this is a poem dedicated to distance.
to every time i have wanted to kiss you, but couldn't.
to every time i looked at my empty hands and thought of yours.
to every time i was in a crowded room and secretly hoped that i'd find your face.
to every happy couple we see that inadvertently mocks our inability to be near each other.
to every time i've played your laughter over and over in my head to drown out the silence.
to every time you just wanted to hear my voice, but i was busy.
to every missed call and every undelivered text and every time your internet was down.
to every miscommunicated statement and every typo.
to every time that one of us was asleep when the other needed them.
to every time you wept and i wasn't there to hold you.
to every self-destructive tendency we share.
to every pill your mother has hidden and every razor blade i have flushed.
to every worry that plagues my consciousness whenever you take long to reply.
to every night we have been together through a screen, but alone in our beds.
to every, "i miss you" and "i wish you were here".
to every broken-record apology that never makes it better.
to every makeup stain that mars the sweater you sent me so that i could
feel like i was sleeping with you (and to the fact that it doesn't smell like you anymore).
to every hour, every minute, every second of difference in the time between us.
to every dollar i don't have, and every time i wished for your chest against my back.
to every, "why are you even with me?" and "you could do better".
to every spectator and cynic that has told us we'd fail.
to every doubt of mine and to all your jealousy.
to every ounce of water in the pacific ocean.
to every ******* mile between my head and your chest (i checked, and there are 9,752).

you will not win.

- m.f.

Hello to all eh good poets (:
This is not a poem nor any prophecy from mine tongue, yet just wanted to help me friend Rain out on here on this page, she's new and a very amazing poet (: and I would do this for anyone I think deserves to get a look at their page as soo many of you have amazing work, thank you BTW,
Very cunning and makes mine day much easier and uplifting!!! Soo please for anyone who likes mine own work or could care less for me work, check out for you not for me a girl following me called rain,  she needs a push as a newcomer here, and for all to welcome her as you Did me!!! Thank you all btw,
Wonderful artists you all are!!!
Enough of me speaking go check out rains poetry so far posted!!! And give her a booster,
For her works a marvel (:

Sincerely Brandon from a friend,
For a friend!!!

Write me a book,
Call it:
"All the Ways I Was Unable to Love You."
List the reasons
why it was all my fault
Tell them about
the impossible pedestal
you placed me on
Describe the way my hands shook
trying to put your pieces
back together,
and how I no longer knew
whose hands were bleeding
I never wanted to change you,
I just wanted to be enough
to fill your emptiness
But the the void became to deafening,
and with your brokenness suffocating me,
I used my last breath to say
"Im sorry."

*-I was always sorry for your mistakes

you, my love, are the light of my life, and you - are ruining my writing. lately, when i sit down and try to write, all i can seem to come up with are grossly overused analogies and tired metaphors that have been recycled a thousand different times. all that flows from the end of my pen are flowers and stars and the creases that form in your forehead when you smile and how much i'd like to lose myself in the galaxies of your irises - and it's disgusting. this twilight-esque prose, this juvenile symbolism and puppy-love poetry that pours from me - is not me. i'm no Poe, no Plath, no Kerouac, but i like to think that i'm okay. however, recently the caliber of my writing has been reduced to nothing more than rainy-day romance and child's play. and god, everything rhymes. i feel like i'm sixteen again in the best way. it's because you've stayed, that you are changing everything i thought i knew about love. i catch myself absentmindedly drifting to visions of a shoebox apartment in a city somewhere and furniture shopping and even the B word (babies). that's so unlike me, that is so - amazing because nobody has ever been so serious about me and i think that maybe, baby,  someday i'd like to be 80 with you - oh god. you - you are too many poems that all sound the same, but each time i read through them i somehow manage to find something i haven't read before. you are open doors and patient arms with a voice like a lullaby that resonates in the darkest corners of my mind. you are saving grace without condition and a love so deep i could go for a swim in it - and maybe that's why i'm drowning, because all i ever really learned how to do is doggy-paddle. but you are so patient. anyone else would have quit on me by now. the idea of forever has always terrified me, but the promises you make sound so real that i'm beginning to think maybe they are. baby, you, are eyes like soil and words made of rain drops, and every day we grow a little more. i adore you. i am so sorry that my meager words can't do you justice. my ineptitude is criminal, but i'm trying. and i think that i would rather be vomiting these clichés than return to the world of gray i lived in before i met you. i love you. i love you. i love you to the moon and back and every planet in between. you are the sweet to my tea and the leaves to my tree. and every song i've yet to hear but somehow i manage to follow along with. i wanna scream it from the top of a mountain or the middle of a grocery store, about this love that leaves me with butterflies in my belly and fireworks in my heart. baby, i've never been so happy to embrace mediocrity. my prose may be suffering, but my heart is soaring. writer's block has never been more welcome than when it bears your name. so wipe your feet at the door, take off your coat, and please, make yourself at home.

- m.f.

i can't remember when i last heard your voice
and i need you to know that i miss you.
but i don't think the words alone are enough.

i miss you.

I MISS YOU LIKE A BLIND MAN'S BULLSEYE.

I MISS YOU THE WAY A POOR MAN MISSES A ROOF OVER HIS HEAD.

I MISS YOU LIKE THE RUMBLING IN HIS UNFED STOMACH.

I MISS YOU LIKE THE COLD ACHY SPACE IN THIS HALF-EMPTY BED.

I MISS YOU LIKE EVERY POEM I ALMOST WROTE BUT FORGOT ABOUT BEFORE I FOUND A PEN TO WRITE IT DOWN.

I MISS YOU LIKE A FORGOTTEN BIRTHDAY.

I MISS YOU THE WAY JANUARY MISSES GREEN.

I MISS YOU LIKE MY FATHER'S BEDTIME STORIES.

I MISS YOU LIKE THE LAST TRAIN HOME.

MY CHEST IS CAVING. MY LUNGS ARE SHRIVELING,
AND WITH MY LAST BREATH I WILL SCREAM
THROUGH SPACE AND TIME - I MISS YOU.

IT'S TRUE, WHAT ALL THOSE POETS SAY ABOUT THE SUN & MOON - THAT THEY ARE GOING TO KEEP CHASING EACH OTHER FOR ETERNITY, THAT THEY WILL NEVER KNOW ONE ANOTHER'S TOUCH. SO I AM SENDING UP VENDING-MACHINE PRAYERS TO A MAY-OR-MAY-NOT-BE-THERE GOD, BEGGING HIM TO CLOSE THE GAP BETWEEN YOUR FINGERS AND THE SPACES BETWEEN MINE.

- m.f.