Hi, Im Pearl
And Im addicted to over thinking.

I wanted to write a poem about flowers, so that's what I did.
It was short, expressed how I feel, and cut like glass.
I showed my father "Flowers" and he thought it was mediocre.
And I said, "No, "Mediocre" is the poem where I talk about dying,
and I'm trying to stay alive, so I wrote about flowers."

Flowers strangling soil plots with their roots, with their existence.
And to hurt something you love with your existence is a terrible feeling.

Who you are under
A cloudless sky,
Is uninteresting.

Show me a smile through
Drenched hair, wet to
Raindropped lips,

And I'll fall for you,
Knowing you won't care
Why now,

But carry on smiling at the
Rain. So
Carelessly

It begins
To doubt
Itself.

In every kiss and breath and word
Is laced
A question.
Stitched carefully, delicately in.

Do you always love me?
(Every second, minute, hour?)

How long will you stay?
(Stay forever, janu,
But go if you're going.)

When will your ripe passion for me return?
(Not for my body, but for my heart,
My love.)

Never is there an answer.

Because its true.

Boys
Can't
Take
h
    i
      n
         t
           s

Forget running my hands down your body,
My love.
Fumbling to undo buttons,
My fingers
Mapping cities on your chest.  
Forget the crimson kisses
And the velvet of my breast
In your palm.

Because we're only where we are now.  

That is...

Far                                                       ­     Away
                          
    
                           From Love.

Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head,
And drink your rushing words with eager lips,
And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red,
And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips.
When you rehearse your list of loves to me,
Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed.
And you laugh back, nor can you ever see
The thousand little deaths my heart has died.
And you believe, so well I know my part,
That I am gay as morning, light as snow,
And all the straining things within my heart
You'll never know.

Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet,
And you bring tales of fresh adventurings, --
Of ladies delicately indiscreet,
Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things.
And you are pleased with me, and strive anew
To sing me sagas of your late delights.
Thus do you want me -- marveling, gay, and true,
Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights.
And when, in search of novelty, you stray,
Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go ....
And what goes on, my love, while you're away,
You'll never know.