your fingers would tiptoe across my palms, and it made me feel alive.

the first time you touched me, i figured out what the purpose of butterflies really were.
the first time you touched me, i almost believed you were trying to create an army of them,
    that they were going to break down the maze inside my head
    that i would become some disgustingly lovesick drone

i don’t know why i ever doubted myself

the butterflies don’t visit me anymore,
they’ve done their job.

my feelings are neutralised.
my body is numb.
and you hold me like the touch of another would contaminate me.
your embrace is a cage,
but one i have built myself.

Maybe if I had your address,
Or knew what you liked,
I'd send you little things
To let you know it will be alright.

Maybe if we were closer,
Maybe if we had talked more,
I'll drive on over,
And knock on your door.

Maybe if I could,
Maybe if I had,
I'd find any way
To ensure you weren't so sad.

Maybe if I knew what happened,
Maybe if I knew why,
I'd search around until
I found a reason for your rhyme.

Maybe someone does this for you already-
I sure hope that's true.
I sure hope your chin stays up,
Long enough to make it through.

And maybe you're treading a path alone,
With only your demons in tow;
They'll disappear someday,
And in your heart, flowers will grow-

Up through your spine,
Finding a path to your mind
The flowers can spread their beauty
In all the cracks they find.

I hope flowers burst out of your soul,
And someday shine through your eyes,
Because sadness comes and goes my dear,
So please don't let your cries

Be what waters your flowers.
Rather, instead,
Water them with faith in overcoming,
With all of the words I have said.

Water them with your quirks,
Your ambitions, your smile-
Let the flowers take over your body;
I promise it's worth your while.

Someday you'll be a garden,
Colorful and healthy, happy and bright-
You'll be a representation of growth,
My dear, you'll be one hell of a sight.

So maybe if you read this,
Always remember, always know
That flowers grow upon whoever
Kindly reaps what they sow.

Should I write a poem of sappy love/
Teenage emotion gone on a sneak-away ride/
Visigoth hormones usurping my pen, again/
Sad memories of those girls, oh, those girls/
High School dances like small caliber holes in my heart/
No exit wounds, the lipstick bullets fester in me/
Music so loud I can not hear her giggle to her coven/
About the way I tried to kiss her/
In the gym, in public/
Where all the Cool boys might see?
Or Should I, forty years later, just walk my dog/
And whistle as I bag up her ****/
Enjoying the evening as we walk/
While she wags and is happy to be here/
Beside me, regardless of my haircut/
Or the horsepower of my car?/
Why start now? I never cared then/
About them, the Loud Pretty ones/
With the guns aimed at my heart/
The only thing they knew how to do was shoot and run/
Where's the fun in that?/
Come on back, ladies.../
I have years of dog-**** waiting for you.