Give me something to live for,
to cherish and to hold,
Give me your heart to treasure
in the safety of my arms.

Love me endlessly,
lock me away deep in your thoughts,
never let me go.

I'll feed off the warmth of your touch,
the kindness in your words,
and your caring heart.

I'll be yours forever.

Its a heart-wrenching feeling.

When reality strikes you like a lightning bolt.

Those words are no longer used to describe you.
Those eyes are not reserved for you anymore.
Those thoughts,
Those beautiful thoughts.

They're no longer about you.
They are about her.

She is beauty.
What's not to love?
That laughter of hers that echoes through the room.
Echoes through your mind.
That perfectly shaped body.
Pieced together wonderfully, gracefully, beautifully.
She was made for loving.
Everything she is,
All she radiates,
It's love.
From the kindness in her eyes,
To her gleaming smile.
That's her.

She's the one you never were,
Never will be.
She's who you want to be.
She's everything you die for.
You long for, but can never reach.

So, stand along, spectate.
Stand along and watch the show.
Watch his new obsession unravel and blossom before you.
What do you know?
Just in time for spring.

Watch her take over.

It might just be the lack of sleep speaking,
but these phrases are slipping,
stumbling and tripping,
no longer resisting.

Tangled,
rolling around the bed,
2 bodies turn into 1.

What a wonderful feeling it is,
the feeling of being loved,
loving without a care,
trusting blindly.

Oh but what a wonder it is,
this confidence,
confident enough to speak of love.
Speak of a love so beautiful.

An overwhelming feeling,
each time your eyes meet my gaze.
Each time your gentle fingers meet my skin,
tracing shapes ever so slightly.

Hard to describe such a love.
Such a bond.
Only we feel this love.
Only we understand.

2 bodies turn into 1.

I awoke from a dream on the first day of summer.
I dreamt I killed a man by the hammock,
                       he bled and bled profusely.
The sun has nearly melted its surroundings,
the blood boils and reeks of iron.
The phone rang on the wall,
pale, clean, loud.
I've got the gun! and fired it.
                      it struck his chest
with such precision, like a ******,
                     tearing through his skin, then his pectoral
                     muscle. He dropped like a an anchor
                     into a body of warm water
and fell flat with a thud, a diver striking the surface,
eyes fixed on the screen,
expressions stoic on the faces of anxious opponents.

The way you speak when you're half asleep,
enough to soothe me as I slowly drift off.

Closing my eyes,
I dream vividly about the time,
when we'll finally become
        one
           with each other.

Desperately,
I hunger for your touch.

I'm yours,
all yours.
And you know it,
you have me
       right
           there.

Press your lips against mine,
watch time
       slow
           down.

My mind feels hazy,
maybe i'm a little crazy.

High off the thoughts of you and I.

I was thirteen when I saw him, looking
underweight and tan as he stood there,
hands gripping at the handle
of the large bag. He squints,
the sun beaming on his face. The trees shade
some of the rays with each gust
of wind. The mosquitos ***** on my skin
pinching like needles. I am bothered
except for him, so accustomed
to the feeling on his skin. It’s 2009,
three years after my last visit to
the land from which he comes,
from which he sailed into the ocean
on a makeshift raft full of others
with similar hopes, dreaming,
their eyes fixed on the horizon
miles away from freedom.

The woman I loved kept a dog inside her body,
grew rabid with the taste of another man’s mouth.
Her lips dripped with froth,
body ached, eyes rolled,
and limbs danced,
unwillingly,
to the tune of his song.

Bones crack like dried lips.
Muscles give in; lungs give out.
Blood can linger for weeks on the lips of another man’s mouth.

How could I leave
someone who is now a part of me?
How could I walk away
from someone who's here to stay?

I can't just leave behind
something so hard to find.
I hope its safe to say
you feel the same way.

"Love" is no longer enough to describe the feeling.
Is it odd that I knew from the beginning?

"Perfect" is far from enough to explain
the moments when in your arms I get lost.
And I'm no longer trying to rhyme,
just simply writing this down.
Because it's overwhelming
this feeling you give me.

I love you. All of you. Entirely.

Im fat, i'm skinny,
I'm ugly, i'm pretty.
Insane and self-conscious,
Never satisfied.
I fall victim,
All fall victim.

When will we learn?
The body, the appearance,
The importance of it all.
Open up, look around,
Perfection isn't all.

I wish, i wish, oh i wish.
Please, please, oh please.
Less is more, less is more.

Well groomed,
whiskers bunched up,
tufts of hair mount at the ears.
Spikes adorn the pink flesh,
rhythmically, forcefully,
holding down rebel patches of fur.
A gentle lift of the tail,
still as it suspends in the air,
descending with an almost deliberate thud.
Amplified vibrations from the trachea;
a mutual understanding of satisfaction.
The slow rise and fall at the belly,
squinting eyes, stiff head;
familiar features of slumber.
Relentlessly seeking affection,
her presence is inevitable.

If you should find yourself nineteen,
far more concerned with the outside world to consider
the worth of drawing breath on this Earth,
I urge you to listen.


This will hit you harder than most,
feed you the value of time in the form of pills,
catheters, biopsies,
injections, therapy,
and hair loss.


Lessons come in sessions,
prolonged periods of side effects
enough to fuel your impatience.
You’ll find yourself staring blankly at the ceiling,
perhaps more often than you’d wish,
deep in thoughts built to land you in a ward.


But you are not here to write poems
dwelling on the uncertainty of your further existence.

You are here to dance in the face of adversity.

Dust off your armor.
Take aim.

It's hard to explain,
why does this happen?
It's a question I long to find an answer for.

All is perfect,
all is pure,
all is perfect.

A simple memory is all it takes,
to send me spinning off the tracks.
To set me ablaze like a forest in drought.
That's all it takes.

Even when I feel everything is well,
when I feel I have found someone,
when I feel a whole,
along comes a memory,
sending everything previously thought to hell.
Crumbling down like an ice berg,
leaving me breathless, under the weight of my thoughts.

Why must this happen?
I surely don't know.
Why must it happen?

So picture this:

A girl and her friend.
Her good friend.
Her good friend finds a better friend.
A guy, of course.

What's next?

Hidden love,
Oh, I must've forgotten,
We haven't gotten past 5th grade yet, have we?

"I love her."
"I don't like him."
"I saw them holding hands the other day."
"Are they going out?"

I don't know.

What should I recount next?
Ah, shall I start with the broken promises?
The false statements?
The most conspicuous lies?

Oh boo-hoo,
wallow in a pit of despair.
Cry me a river, why don't you?

Nel mio cuore,
una fata dorme.
Lungo per i sogni,
sono una povera, piccola ragazza all'interno.
Per fuori, sono una ragazza coraggiosa e matura.

Pero, io non posso fingere che non voglio essere nei miei sogni,
dove si incontra tutto lo che mi piace,
tutto che io voglio.
i principe con gli occhi azzurri,
il castello bianco dove io vivo,
il cavallo bianco,
la carrozza bianca,
tutto bianco.

perche tutto bianco?
forse vedo tutto cosi buio,
crudele,
spietato.
La gente non voglie essere tu amici,
ancora meno riconoscerti.

Vogliono solo guardarti piangere.
Vogliono guardare cuando ti realizza
che non si puoi vivere nei tuoi sogni.
Che non sara' giovane per sempre.
Che non sei piu un bambino.

Prima o dopo,
sarai uno di loro.
amaro e apatico.
non ti sognare.
Non esiste il principe con gli occhi azzuri,
non esiste il castello bianco,
non esiste il cavallo bianco,
non esiste la carrozza bianca.

**Non tutto e' bianco.

Fresher than the spring,
even hotter than July,
is the bloom of new found love.

the butterflies,
the fluttering eyes,
only one person running through your mind.

It's no surprise they call it love.

It's the first date,
the first touch,
the first kiss, or the first hug.
A view at 2 souls intertwined.

What more is there to say?
Inseparable.

It's no surprise they call it love.

A yell; a raise of the voice.
A fear, a tear,
A smash; a loud noise.
A view at 2 souls and their lies.

It's no surprise they call it love.

7 is for the sirens outside my door.
For the uninvited hands which relentlessly wrap around my torso,
lifting me up from the comfort of my dreams.
7 is for the screams of desperation escaping my mother's mouth,
the string of curse words she only knows how to pronounce.
7 is for the look in my father's eyes.
7 is for the look in my eyes.

7 is for visits once a month.

7 is for metal detectors, bare feet on cold, tile floors, unwelcoming stares, "step back and wait your turn".
7 is for hourly visits out in a courtyard which fails to resemble the comfort of my backyard.
7 is 267 miles away.

7 is for the way my mother's hand no longer reaches for his.
7 is for the papers which he unwillingly signs.
7 is for one-sided closure.
For the way which he still speaks of her the way astronomers speak of constellations, the way painters view their muse,
the way my mother refuses to let go of her pride.

7 is for the slight possibility of some luck.
The chance that she might backtrack in her thoughts to a time in which divorce only meant being away from the one she loves.
7 is for luck.

7 proves to be untrustworthy.
7 drags about an uncertainty which one cannot fathom.
7 brought about a spur of events enough to fill a decade in the span of a year.
7 marked the age in which I learned to view things from the other side of the spectrum.

But 7 is lucky.

You see, 7 taught me how to coat the absence of my father with the absolute presence of my mother.

7 taught her to rebuild my kingdom without a king.

Grab a hold of me.
Grab me.
Toss me.
Take me.

Don't kiss me,
Consume me.

The last drop,
Sweetest taste.
Yours to savor.
Devour.

Don't speak to me,
Read me.

The arch of my back,
Every curve,
Each gasp which escapes
These lips of mine.

Don't heal me,
Destroy me.

Claw through every flaw,
Healed scar.
Dig right into my flesh,
Seek the core.

Don't look at me.
Burn through me.

Explore through every crevice,
Run your fingers,
Scratch the surface,
Careful.

What lies beneath
Isn't always beauty.

Lost at sea, a storm awakens.
The tides rise,
the odds are against me.

I hang onto our dear memories.
our laughter,
some solace.

Can you hear my cries?
As I give in to the still night.
The silence of it all,
as it ends.

Not a single sound.
Not a ripple in the ocean,
not a gust of wind.
Not a sound.

Our love was like a drop in the ocean.

How I wish I were your pillow.
To capture all your careless whispers,
every breath, every sound.
To catch a glimpse of every dream,
every fantasy.

To let your head gently rest upon me,
letting go of every worry.
To soothe you back to sleep
when you rise during the night.
To erase all those terrible thoughts which keep you restless,
make you weep.

To absorb every tear. To feel your warmth.
For you to hug and squeeze, holding close to you.

To be the one you wake up to and the one you come home to at night,
Never letting go.

Standing before the room,
the distance between you and each individual reduced
to an almost claustrophobic space.
Self conscious, you began to pace yourself,
slowed down your breathing and straightened your shirt every so often.
You've practiced your speech countless times
it's practically embedded in your crowded mind.
Crowded with assignments, dates, numbers, faces, moments.

Concentrate.

Subtle shifts in their seats, gentle tapping feet, suppressed coughs, cleared throats.
Your ears seem to be most sensitive to each miniscule sound today.

"Um".

There goes the first of many.
When all else fails, you resort to bad habits.

Don't feel bad.
12 years of lenient teachers built you this way.
Teachers who expected the most but weren't as expecting as you'd expect.
Teachers who prior to the start of your presentation had already dotted your scoring sheets with "A"'s.
Teachers who figured it's best to let you pass.
For your sake, sure, but mostly for theirs.

Don't fidget with your clothes.
Stop bouncing around so much.
Stand still.
Don't fling your arms around
Stop playing with your hands.
Stop whipping your hair.
Stop using your hands to play with your hair.
Don't laugh.
You're nervous.

Get to the point.

Where do I begin?
In the wounded smile plastered on my face?

This face,
it says I'm sure I don't look pale.
It says that cookie sounds delicious,
but I'd rather check the scale.

This face,
it says go easy on the bread.
It says I'm not too skinny,
so just forget what mother said.

This face,
it says this isn't enough progress.
It says maybe i'll skip a meal or two,
that should speed up the process.

This face,
it says where's the girl with exceptional curves?
Thick brown locks, gleaming eyes,
Vibrant, charming, charismatic,
with a radiant smile that never fails.

So where do I begin?
I guess I should've never started.

The clouds cover sun---
Wind pushes through the trees
Threatening downpour on a sweltering day.

This rarity, as always, gathers flocks of birds
In a sky already dark enough
To turn the clock forward.

I want you with me.
I want you in me.
Same thing, right?

Let me dust away those parts of you.
You know, those parts of you.
Perhaps I can wipe away all your insecurities?
Wipe them off my lips, you know?

Open up all those thoughts you keep hidden away.
All those thoughts you keep zipped away...
I want to hear every single one of your words.
I want to hear them loud and clear.

Oh, how you tease my curiosity with that smirk of yours.

Take me.
All of me.
All at once.
No pain, not a tear.
A peaceful ending to what never was.

Its a sin without guilt.

Growing older by the minute.
The world was silent as it listened.
Piercing was the sound of the bullet.

The dew hung low and glistened,
resting on the edges of the wound.
The blood ran dry as it thickened.

Comforting, the woman crooned.
His breathing began to slow;
his heartbeat far from tuned.

The river nearby refused to flow.
Alive with a ruthless stream,
around the bend it began to grow.

The image is one I will never escape,
on my mind it rewinds like a tape.

Think of me when all is numb,
when silence overcomes all you have become.
Think of me then when you need it most,
when the sky is dull,
and all is but a ghost.
A shear memory of a smile,
now in your time of despair.

Faint, hollow, deep in your mind,
seeps the sound of my weeping sorrow.
How much I long for those days,
long gone and now a haze.
so familiar, yet so far away
is the time we first met and bid we'd never go to waste.

How do you do it?
How do you do this to me?
How do you manage to pull me in,
chew me up, spit me out.

How do you fool me?
Deceive me,
a guilty pleasure you are.

A way with words you have.
Manipulative,
twisting and turning my thoughts,
as those lips of yours run.

At the palm of your hand,
right where you want me.

Right where you had me.


And just as I think you've faded away,
up from the pit of fire you rise.
Slithering into my soul,
eating away at my heart.

How do you do it?

Oh how you have changed.
How you have fooled me,
with your mask of lies.

You speak.
Venom seeping through my pores,
my being.

How you brought down my walls.
So silent.
Deadly you are.

Your lips.
Luring me into your trap,
sealing your plan with a kiss.

Your touch.
Desire; lust.
Hungry for more,
just not enough.

Trust you swore you grasped,
but were yet to gain.


Oh how you have changed.
How you have fooled me,
with your mask of lies.