We are stuck in a volley of whats

                  Frustrated non understanding

                          But then

                                                   You laugh

                          And I feel home.

I will try my best
To not argue with you
About

things

But we're so
Inherently dissimilar
That we

*must

My guess is that
I will love you forever
Even after the darkness

The pain

The lies

The betrayal

Because you can take away
My spiritedness
But you can't take away
My love

Poetry is the prose that is produced by the curve of your smile and the twinkle of your eyes as they defy rhyme by line every **** time making visual couplets and sensual pentameters which are as iambic as the way your words float every time you speak in that lovely alto that creates a sestina and a haiku and a sonnet and an intrepidness in my hands as they run through your hair smooth as Bukowski ******* his working class ****** earning protests from Sylvia Plath heard through the oven door which you hog so often and I laugh when you do so I sit you down and say I'll get your breakfast baby don't worry and you smile that prose poetic smile that seems to be the indefatigable source of all these literature and damage to my soul which is not mutually exclusive

You rarely smile.
You do not listen to me when I talk.
You think I'm being pompous when I tell you about my day,
When I just want to share it with you.
That is all.

You do not make time for me.
You insist on hurting my feelings.
You do not say goodbye to me,
And you call me emotional,
When I complain.

You dodge my gaze.
You flinch at my touch.
You become irritated at my questions,
When I just want to know you.
That is all.

It is because,
You like someone.
Who is not me.

So don't ask me,
Why I don't say hi when I get home.
Why I refuse to answer your questions.
Why I didn't greet you on your birthday.

It is because,
I like someone.
*Who is you.

He thundered with anger
'Choose now, or nevermore!'
Pain shooting through his wounds
And scabs
Reflected through angry eyes
Gray eyes

She cowered in fear
But had enough resolve
She mustered all the love
Which is not for him
Pooling in her lonely eyes
Brown eyes


I watch it again
And again
And again

I still don't understand why Christine kissed the Phantom.