He had a musical talent others strive to have,
I only wanted to hear him,

hear each finger as they touched the strings,
of his left handed base,

get to sit there and listen to him play,
get to hear him play,

get to maybe learn how to play myself,
or just fool around,

perks of being a lefty too,
but I haven't gotten to hear him play,

he for the time being lives far away,
and when miles don't separate us,

the time will,
the time and effort we can put in to see each other,

to hear each other,
waiting for one another will become a painful task,

every summer day will be hard to last because we just,
will eventually get tired,

the same old waiting game,
gets old fast and quick,

and if I remember correctly the last time we got to be together,
my friend felt the decency to kick,

his sack,
and the fact,

even though I repeatedly asked,
what the hell happened,

he nor she nor anyone really,
told me why,

but he told me every reason he thought could of been why,
and I know he didn't lie when he said he didn't know,

I heard him tell me everything he did know,
and that was more then enough for me to know,

how I wanted to hear him play his base,
and listen to him as I played with his hair,

I wanted him to hold me close,
like its too close for comfort,

the sweet whispers sound like screams,
but nothing's out of a bad dream,

this dream is good and real,
and you can hear and feel everything like you're meant to,

I wanted him to leave his mark,
so i'll never forget where he's been,

so it be easier to remember what he has said,
when he treats me with a respect and grace i've never been given,

and even if he does love someone else,
and I can't love him anymore than puppy love,

would I stop caring?
why would I?

even when romance wasn't on the table,
we were friends,

I wanna hear the echoes and repeats playing sound tracks of friends,
because I know I can't,

have him,
and that I dont even deserve him,

but I still want to hear him play,
his left handed base,

and everyday,
I still miss him,

and hope,
**to hear him play.

HP sycophants
Why would someone prop up hacks
Idiots praising

he has a left handed base,
and I want to hear him play,

but he is in vermont,
for the winters,
but that's alright,
we can have the summers,

but I will be working,
and trying to get my truck I wanted,
and he will be waiting,
daily for me,

he will eventually get tired,
of waiting for me,
to hear him play,
right?

see,
I love him,
even though the last time I was with him,
my friend kicked his sack,

do I know why,
nope,
will he, she, or anyone tell me,
why they hell they were made at him?

nope...
but I love him,
I love his long hair,
and his honest mind,

I love how he doesn't call me pretty,
but still does with his eyes.
I love how he just means what he says,
and says what he means,

I love how he,
says he thinks he loves me,
and how he doesn't get mad when I cry,
I love when he holds me,

I love when he kisses me,
and kisses my neck,
and leaves marks,
to make sure I don't forget where he was,

I love how he doesn't make me **** him,
or **** his ****,
unless I want to,
but,

I hate,
how I won't get to hear his base,
still,
and how I miss him,

The nettle stings, scrapes, scratches, and scuffed shoes were
far removed from us; the last worry as we cut,
crisscrossing to create a crawl space
through a wall of flesh-hungry growth -
at first - to gain access to more flesh-hungry growth

The discipline - for me - was an exhorted departure but the
product was worth every scab; an open space where we
could be: undisturbed, unfettered, unchained, and with
a live canopy we were free to create more, build more,
care more and leave a sliver of our growth

Perhaps more than a sliver. Perhaps it has become my
definition of what it meant to be young and to find a fit;
connect with the other forgers - akin to a close-knit
military unit - collecting driftwood, desks, drawers, drapes,
and designated seats to burn or to use as decor

And decorated it was. Spectacularly so! Swings hanging
from the sturdiest branches, discarded rugs coated
with muck, leaves, and filth dragged in to line our atrium,
a place for every member and a code:
"Nobody but us"

Simple society solidified with barbaric politics.
A system preaching tribal nonsense can't last long.
Mostly the damage was done when things got less simple;
when we grew and outgrew and the fences were put up.
The homes and the simple society were moved in shortly after