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I must have loved you
in another life
because when I see you
when I hear you
when I hold you
it feels like coming home.
I only feel like myself around you.
When my hand is in yours
it's familiar and safe,
like I've known your soul
since the beginning of time,
through every life I've lived
and all the lives I have yet to experience.
Maybe that's why
my love for you
is infinite.
for The Girl
My love for you just can't
be put into words.
Words are just letters
scrambling to fall into place
to tell a story
but your laugh is already
an adventure through
galaxies undiscovered.
Your eyes are oceans
filled with treasures
from years of shipwrecks
and heartache.
Your heart, pounding
120 beats per minute:
we slowly edge closer,
our hands tingling as we touch
and the energy courses through us,
sing melodies in a language
only we know.
Words are just letters
trying to become
something beautiful
but you are already
more beautiful
than any letter could have hoped
to be.
for The Girl
Physical intimacy has its limits,
you know.
I can only learn so much from
pushing into each others mouths,
from grasping hands,
sharp breaths.
I don't care about the intimacy.

I care about
holding you
seeing what it would be like
to hold your hand.
I want you to want me too,
in every way possible.
I want to be the reason you smile
until your cheeks hurt.
I want to spend as many moments
as possible with you.

I don't care about ***.
I just want your mouth on mine
for every goodnight,
good morning,
I want you in the most
innocent, purest way.
This one and the next two are about The Girl as well.
When I was little
I was told that rain
was the tears of angels.
How much pain must they be in
to create a storm such as this?
The lightning their sobs,
thunder their raging breaths,
hot tears turned cold as they fall to the ground
down on their knees
eyes ******* shut
throat burning as they wail.
What must have happened
to those perfect,
beautiful creatures?
Were they staring down at the world
watching as we
pillage and ****
****** and steal
lie and cheat?
Listening to us scream
in anger
or pain
or frustration?
Tuning in to the thoughts
of our broken youth
hearing them hate
and hurt themselves
till they're covered in scars
that will never fade?
The hurricane never waves
flood rising crashing like ocean waves
wind torturing nature around it.
The trees creak and sway
as the angels mourn.
The world around them
finally reflects the conflictions
in their heads.
Wrote this during Hurricane Harvey, had it published in my high school's literary magazine.
I didn't use to believe in luck,
I even thought myself perpetually
but now I see
that the universe has done me a
kindness by having us meet
I only hope that
their generosity would continue
to help me in my endeavor.

And if it doesn't,
then I will scour the ground
for every four-leaf clover
I will race to the bottom of every rainbow
for its *** of gold.
I will do everything I can
to stay lucky
so I might be able to keep you.

I worry that, without my luck,
I will not deserve you
or that the universe is using you
as a way to prove to me
I am not worthy
of all that I seek.
Haven't shared this with The Girl but thought I should anyway
I always wished
that my hands could be as gentle
as the ones I watched around me.

Elegant and musical,
the hands of those I spent time with
seemed to glide over whatever
they touched.
They were never aggressive
never snatching.

They wanted nothing,
only plucked flowers gracefully
and lifted glasses of lemonade.

They never had to hold fast
to anything
never worried about
the precious things
being taken from them.

My hands have always been
rough and calloused
prepared to lash out
to preserve me and my life.
They are fighting hands,
grabbing hands,
loving hands.

They are made to last
to persevere.

My hands have been exactly what
I needed them to be
my wistful wishes of gentleness
were just that:
wishes of someone who wanted
something different for herself.

But my hands have aided me
like none other,
and I would not exchange them
or change them for anything.
Peyton L Jan 29
The sparrow has crossed my path
and I hope she'll stay
longer than a fleeting moment
so I may appreciate her beauty.

She came to me
as most Texas birds do
when you're quiet and alone.
But she was different, I'm sure.

She was vibrant,
not at all the dusty hues of the others
I had come to know.
She was bright and intricate.

The sparrow was free to roam
she was the epitome of freedom
and yet she chose to stay
singing by my side.

And she could have picked anyone,
that little yellow sparrow.
But she flew and sang around me
always appearing again.

I couldn't help but feel
that as quick
as she had appeared
she would leave again.

But the sparrow sang
and in her song
assured me
that she would do no such thing.

She was mesmerized
by me.
You can fly, and yet chose not to,
she said. Why is that?

You are as much a bird as I am,
she told me.
All you have to do
is let go.

I considered her words carefully
I had never flown before,
never thought that I could.
But for her, I did.
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