Still water
resting
at the
bottom
of a
Pacific ocean
tide
pool,

reflections
of you
in my
mind
in the
Sunday
morning
light.

sometimes
I can imagine
I hear you
laughter
carried in
harmony
to me
on a
a salt-kissed
circling
wind.

and I
sit for
a moment
and smile.

I always
smile.

it is
a giving
thing that
you do.

your gentle
manner
of truth
and innocence.

I can always
feel it
there in
you eyes...

you are


where
good  poets
go to
die.

He writes poetry
But no one knows

He writes poetry
He writes about love
And loss

He writes about smiles
And frowns

He writes about sorrow
And forgotten towns

He writes about how lost he gets
Caught up in his own mind

He writes poetry to
And about others

But no one knows

Know one knows the depth of his soul
Because they all choose to see the exterior
And that exterior screams

Preppy
And preppy
Don't have souls

Or so they thought
Until the day he was consumed
By his own poetry

I let different boys touch me
Because I wanted to know
Even for a second
What it felt like to be loved
Even if the love was cheap
And it tasted like ***
Like the punchline to a joke
I never got because it was me

I let different boys have different parts of me
Parts they didn't deserve
But I offered up willingly because I couldn't give anything else
after you broke me
I was looking for different fingers
to place different pieces and hoping  the outcome
would be a masterpiece
Maybe one of them would find a way
to cover up the handprints you left all over me

I let different boys touch me because I had to prove to myself
you wouldn't be the only one
that these scars marking my body wouldn't define
my worth to be loved
I am not entirely sure  
you aren't the only one who could ever touch me without slightly  flinching

I let different boys touch me because that is all I have been taught
To be a joke
To be silent
To be ready to give until you have nothing left
- they keep leaving me and I am to scared to offer up anything more than my body to get them to stay

(Trigger warning)

The absence of light fills the room. She doesn’t want to see herself not even her shadow. She’s ashamed of what she’s become.  She is sitting on the bathroom floor with her head in her hands. She’s constantly trying to rid herself from her feelings but nothing she does will ever make her feel better.

Her mind lets her play her game. It gives her memories of regrets and memories she wishes to forget. Her eyes play along as well. They let her see things and change her perspective. They create tears and let it stream down the side of her cheeks.  Her hands start to shake and sweat. Her ears play along as well. They let the voices in her head be heard. They make sure she hears every word.

She doesn’t like this game but it’s the only game she’s good at. Her breathing becomes shallow and she knows her lungs have joined in as well. Her lips are dry and her head feels light. Soon all parts of her have joined the game and all parts are ready to end it.

It's late at night and I want to sleep but my mind keeps me dreaming. It makes me sick but it keeps my heart beating. No matter where I run, I end up back to you. You've reconstructed everything and now, I can sense the changes in my body even other people noticed too.

I am baffled by you. Perplexed by how you could pass through my walls without tearing them down. You've created a shadow of probability and I know I have no chance.  I could leave with the truth but I want you to keep me in this trance.

I want you to keep me in this small world I fabricated for us. Where no one can change anything not even the arrangement of dust. Keep this in the dark, keep it away from everyone else. I beg for you to keep me here but...

These emotions are overwhelming and I'm being devoured. I don't want them anymore. I'm confuse. I don't know what I want. I've tasted the sweetness of my temptation and I'm eager for more but I get a plate of actuality, something I didn't ask for.

Or did I?

I don't remember. I hear the sounds of rain outside our bubble.
The rain makes me think about the hows of us.
How it could feel holding your hand.
How we could be...
How we stay...
****.

You are a question, a puzzle, a riddle.

I have subsumed you in every thought but I don't know how this happened. I let you consumed me but I have no regrets. You gave me a different blend of emotions and its a feeling I simply can't forget.

There is part of you that is incomplete and I can see the missing piece.

You are still unsolved. Locked up in your own world. I want you to give me your key. I want show you what I can see. A world of just you and me.

I don't know why I'm thinking about all this. These are the ideas I can't dismiss. I don't know if its wrong to have feeling for someone this strong.  I want you to see the real me but I've started to be more cautious of the things I do. I constantly think about what I am to you.

I can't grasp your essence. You are complex. You make me lose all commonsense. I've already asked those around but none of them have been as curious as me. I fear to answer you directly because people might see what  I want us to be.

Well, not really. I don't fear us. I shouldn't care what people think. I just want to be the fragment that fills her absence but I fear the chance that I won't be a piece that matters.

But, I still hope I might be your answer.