You don't have to convince me you're perfect.
Oh, please - I already know that.
Unique? An understatement, you
Are a diamond in a field of weeds.
Roses are red, violets are blue, but you make me feel
Every color.

Beauty, thy name is you.
Everyone knows it but you.
A simple smile and infectious laugh is all it takes to
Unveil your true inner beauty.
Though, you may just think I have cooties.
I know that you may think I'm silly or dumb, but
**** it - maybe it's part of my "charm."
Underneath this sarcastic wall, you'll find my heart in a
Locker.

Banter – it’s the best part of our conversations.
Even the insults and digs and salt. You’re
A fountain of charm; your beauty effortlessly
Ubiquitous.
Take it from me, there aren’t many people like
You.

Talking to you is like cracking a safe, I don’t know
How to do it. I’d spend years and
Years before I worked up the skill and charm to crack you.

******. That what you are;
A hot ball of fire, divine and intriguing,
My hands very well could get burned, but
Everything would be worth it if I got to hold you.

Is what I’m saying silly?
Sure, but that’s why you like it.

Jazz. That’s what you are;
Eclectic and musical, soft and
Seductive; sweet-sounding and beautiful,
So effortlessly easy to listen to.

These tears must fall,
rain onto my pillow,
a lost sunset of a risen sun,
holding onto memories,
like they were a lifeless body,
distant horizons,
grey skies above,
staring into its abyss,
sleep will fall,
the emptiness of dreams therein.

Jumping on the crunchies
And crushing where I step,
Absorbed in each breath.

Where fall leaves stale,
I plant these stomps
going nowhere,
In particular.

Then I saw you
Stepping on
crunchies too,
consumed,
Simple and true.
With all of you.

Stay playful, stranger, curious.
There's enough crunch
For the both of us.

I've woken up every morning
with bruised knees, swollen lips, and a picture of you burned into my skull. But never a memory explaining. I guess it's irony, because you left me, on the floor with bruised knees, swollen lips, and an unforgettable scene, without explaining.

(a.b)

i scroll through
the symptoms;
the signs once more
finally screen-shotting them
only so i do not have to keep
looking and re-looking
them up

i rummage through the very
personal box of writings
hidden under my bed
i find the paper
with the heading of:
How I See Me, How I Am
following the undepthed title
is a list of short, spiked written words,
words that, all though so very short, mean so much
and ache even worse

down to the bottom of the list my finger skims
my eyes scattered throughout the words
and my tears scarring the paper
finally at the the bottom
i grab the pen and finish the list
with one simple word

depressed

(a.b)