A Fly
that's what you are
pesky little irritating low-life
if you were a fly
you would die
in less than a day
less than 24 hours I would be rid of you
with your disease, you spread pain and suffering
that kills
you have infected me
and I have a Fly Swatter
so rid me of your presence
before I rid myself
of you

Hi, there someone I wanted to say hi to for sometime now but yet i never have much more to say after that.

Except you're beautiful and I wanna touch your hair.
I can't do that.
I'm not a random drunk woman complimenting another at a show waiting in line to use the bathroom.
They get away with touching and borderline ****** schoolgirl flirtation.  

That's OK.

But I am not.
I am sober.
I am a grown man.
We are in an office which just so happens to be a place where we
work.
I'm pretty certain H/R wouldn't understand the innocents of my crush.
Nor would you.
Nor would the restraining order.

I wish I had something more to say.
So I'll just not.

There is a religion hiding behind every lustrous kiss
and in the electricity that sparks from your fingertips.
I am coming to believe that every proverb and hymn is inspired by the way you speak passionately about the music that moves you,
Like the way they describe Moses as moving the seas.
I am so astonished by the godly nature that your head holds when you tell me the things I wished I knew about myself.
There is an existential divide between the bliss I knew and the bliss I have found inside your soul that warms me to my core,
There is religion inside the foundations of your rhythm,
Detailed among the gaps in your words and holy prose.
While in your arms I fear not of the damnation waiting for me or the eternal death swooping me down ward,
In your arms all I fear is having to let you go.

Foolish fish flop farthest,
But foolish fish fry fastest.

He was youth-
Undeniably naive in the way he looked at me,
Like I could build skyscrapers with trailer park hands.
His smile was sweet,
Like frosted cupcakes and sugary lips that only spoke sticky words.

He was youth-
In the way he laughed, tossing his head back with ignorant bliss.
In his eyes that lit up with the sight of stars,
And him imagining me as one of those beautiful, perfect stars.
Ignorant in the way he loved so carelessly and so freely.

He was the youthful gust of air that blew straight into me.
So childlike in the way he told me sweet nothings like they were law,
And I was a citizen inside of his arms.
He was the youth I needed at a time when I was too old to fight it.
The youthful facade that only lasted while feeling it.

Being called “annoying”
Is like a glacier, frigid, rigid, inescapable preventing from social contact

A choking, strangling feeling penetrating your veins. A stone crushed by the might of a palm

Isolated, observing, analysing social conversations yet never overcoming the boundary

A tether severed and knotted to the throat. A rush of pain caught in the wind at the hilt of the dagger.

But a hand, a few words can reach into the chasm, rejoice and untie.
Create connections and weave intricate relationships, to bloom into a captivating flower.

That hint of compassion, gradually using the rubble to form a new personality, saving esteem.

Blooming, prospering

The continuum of existence,
The constant push and pull.
No time left for actual learning,
Just dying undercover,
We're just trying to keep our cool.
So next time you actually think,
Existence is something more than a series of points
Plotted on a paper graph,
Remember this, my child,
Life is ****,
It's just waiting for us to quit.

It's 5:25 pm and I am sitting in class,
Alone.
I am daydreaming of 11:27 pm when I'll be able to hear your low voice, singing me to sleep with your soothing words.
I am longing for yesterdays conversations and last month's visit when you cradled me in your arms.
I am craving the warmth of your skin against mine when I am shaking out in the cold.
I am listening to a lesson about god knows what,
But I am sitting here, unable to shake your firm grasp over me.
I've written a lot about you.
You're the only one I want to be thinking about
At 5:25 pm when I am sitting in class,
Alone.

Inspiration
Comes in
B U R S T S
All at once
Or never

It's something
That everybody wants
For different reasons
School
Work
Creativity

Inspiration
likes to come
at inconvient times
While in the shower
Or during a speech
Sometimes when you're asleep
And then it leaves
By the time you
Awaken.

Inspiration
Is pretty annoying
But also
Pretty **** useful