I'm seriously thinking of making
A mixtape page of all my poems
Taking out my favorite lines
From all of the ones that I've wrote

Putting them all together
Down onto one page
Then label it quite proudly
My poetry mixtape

Sort of like a greatest hits
All of the stuff that I'm proud
Ask a few friends what they'd like in the mix
May take time but I'll figure it out

I'll fill it up with happy stuff
Add a few lines that are sad
Even throw in a bit of humor
So halfway through I'll get a laugh

Then I'll take it with me out to the streets
Along with a portable mic
Read it out loud to the maddening crowds
Perhaps breaking up a few fights

They'll be hugging and kissing in no time
Dancing in line to the rhymes
Passing out copies of my mixtape poetry page
So they too can recite all the lines

Yes, a mixtape page of my poetry
Might be just the thing to do the trick
The more I'm thinking of this idea
The more I'm liking it

Those silly songs;
so sad but true
With lost feelings
of me and you

I played it on
with the tape's side A
Felt like blossoms of dawn
and flowers of May

I flipped the tape
Found side B's empty
The same thing I get
Every time you look at me

"You'll get over this."
You once confided
That's what our love is;
Too one-sided

the first and second songs were beautiful ones
melodious and calming ones
about the beauty of nature
and how it does nothing yet so much
how it seems so dull yet beautiful
just like your eyes

the third song was an upbeat song
the kind of tunes that all would dance to
repetitive choruses and long instrumentals
like a circle, they remind me of your
so very long patience on things

the fourth song
was a song filled with raps and curses
talking about injustice and yet
it talks about *** and enjoying it
somehow however, it was nice to listen to
just like you when you get irritated
and yet, find happiness in the
little, irritating things

the fifth song was a song of nonsense
completely irrational
very messy
like paint splattered all over
a white wall
and yet so desirable
just like your smile
that you throw around
to everyone you see

you always thought the number six was
the devil's number
and found it cool
so i placed a song that makes people feel good about themselves
a song that was 'cool'
which was just like how you perceived yourself as
like how you always thought you were cool
and told me with a grin
and i always disagreed
with a little stupid smile of my own

the number seven was a special number to us
our common best friend's jersey number
your class number
my score in a two consecutive math quizzes
our little specialnumber
so i placed our song
a special song that you let me hear
after you heard me sing and said
"you have a nice voice, i think
this song would suit it."

i can never forget that song
so i have it on my mixtape too

you disliked the number eight
for some odd reason
which did not bother me
so i placed a song that irritated you
but made me happy
just to spite you
and to see you get flustered and ******
all at once like no one could
because i like
having you tell me everything you feel
like i do to you

number nine reminded you of
things that were ***** and pretty
so i placed a sensual song
that talked about a guy not deserving
his female admirer
who wanted to love him badly
physically and emotionally
because he did too
a song that was pure guitar
pure voice and soul
and raw emotions
that i believe would make you want to
sing along to it as well
like i do

the tenth song was a sad song
because once you failed a math quiz
with a mark of ten out of twenty
the same score as mine
but i didn't place a song that we both know
a song we both decided on
that was sad
no, instead
i put a song that i knew
but you didn't
which i believed was sadder
because it was like
how you treated me after
i gave you that letter
and made me sad
like this song

the eleventh and twelfth songs were made as one
but had to be cut off due to its length
it talked about a boy who wanted nothing more
than to keep the one he loved all to himself
a boy that flew
and crashed
for a girl that never knew

just like me
when i wanted nothing more
than to send you this mixtape
and have you say to me
a simple "thank you"

or maybe even
a little wishful
*"i love you too."

It's not just music, it's a vibe
And when that bass drops, we come alive
With the synth and the snare
We are all transported there
Our minds are in the DJ's hands
Our bodies are slave to his beats demands
This is our one true escape
And it's entwined with his soul into a mixtape.

We sat at the edge of your bed listening to vinyl records of the rolling stones; I thought for a moment we were stuck in the 80’s and were teenagers pretending to fall in love with the last trace of bubblegum flavor on the corner of our mouths and cheap ***** stains on our t-shirts which was a whole mixtape of our reckless youth and belief of love we could only know from books. It was my favourite mixtape anyway.

The blurred lines in my mind
have my thoughts playing on rewind,
like an old school mixtape
it took me forever to find
and all the songs play on shuffle,
each one a memory from a different day,
remembering the hussle
and all the things I couldn't say,
but I got every little part
of every tune
memorized to heart
and when I play them on repeat
from the start
I get lost in the tracks, fumbling,
checking out this road map
with no streets,
just valleys and hills
and when the beat gets faster,
I can feel the thrill

I wonder what you did
with the mixtape you made for me,
but never gave to me.

Did you give it to the girl
that you ******
the same day that we
broke up?

Do you have one saved
that you give to each girl,
adding or subtracting songs
that fit into their world?

Was I ever even yours?
Or was I sharing you
without even knowing?
Who else did you promise
a personalized mixtape to?

I've got the world's best kept secret
locked in 2 AM screenshots--
her late night musings over a crusty joint, a crushed pill,
or some ***** cigarettes.

She sends me her thoughts,
fears,
anxieties,
insecurities--

at her most vulnerable,
absolutely the most beautiful.

Her anguish stressed in the digital scroll
(though she doesn't like Kerouac, I let her borrow my copy),
her stained fingers mashing all their hurt and nicotine
into the keyboard--

and her pen aches and her paper stains
with the unrequited love she empathizes with
in the somber pop punk songs that explode from the stereo
she sings loudly on cold and lonely night drives
(I shiver in her passenger seat).

And she made for me the greatest of mixtapes,
her holy scrawl expounding upon a dull grey donut-shaped
slowly fading form of intimacy,
a blank CD--

"This mix is a good time"

and when I jammed it into my car stereo I was illuminated.

She is so cool, she is so punk,
and in her clandestine drugstore car charger thefts,
broken poems,
impalpable aesthetic,
impeccable music taste,
illuminated or even further obfuscated drug trips--

I have the world's best kept secret,
and more than anything, I wish to share it with you--

                                     so she can make someone another mixtape.