You know how hard it is?
To pass right by you,
And pretend I don't care,
Pretend I don't have a clue,
How you feel,
How I feel.

To walk past you,
And long for you,
To just grab me,
And hold me,
And not let the want show?

Do you have any idea,
That I can feel your essence,
That I come close,
And I am so aware of you,
And of your perfect body?

That location means nothing to me,
I can be a mile away,
And feel the cord that binds us,
Telling me exactly where you are.

That I can see the arrows,
Pointing me to you,
Showing the way,
Revealing you to me?

That I follow your trail,
And watch you,
Closely but from afar,
Like a little lost puppy dog?

But I cannot do anything,
Cannot say anything,
But despite my quietness,
Know that I love you.

I sigh a lot,
and my tears taste like the ocean,
and I don't talk very loud,
and I stutter a little,
and I am not very pretty,
and I am constantly tripping over air,
but,
I could love you with every bit
of my Awkward Little Self
if you would just give me the chance.

I’m the wall flower.
You’re the sun.

I’m dull and near lifeless.
You gleam bright from afar and adored by all.

I’m forever stuck here.
You turn and evolve.

I’m always reaching for you,
But you’ll forever be too far;
Because I’m tucked in a corner,
And you’re the golden star.

I like you.
A lot.
Like, really a lot.
Like, when I look at you, I get
Tiny purple butterflies in my stomach,
And when you smile I smile too.
I'm acting like I'm in grade school,
Trying to sit next to you so I can
Surreptitiously lean against your shoulder,
Secretly hoping you'll notice me and
Maybe, just maybe,
Think of me as more than a friend.
I know I'm being rather obvious
But my heart refuses to sleep quietly,
Preferring instead to conjure up 1 AM dreams
Of your soft curves and loud laughter.
You know, my friends told me to act
When the time was right -
Well, I'm a terrible judge of timing,
I'm always too clumsy
I stumble over half-hopes and emotions.
I can only hope for you to see all the mess in my heart
You probably (I hope) know all this;
I've been told I'm an open book.

I'm not perfect, I know that,
But I wish I didn't feel like a
Leftover,
Trash,
Tossed aside because my hips are too wide
And my stomach is soft and rounded, not flat.
I'm not perfect, I know that,
But I wish I didn't feel
Awkward,
Stupid,
Stammering because I'm in love,
And my day is made with her smile, not anything else.
I'm not perfect, I know that,
But I wish I didn't feel like a
Freak,
***,
Whispered about because my heart has fallen hard
And it's for a pretty girl with glasses, not a football player.

Cutting the rug through the floor
Feel like compensating for being such a bore
bumping elbows with every neighbor
amazed with your own crazed flavor as they walk out the door
Not sure whether this state is a misguided call for help
or a benign release from social duress for my health
I think past the first 10 minutes I start to put the attentive on edge
The sad part is how bored I feel about the whole thing deep down.
Like I'm trying to thread a needle with a rope, or pierce through a
veil that hasn't opened to my hammering 1000 times before.

Seagull on rotting planks, bouy bells ding to fog and driftwood.
A culling fire exploits the docking shire.
Filled with chlorine shards, legs caught in the clap-traps.
Friar palms glisten,
Rage responds with frisson.
Clear view over water.
Feel your arms relax and slip onto your back while the culling fire attacks.
Bulbous deadening brain chimes
As the eyes slide down to your omission crimes.
Leave me alone in my despondent company.
Don't push the matter further let communication fail to nurture.
A warm breeze carries me
like a floating portrait towards unreal scented meats.
I'm here now, alone in the corner,
The greatest intimacy with the static patterns on the carpeted flooring. The king of this corner is the odor of plank seating and flowery detergent in this lonely corridor fluorescent light-bulb poles and old grain floorboards.
Now the returning shards of panic to uncelibate strangers drive me up, far, deep in my own ribcage to something wholly non-organic.
Time to clock-in, time to check out.