You were everything I wanted
And nothing that I need

r  14 Mar 13

I walked through the empty lot
noticing the depression of time;
street lamps flickering within the subtle
breeze of the late evening.

My hands were numb from the cold and ash;
these pockets lost their warmth.
The sky forgot to welcome
the moon; it’s light lost behind
the cloudy indigo.

Something touched my face, the moist
drops of condensation; nighttime mist
upon this abrasive skin. The feeling
brought my lips towards a smile, because
someone new was at the horizon.

I've always thought
Summer's breezes
Were sweet and beautiful

Until the breeze
That blew threw my heart
And took you with it

I held out my hand
Fell to my knees
For you
But you were gone
Before I had the chance

I'd fallen
Like a feather onto the ground
Soft and gentle
Into your arms
Where you caught me

But now
The summer breeze
That runs it's soft fingers
Through my soul
Takes it with you
And you disappear

I hadn't realized
How much of you
Was my heart
Until I realized


                                I miss my heart

My poem wasn't about our past
so, there's no need to attack
it was about someone else
who I'm going through
a bit of a rough patch with

writing about you
would be childish
I've done it before
and the aftermath
was a bit sick

I'm not on here to fight you
or to expose your flaws
or your mistakes
because I have many
just as much as yourself

I don't approach you
for good reason
because I mess up
and you think
it's on purpose

not all I write
is about
revenge

I have no bad feelings
well, not anymore
because what we shared
wasn't all bad

I know I say one thing
and act out another
but how I cope
with sadness
is through anger

yes, it sounds crazy
maybe a little strange
but that is how I cope
that's how I keep
myself from
breaking
apart

not many understand me
only I truly know me

Two men have given me books in my lifetime... up to this moment. I wish more had. When I graze my fingers horizontally along the spines of each story shoved into my shelves only two books cause them to stop and linger. A book is such an underrated gift.
The first boy to give me a book knows a side of me that no one else does. I talk to him constantly despite the distance, yet I can't save him. He has an addictive personality. It's the drugs, it's the alcohol, it's the sadness, it's the tortured creativeness in him, it's the live life fast anarchism of **** the world. I've been careless with the book he gave me. It has sat neglected for a long time, I haven't even finished it. I've tried but I just can't get into it. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, as you can tell from the title it is all about taking mad amounts of LSD while living during the 70s and following around a bunch of now famous bands and being wild and being untethered from social constraints. He gave me a piece of his freedom fetish that intimidates me because I know deep down that if we're together we'd tear through the world in a feverish pace. So fast that there's no way we could live a decent life without having burned up everything we could ever do that it'd have to die tragically and quickly.
The second boy gave me a bittersweet love story set in a world filled with magic. It's characters had tattoos of protection symbols, strange powers, and a girl in love with a boy who ****** her off but was gorgeous in a bad way. The boy who gave me this story hid behind his tattoos and made me promise to not fall in love with him during our first date. I read the novel nonstop and finished it two days later. He gave me the sequel with the stipulation that I give away these books whenever I was done with them to someone I thought would truly appreciate them. I cried after the second book and like the story's main characters we couldn't get pass our self-made obstacles to make our love work. For a year I refused to pass them on for it was one of the few things I had left of this boy. Until the day I sat by an army officer on the plane home and he was almost done with the first novel and I coincidentally had the second novel. It was just too coincidental to pass up on so I gave the man a story to carry with him. A story he didn't even know was deeper than the words on the pages. I still have the first book and always will just like the tiny, faint, tender pink scar he left in my heart.
**** diamonds, **** flowers, **** songs, **** baby animals, **** anything trivial you could ever give me as a girl. **** all that **** other women like. Give me a book, a story, a poem, a letter, and i'll remember you forever.

I fell in love with a Marine once,
Broad shouldered, strong armed,
With a voice like sunlight’s warmth,
And tough, battle--scarred  hands.
He was always quick to smile
Laugh his loud, boisterous laugh.
But his eyes,
Green as beech leaves in spring,
Bore depths that could not be fathomed.
Scenes that had played before them,
Replayed as pain across the iris,
Sometimes hazy with tears,
When the scarred hands would grasp mine tightly,
The voice like sunlight’s warmth
Deepen, storm clouds gathering,
And drop to darker times and days
Of sand and blood and a beating sun,
When the head I cradled in my arms
Found rest on a lonely desert stone.
When the gentle hands that caressed my cheek,
Caressed a rifle,
But with less fervent tenderness.
When the lips that kissed mine,
tasted of sweat, caffeine, and nicotine.

I loved a marine once
Tried to bandage the wounds
Made by war and a hard life
But I was only a salve to numb the pain.
And when he left me,
To chase long deferred dreams,
I let him go, praying he’d find the peace
Which had eluded him for so long.