You are a flame inside me
Flickering,
Teasing,
Caressing,
Smoldering.

You are far away
Yet so close
Teetering on the edge of my imagination.

The yearning is the knowing
The mere knowledge of you
That you are existing somewhere
Somewhere my reality can’t touch.

My words spill out of me
Like candy from a piñata
Pages and pages
Poems scattered about like hungry pigeons.

You make me so hungry
So eager to express
To spill my inner self onto empty pages.

You are my muse
My cruel inspiration
The tears staining my pillow.

I am dancing on a cloud
Unnoticed by you
As you live your life
Unaware of mine.

My words are endless
My thoughts knowing no bounds
As I imagine your eyes
Penetrating through me.

You are my fantasy
My never forever
My drug of choice.

You are the fuel that keeps me writing,
Feeling,
Expressing.

You are my special light
Turning on inside me
When all my creativity is turned off.

I want to ravish you
Bite the buttons off your shirt
Loosen your necktie
Drown in your eyes without a life jacket.

You are my muse crush
The smile on my face
The pain in my heart
The hello that never comes
The inevitable goodbye.



© 2014 Stacey Handler

People often ask me what love is  

And I seriously don't know what it means

All I can think about is you

Your eyes, those brown eyes

Those eyes which saw me naked  

You saw every scar on my body  

Yet the only thing you said was

“You are beautiful”  

Love, I am not beautiful

Scars, stretch marks, blood, wounds

Doesn't mean beautiful

I am not an art

Yet your lips kissed me

The way the sun kissed my skin every morning

Without a fail, without any doubt

You smiled.  

And the only words that came to my mind was

"****, this is trouble"

My love, your words hold me like a hostage

Trapped inside an empty box, finding a way out.  

A way I can never ever get a glimpse of.

I knew that this love

Our love would last a lifetime  

Or so I thought



We were torn apart by hatreds, insecurities, confusions

Maybe if it wasn't for distance  

We would be still together, we could have worked it out

But maybe, no matter what decisions we'll make

We will still come to an end

Confused about the future

Insecure about other people

Hating each other

You, giving up

And me, craving for more

Craving for something that can fill up the hole inside my chest



I wanted you to stay forever, here beside me

But every time I would ask about it

You always said

"You deserve so much more"

You were once my everything

My other half

My partner in crime  

You were someone so freaking important to me

You were the kind of mistake, I wouldn't mind repeating

I fell so hard for you

And guess what happened?

Love, I am broken



How many days, months, years

For me, to forget

That once upon a time

You were here

I was there

Hands holding tighter

Eyes locked to each other

Hearts that beat in a synchronizing manner  



How much would it cost?

For the pain to stop

For the memories to abandon

For the feelings to fade

My love, I did not expect any of this

I didn't know that love can be deadly

A love that can force someone to commit suicide  

That loving someone means tearing every part of yourself





Now, do you think I'm suicidal?

Love, do not be afraid

I'm not going to die

Being suicidal doesn’t mean killing yourself

Suicidal means I wouldn't mind dying

I kept on dying anyway

I kept on dying at the same place I thought was giving life to me  

Because the day, you decided to give up on me

I already gave up on myself.

Finding a lover is effortless
for some people.
They only want a few things:
Someone attractive, kind,
funny or rich.

But
I desire
something so much deeper.

I want

an intelligent mind
that wakes up thoughts in me
I didn't realize were hibernating.

I want

to converse, analyze and debate
without being conscious of
the sun rising and falling
between our words.

I want

to make a witty remark
at a coffee shop
so he can reply sarcastically
just for me to jab back immediately
and for him to comeback back playfully
until we're both laughing
stomachs shaking
spit flying
the whole store staring
and we leave
without coffee

I want

our hands to stitch together
perfectly
like two lost puzzle pieces;
one found under a couch cushion
one found inside a junk drawer.
The rest of the puzzle has
already been thrown away
but
these two pieces remain
and they fit.

I want

to fall in love together
then together fall in love with
art, museums, songs, poems
T.V shows, radio jingles,
greek food, backroads,
our mutual hatred for pop culture,
doing the dishes (as long as he washes and I dry)
wrong turns, piled up laundry, life.
Just fall in love with life.

I want

to hurt with him

I want

to save the world with him

I want

to meet, see, understand
and experience all that is foreign
with him.

I think it will only take us meeting
and it'll only be history and happiness from then on.

It's just a matter of if a love like that could ever be
and if a love like that could ever be for me.

This is not my poem
Sure I sat here and wrote it down,
but its not my poem.
Yes, yes I took the time to memorise it so I could see my words reflected in the expressions on your face as I read aloud...
but its not my poem.

This is your poem
You wrote this
You wrote this with your smile
the curve of your lips wrote this
the sparkle in your eyes punctuated every line and measured every pause, perfectly.
Your lips formed every word, sounded every syllable, created the melody that echos in my head as I write YOUR poem.

The rise and fall of your chest first catches my breath, then takes it away completely. Sensibilities and caution tumble down your back like rain in a warm summer shower that falls from a star filled sky, the heavens have opened. My heavens have opened. Caution is now a distant memory, like something once heard but long forgotten, something you knew you once knew but know you no longer have to remember so while there is at least an awareness of it, its passing will not be mourned.

And there, pooled in the small of your back, nestled just above the curve of your buttocks, lies hope.

The hope that the beauty I see in you, in us, in everything since we met isn't a mirage, isnt a projection of some one sided fantasy but that its real. That its as real for you as it for me and that I'm not alone. That I'm not alone in the way I feel and the way I think and the way........ the way.....the way I love. Its hope that knowing how I feel, how much I'm in love, in love with you, the hope that hearing me say out loud the very thing that I've had to fight telling you on a daily basis hasn't scared the **** out of you the way finally admitting it to you has me.
But this isn't my poem.
This is your poem.
You wrote it
and its my gift to you.