At night I imagine you're arms enfold, as it's me I know they wish to hold, at night I weep for words unsaid for kisses un-given and emotions misread, I weep for the fact that you want to love me, I weep for the fact that I am what I be.

Sometimes I just want ***,
I want to feel your lips on my neck
And your hand on my breast.

Sometimes I just want love,
I want your arms wrapped around me,
Embraced in your touch.

Sometimes I just want to be acknowledged,
I want to know that when I talk
You hear me.

Sometimes I just want to know,
Know that you appreciate me,
Want to be around me, near me.

I want to know that I'm not cloaked in invisibility.

i once met a stranger,
he who cause my laughter,
he who makes me flatter,
and i who became his admirer.

what is this something?
this love for him i am feeling,
i know this feeling is worth denying,
but why am i still embracing?

do we fit each other? nope,
but then i found myself still holding the rope.
i told myself to stop holding on and let go,
but instead, i didn't follow it. no.

i once met a stranger,
he who became my lover.
but everything stays temporarily,
i need to accept that we aren't meant to be.

the stranger,
who became my partner,
that turned to be my lover,
was again a stranger.

I'm angry,
Just trowing it out there.
Not at you,
Not at her,
or him or the world or the universe or even myself.

I'm just... angry,
Always,

Have you ever been angry?
Like, so angry, that everyone turns into that one guy.
You know who I mean,
That one guy, who has always been able to get under your skin.
****** you off, makes you want to rip their head off, trow them out of a tree, into a ravine under a car while crashing an airplane onto them.

Yeah, you know who I mean.
Imagine that, that guy is never to be seen, but you always just feel, just know, that he is there.

Well,
I'm angry,
Always,
Because of the guy, who isn't there,

Always.

I want to tell you,
Everything,
But I'll never,
Get the chance,
Because,
When I see you,
(Almost never),
The words catch,
In my throat,
My hands,
Won't stop shaking,
And when I look at you,
Your eyes burn me,
Alive.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
A writer will take you to worlds unknown and you will get lost.
Don't fall in love with a poet.
A poet will construct stanzas of love and heartbreak,
Leaving you desperate for words unfathomable.
Don't fall in love with an artist.
An artist will paint you into their realm of never ending paintbrush strokes where love is just another color on a canvas,
Just like sadness.
Don't fall in love with her,
She is a mindless soul wandering the halls of heartache.
Don't look at her,
Her eyes will pull you deeper into the gold flakes that encircle her pupils like stars surrounding a black hole.
Don't fall in love with her touch,
Fragile fingers tracing patterns over your skin like a delicate knife cutting you open to create flesh wounds never to heal.
Don't fall in love with her body,
Captivating you with her honey drizzled hips,
Nectar inducing lips,
Taunting you as she strips.
Your skin is like fire,
Burning flames dancing and mingling with just a fleeting touch of her beauty.
Don't fall in love with her,
But,
You already have.

Tomorrow is the day
I have imagined
For nearly
Two decades.

I am almost two decades old.

I never really pictured myself
In the ruffled, black
Window drape
And
Cardboard diamond.
Standing with "all my friends"
While everyone I love washes
Me to my diploma with tears of
Pride and joy.
I pictured the end.

Naive.
Of course.

But at six years old
Everyone made high school
Out to be
Life
And then life goes on
Hiatus
While we work our dream jobs
Raise kids and
Die.

Ironic.

It is always those preachers of
" Practicality"
Who make that dream
A goal.

Youth is idolized and coveted.
But like the
North Star
It was
Ignorance
Who led me through the darkness
Of my adolescence.
Not beauty or
Vitality.
Blind Faith and
Forced hope
In all the
Inevitable failures
That would seemingly lead me
Through a life time of
Social experiments.
Or as society prefers,

"friendships."

Ironic.

As it was I was being tested
More than I was testing.

Tomorrow
I will be graduating with
176
Cardboard diamonds
And of most of them
I only know
Their names.

Some led me to believe that they could sparkle
But in the end
Couldn't stomach the
Entirety of a mine.

So tomorrow we will be handed
Paper telescopes
Through which it is
Advised
To look towards our
Futures.

Cardboard diamonds will not look.

They will wipe their brows.
Flatten and restrict
Their futures to a
Five dollar plastic
Frame
And hang it on a wall as
Eggshell or beige
As the next 40 years of their
Hiatus.

Some led me to believe that they were pearls.
But in the end
Just couldn't bare the patience of
Becoming.

I am no cardboard diamond.
But I am not quite a pearl.

The day after tomorrow
I will be the same
Grain of sand
That I have been
For the past
18 years.

And for this,
I am truly
Grateful.