abyss of my soul.
It might be the essence of you detaching from me.
It hurts, but it doesn't hurt as bad anymore.

I hear my heart thumping.
One beat at a time,
Slowly, but surely regaining its strength.
It reminds me that I am still alive.

I feel the wounds.
Bleeding, healing,
And building back stronger.

I feel everything.
All at once.
And for once, I feel okay.

The ache in my chest is different today.
It may be the heartache.
It may be the pain.
Or even a mixture of the two.

But for once,
I feel okay.

I'm still alive.

He is not you.
Not at all.

He doesn't have your eyes,
He doesn't have your laugh,
And he doesn't have your hands.

He isn't you.
Not one bit.

His smile isn't yours;
It doesn't complete me.

His embrace isn't the same as
Yours that would hold me.

He can't be you.
Never.

He tries,
But what's the point?

You can't fix the pain with deceit.
You can't win war without defeat.

He tries,
But what's the use?

You can't heal love with a handshake.
You can't heal love without change.

He isn't you,
He will never be,
He can't be,
He isn't...
                                      You.

It’s not me, It’s you.
It always was,
And how could I be surprised?

All along, it was you.
Only you, no one else.

Now all that’s left is   me.

Broken as ever.
With eyes still swollen from the night before,
Tear stained cheeks,
And an epiphany in my mind.

Maybe, It was me.
Or you.
Or us.

But eventually it was no one.

It was the empty spaces in your   speech.
It was the stutter in your breath.
It was you.

It was the missed calls.
It was the arguments.
It was me.

Or maybe   it   was  us.
Slowly    
         But
      Surely
                  Falling         (apart).

This is forbidden;
You and I.
Like the moon and the sun sharing the same sky.
Our hands weren't meant to touch,
But they did,
And in that moment it all became too much.

We are forbidden;
You and I.
We are the reason Angels cry.
Our lips weren't meant to meet,
But they did,
And nothing else could ever taste as sweet.

We are the ones who planted the forbidden fruit.
Don’t fight it-- Let the seed of desire and sin take root.
We have tasted the knowledge,
Good and bad,
We have left the garden, for good, only to remain unfed.

You and I are forbidden.
Outcasts, lepers, and rejects.
We are the fruit you so humbly deny.
We are the everlasting sigh.

The fruit that grows from our tangled limbs are sweet and ripe.
The leaves that sprout from our hearts are twisted and right.

Taste us.
Taste us.
Taste us.

The water droplets on your back glisten like diamonds.
How can I not want you?
Your hair is slicked back with shampoo lathered in your dark waves.
How can I not desire you?
You ever so carefully take the soap and cascade it down your arms and legs.
What could be better than this?
You look at me,
Standing under the water,
With my curls falling down on my shoulders.
You touch my cheek, ever so gently, and
You smile.
What could ever compare to this moment?
You pull me closer to you;
You wrap your arms around me.
Just you and I, under the hot water, with steam clouding in the air. (With the occasional bubble)
***** as ever,
And still, I have never felt so clean.

"When you encounter a mountain lion, be vocal; however, speak calmly and do not use high pitched tones or high pitch screams"--California Dept. of Fish and Wildlife

Be vocal, but avoid high pitched tones and screams
when a mountain lion appears on your path.
Remind yourself that it’s not a  dream.

If the path goes down to a flooded stream,
and bodies float by--
stay calm;  avoid high pitched tones and screams.

When you go to the store and there’s no milk or cream,
as the cows are sickened  from a poisoned well,
remind yourself that it’s not a dream.

If the wildfire turns your hot tub to steam,
as you run down the street to your neighbor’s car
be vocal, but avoid high pitched tones and screams.

When the weather goes to another extreme,
and mudslides cover another town,
remind yourself that it’s not a dream.

When the fisherman catches no salmon nor bream,
and there’s no more coffee, nor chocolate ice cream,
be vocal, but avoid high pitched tones and screams.
Remind yourself that it’s not a dream.

the sand is spilling ocean
the sky is leaking sunlight
the earth is seeping life

and to those who have
sorrow escaping from
their heavy-lidded eyes,
do not hold it in.

the sand can't hold back the ocean
the sky can't contain the sun
and the earth can not prevent
a life from blooming with all its might.

Drunk on honey and milk.
In this dim lit room,
We lay under thin sheets that cling to our bodies with sweat.
The air hangs heavy here,
And it smells of you and I.

We whisper in hushed tones,
We giggle,
We kiss.
Nothing has ever felt as good as this.

Drunk on every touch of skin.
Drunk on every word of sin.
We melt into each other.
We melt into another.

This is what we live for.
This is the moment we die for.

Suddenly,
The rest of the world melts away.
It’s just us two.
You look into me,
And I look into you.

Our hearts dance to their new found rhythm.
Our lungs share the same breath of air,
And with our final sigh.
Our mouths say, “Fulfilled”--
And then we die.

Yes, I'm hurting.

Yes, It hurts.

You took my sadness and carved a knife.
You took my sorrow and made a blade.
Pushing it into my chest,
I watched you as you plunged it in.
Breaking bones along the way.

As you twisted it deeper;
You smiled.
That beautiful smile,
How could I hate you?
You're everything.

You took my happiness and created life.
You took my laughter and designed a future.
All while the knife was still there,
And you looked at me.
With those beautiful eyes.
How could I hate you?
You're everything.

I bled red love for you,
Yet, this wound still stings.
I bled purple jealousy too.
Yet, you do these things.
I bled yellow hope for you.
Yet, the pain grows.
I bled pink passion too.
Yet, my feelings you dispose.

As you pull the knife out,
Satisfied with your workmanship,
The blade is covered in blood.

You laugh, amused even,
It's your favorite color.

I bleed orange for you.
Just to please you one last time.

I am poetry.
My back is the spine.
My arms turn into the cover.
My fingers smooth into pages.
The prints printed on my thumbs bleed words.

I am a poem,
Every single part of me.
I am all the thoughts the human race has ever had.
I am the mother, I am the dad.

When you want a piece of poetry to feed your mind—
I'll peel the layers off my thumb, ‘til they form sentences,
I'll bend my fingers back, back until they turn into stanzas,
I'll snap my arms crooked, ‘til they cry out titles,
I'll arch my back, and screech as they brand me with the name of my owner.

I am a haiku.
The original OG.
You can't handle me.

I am a sonnet,
Betrothed to Shakespeare.
Like a kid learning his alphabet, and he gets stuck on G:
AB(AB)-CD(CD)-EF(EF)-GG.
My couplets are more star-crossed than Romeo and Juliet could ever be.

I am T.S Eliot here to sing you love songs—
Don’t you cast me to The Waste Land.

I am Maya Angelou ‘bout to free the bird from its cage—
And still I rise.

I am Emily Dickinson finally stopping for death—
You can’t **** me.

I am living, breathing poetry.
My veins bleed poetry—fear this blood.
My eyes cry poetry—see these words.
My shampoo brand is poetry—feel these curls.

Rise,
Stand,
And take up the pen.
Poetry is our oxygen.
Let us all breathe it in.

Our words will save this nation.
From a simple sentence to a conversation.

We are poetry.
We will save the world.

You are poetry.
You can change the world.

I am poetry.
Use me to save this world!

And when I finally die,
I'll be reincarnated into a tree.
I'll be turned into pages for the next poets to use.
And when they do—
    
I'll be free.