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The first love I felt was like a fire,
it started slow,
and then it grew into a blaze.
The heat became so intense it hurt to be around,
and required all of my attention to keep it under control.

It consumed everything,
it's light so bright it blinded me from what I needed to see.

But this love,
this love is kind,
and soft.

It's rooted in friendship,
and flows like a river.

It's calms me,
centers me,
and is unwavering.

This is a life of stability,
consistency,
and acceptance.

I don't have to question my actions,
or feel guilty for things I don't even understand.

This is a gentle love.
Everytime I see you,
I can feel your hate,
your jealousy,
green runs through your veins.

You push everyone away,
you make us hate you,
because you love to be miserable.
Nothing pleases you more then being pitied,
you feed off of it.

Always having that hardest life,
the hardest time,
trying to compare everything,
wanting to be the best at something.

If you can not have his love,
at least you can have his attention,
if only for a moment,
the thought of you shadow thoughts of me.

I know how you work,
I've seen it before,
I see your motive,
and your thoughts,
you are no longer a mystery to me.

I reached out an olive branch,
even after all the pain you put me though,
and you lit it on fire.
Watching the flames dance,
as your face lit up with glee,
you hurt me again.

I now battle with my own demon,
hatred,
I can not rememmber the last time it reared its ugly head,
but I promise,
I will stop wasting,
my energy,
on you.
I wrote this in math class instead of doing math...
What is he like?
How does he dress?
What does he read?

The questions come flooding in like my feelings when I first saw him,
except instead of riding the wave,
I'm drowning in it.

Drowning in scrutinizing eyes,
curious mouth,
and women past their prime,
trying to live vicariously through me.

How old is he?
What's his major?
Where does he go to school?

A word of advice,
never start dating around the holidays,
you instantly become the center of attention.

There intentions are good,
but they hold my regard for them far to high.
Thinking, they can pass of fail the one I love like a school boy on an exam.
Thinking, they can void him like an unfavorable law.
Thinking, there opinion really matters to me.

Where is he from?
What does his parents do?
How long have you known him?

I humor them,
for these conversations can be fun sometimes,
I do love talking about him.

Though the questions are never ending,
as though we are in a ring,
and they are looking for an opening,
circling around me,
trying to find the week spot.

Interrogation me,
trying to make me crack,
for surely no boy can be so perfect.

Where does he work?
Does he watch sports?
What clubs is he in?

I do not understand why they feel so entitled to my life,
I do not understand when my happiness stopped being enough.
I do not understand when you became part of our relationship.

I love him,
and he loves me,
and everyone else will just have to live with that.

Approval be ******.
Whistling,
whirling,
swirling.

As the first snow falls to the ground,

it leaves us housebound.

The whistling silence that lives outside,

from this I must hide.

As the fires breath gives us heat,

this is where we meet,

brought together through simple circumstance,

I look out as the snowflakes dance.

Whistling,
whirling,
swirling.

Clang!

goes the unhinged doors,

the storms hunger begs for more.

Crash!

goes the broken branches,

for a second our blood flow stanches.

Whistling,
whirling,
swirling.

The eyes of the fire jump out,

for more firewood it shouts,

this beast we must keep at bay,

it's the only way to make the warmth stay.

The hunger that is outside, and that that is in,

one so cold, the other burns the skin.

From these to poisons we must choose,

oh this winter we are paying our dues.

I think of spring and all it promises,

but all I can hear is,

whistling,
whirling,
swirling,
whistling,
whirling,
swirling­,
whistling,
whirling,
swirling.
My first real attempt at a rhyme scheme.

— The End —