Love shouldn't be your oxygen;
too much of it will turn poisonous.
Love should be the air you breathe.
Just like the air,
Love should make up of many things;
to keep you balance.

Pt. I
Longing for your
lonely fingertips
The taste of the space
between your breaths
Slow sips of
Your coffee lips
My Hands
Your Hips
The bite
The kiss
The marks you left
When I couldn't get you
Out of my neck
Screaming off my chest
In the morning
We meant it harder
Than tying our tongues
in goodbye
a new record
inside your cheek
where you hide the most
beautiful smile alive
before you dressed it up
to oppress the rest
in an ironic twist  
of fate

Pt. II*

I was listening
To *The Decline
On the way home
From your place

I felt like I might do the same

But the moon was rising
and it looked like the Death Star
In the distance

There's still hope somewhere
it reminded me
To keep finding what I'm looking for

The country roads always
look more beautiful
When Mother Nature
Is dying
To fall apart
Gracefully

Don't we all wanna fall apart
so gracefully?

There's a soft grating in between your finger tips.
A thin slot of knuckles, for nickels and dimes
when they drop from pant-pocket holes, worn and guilty.
It's always harder to take than it is to give.
But trash cans never regret.
Purpose: Check.
Validity: Check.
Reality: Hand-drawn check in black sharpie across the steel.
Sink deeply, black ink
welcomed wearily into the soul
through clasped hands,
past kneeling knees
and off the sidewalk cracks into the grass
while their eyes are still closed,
trying to feel the touch of the invisible.
Matter is what matters,
not reality,
or the shreds each mind tapes back together;
the pictures esteemed by an eye forgot.
Points of view are only valuable when they aren't,
And I guess that's a disappointment, with too much proof.

you thought it was love at first sight
but you forgot love is blind
you ask him to call you maybe
but he was at the payphone, having no change to spare for you
you text him day and night
he replied you with another ******* his mind
you stare at him in class
only to see his eyes shine at another girl
you can't help to feel a little part of you died
you feel nothing's going right
forgetting him was dark grey
your heart shatters as you realise
you weren't important at all
and then
you see him again
triggering your,
teenage heartache.

Don't listen to me; my heart's been broken.
I don't see anything objectively.

I know myself; I've learned to hear like a psychiatrist.
When I speak passionately,
That's when I'm least to be trusted.

It's very sad, really: all my life I've been praised
For my intelligence, my powers of language, of insight-
In the end they're wasted-

I never see myself.
Standing on the front steps. Holding my sisters hand.
That's why I can't account
For the bruises on her arm where the sleeve ends ...

In my own mind, I'm invisible: that's why I'm dangerous.
People like me, who seem selfless.
We're the cripples, the liars:
We're the ones who should be factored out
In the interest of truth.

When I'm quiet, that's when the truth emerges.
A clear sky, the clouds like white fibers.
Underneath, a little gray house. The azaleas
Red and bright pink.

If you want the truth, you have to close yourself
To the older sister, block her out:
When I living thing is hurt like that
In its deepest workings,
All function is altered.

That's why I'm not to be trusted.
Because a wound to the heart
Is also a wound to the mind.

We are born
blank slates.
We know nothing of this
hate filled world
this love filled world
this world itself
is mystery.
I see my niece
she is not two months
but I fear for what she will
soon experience.
I want to build
a better world.
to keep her safe
to keep her 8
almost 9! year old sister
safe.

But I fear the fight
is just too great.
To go against
all the world has thrown.
To go against
all that I must take.
I can't fight
this battle alone.
I **** it with kindness.
Kindness to strangers
hoping that they will
do the very same.
hoping they will
take up the reigns
fight this battle
with me
today.

Because a better tomorrow
is all I ask.
A better tomorrow
for the children.
It's too late
for my generation.
We know the fear
of terrorists.
of the economy.
of each other.
of drugs.
of guns.
of people who are
"different".
And so on...
But I wish that we
as a whole
as a generation
as a people
as a global community
can look past what we had
can look past what we want
to be kind to one another
to be kind for the future.
Because that's all I ask
do something kind
be someone kind
do kind works.

I know that it goes
against some people's
very nature.
to be kind
to do kindness.
but that is part of the battle.
that is part of our fight.
fight ourselves
internally
no each other
to do kindness
to help the world.

This may seem
just another preachy
overly optimistic poem.
But I have known abuse
unkindness, terror
pain and heartbreak.
If I can work past it,
I believe you can too.

I have a problem
With being belidgerent
I have no scruples
with hurting the innocent
Now I'm not a monster
but I've never been a saint
I'm going crazy
with my heart on a string

I  miss this comfort
that I had
I miss the feeling
of feeling bad
I shot my temper
with a .49
I have gone crazy
thinking I'm divine.