T

i may not be strong
but every ounce of strength i have
i will use to hold you
as tightly as i can.

i may not be tall,
but i will take you higher than you have ever been
where there is no color, race, fear, or pain
and all is filled with beauty, love, and hope.

i may not have money,
but i am rich in love, and happiness, and soul
and i will share everything i have with you
each second i am by your side.

i may not have been whole,
but that was only because
i did not have my souls twin to complete me,
i had not yet found myself in you.

She makes the sand,
the sand seep away.
Little locket on her chest,
with her steps a gentle sway.
Though her eyes cast
a tender gaze,
her fiery heart sets the sky ablaze.

Dry rain and dry puddles,
never will she stop.
'Til she stumbles to her knees,
the dusty ground, fiercely hot.
She cries out in pain
and laughs through tears,
a withered smile
of withered years.

She sees me.

Her faces relaxes,
her lungs give out,
her limbs betray her
and with one final strain she says:
*I can't hate.

I am loud,
Demanding attention.
I know when I am being charming
Because I try.
I put on my impressing face
And do my impressing hair
And speak my impressing words.
I tell you my embarrassing drinking stories
And everything else about me
That you probably shouldn’t know.

I am not good at being quiet
Because that’s not who I am.
I am not the sweet girl
Who will leave you with a smile
And a touch
And a glance
Or a single word.
There is nothing of this fashion of romance
About me.

I am the girl who will point out your flaws,
And take you outside to see the stars,
And remind you how human you are,
And what a wonderful thing that is.

I am the girl who will talk about science,
And music and theology and history,
And point out constellations, laughing,
When you don’t know the big dipper’s name.

I am the girl who will make witty references,
To classic literature and science fiction,
And will tell you stories of how I once,
Made a gingerbread replica of a lighthouse.

I am the girl who will stand on a table,
And sing at the top of my lungs on the highway,
And act like a chicken or quail or velociraptor,
Or nuzzle your face like a lion to make a point.

I am the girl who takes too many shots
And then coaxes you to bed on a Russian liver,
And knows all the right places to bite, and tease,
And follows with exceptionally coherent pillow-talk.

I am not a thin silk scarf on the wind.
I am not a thing hard to capture.
You would not spend a perilous journey
Through a wild, perfumed jungle,
Searching for my slender garments
Hung beside a pool
As I wail to the breeze.

Rather, I am the bird who flies overhead
Making too much noise
Distracting from the trail ahead.
A bird whose plumage proves
What an interesting life it must be…
What a colorful life for me…
Perpetually strange
The lone comic relief.

I am many things.
But I am not quiet.
Of this I am sure.

I've got a confession.
No matter how much you love me,
Care ,
And swear to never leave.
I'll always think of going back to him
That guy who uses me.
Why? Hell if I know. 
Though, Id go if he'd take me,
And stay, if he'd break me.
Even though I KNOW in a month or less
I'd be no more than another ex.
I hate to say this...
Because I do like you,
But I can't stay away from him,
Like I could to you.

Gently brushing your almond skin with my lips
along that perfect curve between your shoulder and neck.
Soft bites to couple the kisses.
You murmur incoherently.
Slight confusion and alarm at being taken from one realm
and ****** into this waking world.
My hand gently caresses your thigh and I can feel your hand
slowly moving to meet mine.
Our fingers entwine
and you grasp it tightly.
A rock in this storm of conciousness.
Then you slowly turn over,
Our lips meet.
Your eyelashes fluttering against mine
and I can feel your smile.
Perfection.