Keep it brief, (the poem),
your advice to me.

And it's always for love, (your life),
and your writing must be.

But it's about you, (verse two),
I'm sure you can see.

Yes, I live there too, (love and lust),
our passions meant to be.

But you say it so well, (joy, or sorrow),
open and honest, your poetry.

If my words would say it, (better),
I could make you love me, as I do you,
breathlessly....

Last night, I dreamed that I lost someone very important to me. Someone who has watched over me ever since I was young.

I woke up with tears streaming down my cheeks, unable to remember who it was that I'd lost. My mind then slowly wandered to the precious, intangible things I was born with and have cast away. Like a child who will try to reach for the 3D figure in the movies only to be disappointed with thin air, I've tried but failed to salvage them.

My trust, my soul, and my heart - these are what I'd carelessly given, and have never gotten them back since.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*Your departure triggered
A lifetime of homesickness
Because "home is where the heart is."
And mine is still with you.

You had beautiful eyes
not that I noticed at first
first thing I saw was your feet

worn out black running shoes shuffling down the isle
fleece pajama pants with Calgary Flames logos all over
though it was pushing 30 degrees outside
and felt as if you could squeeze warm drops of water from the air

looking up as you stopped
blue and orange plaid criss crossed a winter jacket
despite the weather

your skin was tanned, not orange
you smelled of shampoo and vanilla lotion

watching as you pulled out cherry lip gloss
ran slender fingers over your shaved head

that was when you looked up... as if you knew

I'd been staring

I thought of a thousand reactions
you gave the only one I hadn't expected

then I noticed your eyes
just as the light came thought the window

they were brown, or maybe more like honey
fragmented emeralds drifting though them

you smiled and said nothing

not that you needed too
it was one of those moment that was better without words
would have been tarnished by them

where everything stopped completely and all I could think was

...wow...

nothing else happened to disturb that second
it just stretched on
no one else moved
or made a sound

I knew then that you were one of those people
you lit rooms with a glance
the one that others were drawn to
fell in love with

even if you didn't love them back
and wrote beautiful things about

I couldnt help but smile back
you were contagious
beautiful

the train stopped
you left

I stayed
and watched

watched you watching me through the window
smiling as though you had heard my thoughts

you knew I had really seen you
I understood

I would never see you again
our meeting was chance
but all the same

for just a second
I was in love
with a beautiful stranger

I want to be someone different.

I've always been quiet
Only talk if I'm comfortable around you.
Very small, I never stand straight
That requires confidence,
I've never had much of that.

But that's not who I wanna be.
I want to be outgoing, participate more
I want to have confidence,
Be able to stand tall and proud
Talk louder, and be sure of myself.

But I can't.
I have hardwired my brain
Into being this way.
Acting the same as I have since
the very first grade.

It's not as easy as it looks,
To stand tall, be outgoing.
To know who you are
And be comfortable in your own skin
When you've trained yourself to be this way.

Like I have.

I don't know another way
to talk, act, or walk.
I'm small, shy, and I do try
To slouch away from things I don't know.
From people who might criticize.

Maybe one day,
When I'm older, and I know more
About who I am
And about who I do and don't want to be,
Maybe then I'll be the person I truly feel that I could be.

You wrote your name on my
white sand beach,
my ****** page -
eight by eleven
stranger to the (press) -
in a white wax crayon.

There are times when I forget you're there
(in white on my white page)
and the pads of my fingertips
flit across its surface
until they
skid, stunting, across your signature.

(But it gets worse)
because I'm surrounded by brilliant colors -
blue violets, crimson fields
but when I dip my (proverbial) brush
and attempt to stain my
****** white page -
the color seeps around your seal,
but never over (it's never over).

They highlight your stifling presence
on my page
with how inherently not you they are.
And I wish I could scratch you out
(without) ripping my white, now crimson,
page.

Everyone else is the water color to your crayola.

Most nights
I want someone
whose hands will find a niche
in the hollows of my silhouette
where my hips kiss my ribs
hello and goodbye
and whose head will rest between *******
that he bared only hours before.

Most nights
I want to wake and say
"Hello, duvet - "
to the dizzy dark haired
man of my dreams.

But tonight,
I will sleep alone -
and not feel it.

bone is bone is bone
is bone.
my hands are forever too tiny,
my hips forever too big,
and you forever the girl
who’s always wanted to leave.
when we first met you talked of
hating the palm trees seventy degrees
traffic clogged grit and smog,
graffiti covered rat sewers
mansions dotting all the hills
and everything else i’ve ever loved.
i reminded myself that some people
need more than a place with
hundreds of stars on the sidewalk
but hardly any in the sky.
when i think of superpowers
i imagine being strong enough
to carry manhattan to you on my
shoulders and all your rain clouds
in my arms.
if you ever turned fragile i would
arrange a fortress out of skyscrapers
big enough to cover all the hills,
and with tiny hands i’d point
to the clouds and make them fill
the sky outside your window;
white as bone, as bone,
as bone.

Things I like about coffee:

coffee is hot,
coffee is good enough to have everyday,
coffee smells good,
coffee makes you warm,
coffee also gives you fuzzies,
no matter if its weak or strong, its still good.

Things I like about you:

pretty much like coffee.