Colors are all I see.
I think of him and cannot close my eyes
without seeing his outstanding smile.
I hear his infectious laugh in the wind.
The jokes he made were always so funny...
I see his brightness in the Sun out my window.
The moon reminds me of him as well.
All of the colors in the world just
remind me of him and his beauty.
His life brought joy to those around him.
I miss him already.
I miss his laid back attitude.
I miss his goofy smile.
I miss his kind eyes.
I really miss his sarcasm.
Even though I did not know his favorite color,
I know that I see him in ALL of the colors
that exist in this world.

Even the ones I cannot see.
I miss you Juan, rest in peace.

Beams of heat burned through your tights
so the sun blushed your legs. No guard
under your dress, striped navy and white.
You were sat on the hill, like a postcard

of the countryside. That day,
you plucked the stem, the longest one.
Then tossed the flower away,
like Miss Polly’s dolly. Nearly done,

you finished the chain. Pick, tear,
snap them out the grass.
Your hippy-self, wore it in your hair.
“Why not?” Those few weeks were our last.

You left it, dried, brittle, dead.
Remind yourself I’m here - wear it on your head.

I love seeing you happy.

something about you
your lips met mine
and I know you could feel my
breath
hot and ready
panting and aching
I could feel the need
inside of me
I didn't know what to do
I would've kept kissing
but my lips couldn't
I felt like I was
doing something wrong-
tongue doesn't belong there
my lip hung, waiting for some
type of control
that I know you won't give me.
I still wanted to feel you
your heartbeat was quick
everything felt so right
your lips on my neck
the wetness in between my
thighs
my silent laughs
because I couldn't believe any
of this was happening to me-
let alone me being okay with it.
I hate being touched
by foreign fingers
it brings up memories
of him making my hands
go into places I'll never
speak of.

but, what is it about you?
is it thy lips
that make me quiver?
is it your eyes
that hypnotize me
every time i see them?
is it your heart
and the song that sings just
for me?
or is it your soul
the one I'll never ever
compare to.

you give sweet kisses and
have the most beautiful
features I have ever
laid my eyes upon,
how are you mine?

Im sorry if I'm too forward.
i do not only want your body,
i want your heart and your soul.
i want your mind and the way it
thinks so feverishly about details.
i want the heart that speaks
through your tongue.
i love the articulate words you choose
to speak, they keep my head
in the dictionary constantly.
and i want your soul,
you belong in the 1960's
but instead you're here with me.
and that, my dear, makes everything
about this worth while.

trust me, its a bit ****.
the way my hand falls gracefully to your bottom
and how you do not flinch away.
its not even a thought anymore...
its just natural.

you are a beautiful, natural thing, my dear.
every single part of us feels right.
and thats why i haven't run
away yet.

If I pinned you against the wall
and slipped my tongue
into places unknown
would you let me
discover your
truths?

I said your name and you barely turned around
When you saw me, you looked away
and put on a little frown
What is it? Can you tell I'm (gay?)
Or are you just ******, or down?
I love you far too much to see you this way
But maybe it's not you, it's me
The beautiful dances we used to execute
Were not what they will be
I'm not sure what's going on with you
You avert your eyes and don't reach or conclude,
Tarry a bit too short, dislike spending time,
I won't pretend I'm anyone else's but mine.
The light in your eyes, what's made them see and lose?
Is it me you hate?
Is there nothing I can do?

I told her a while ago, "If you knew what I knew about me,
you'd hate me."
Well, maybe not hate. You wouldn't approve
because most people talk about ****** things
with lust in their eyes
or if they had a negative experience, they were *****
but for me, it's different, because
what I did
was built on a sandy platform of lies.
"I love you,"
"You're the only one I ever want to be with,"
She must have seen through it. She must have known.
She seemed so broken that night.
It was like everything she had hoped for
was there, and yet it wasn't really,
because it wasn't like she expected.
And months later, when I finally couldn't hold back my
mis-directed guilt, I glided past so-and-so's number
and called her up
and left her fourteen voicemails in a row, to apologize.
I cried on the phone and I'm glad she didn't pick up.
If I became Mother Theresa,
and saved the lives of millions of children,
or gave my life serving,
or made a billion peoples' day every day,
I couldn't repay for the pain I caused her.
I have dedicated my life to Christ,
because of that one girl that I broke, offered her a chance
at her first crush and it was a false chance,
so I will pay every day and be a sun, see if
I can change things around for you, and you, and you
and make sure I never do any more harm.
I will strive and serve and become someone who could not,
("no, not her, she couldn't have!")
have hurt someone like I hurt her that night.
Last year at camp, the pained looks she gave me when I told
that fireside story, or when I sang to the guitar, or when I hung out
with my friends, couldn't possibly have hurt more.
And I can't even grasp how seeing me there hurt her.
No matter what I do,
It will never be enough.