A sour cherry,
The juice of a berry,
A broken canary,
A lullaby

Snow covered trees,
The nest of honeybees,
A cat with fleas,
A scene

Hands interlocked,
Traditional love mocked,
Insecurities docked,
A dream

I lust for his lips,
the cherry red pout that makes
life a bit sweeter.

I have run through snow
and heat before the cherry
blossoms have fallen

The boy started to play the piano
As his melody resounds,
I saw the sunflowers filled the stage,
An illusion.

When his fingers push the keys
I feel his hands
holding my heart
crushing it with his music.

But you suddenly disappeared,
like how you left the piano
in the lonely stage,
leaving me in pain.

I waited for you
wishing to hear you play again,
To touch the piano keys,
To hold my heart.

Years passed,
you came back
walking in the old stage
and I'm here again, admiring you.

The boy turned into a fine man
He starts to play the piano
Cherry blossoms filled the stage
Another illusion.

From the dazzling flower
with bright yellow petals
to an occasional blossom
with light, soft color.

Your music changed
You've changed
But one thing hasn't,
my love.

my favourite flavour
has always been cherry
it’s just sweet and lovely

much like you
you’re funny
and bubbly

you make me smile
and laugh when im
feeling down

if i had to pick
a flower to give you
it’d be a rose

and not just because
it’s your middle name
but because it’s beautiful

and you my dear
are absolutely
breathtaking

but what does it mean
to be in love
with someone like you?

well, i’d say it starts
with inside jokes
and lots of laughter

or maybe spending time
together by watching
livestreams or videos

it quite possibly
could’ve started with
your kindness

you seem impossible
yet
here you are

you’re real
and you exist
and i’m incredibly happy

to call you
the one that
i love

I am just a man
And my dream has just began
To be a great writer is what I want
To write something for everyone…

I believe it is not easy
But someday you will see,
With my confident to do this duty,
I will write a great poetry.

I will write a song,
I will write a poem,
Even telling you the story
Of the beautiful cherry blossom

And when I end this,
I know that I made it;
And behind all of this,
Is a great writer to be cherished…

©2009 John Vincent Obiena. All rights reserved.

In school, "******" was as bad as "*****"
It had been raining, I had been heart broken
The night was cold, it was almost Fall
My birthday was in the Fall, soon I'd be seventeen
I'd be seventeen, and still a ******
I may have broke it off, but she's the one who ended it
I may have been dumb, but she was unfaithful
Thus I ran, and dove into her arms
I knew she was older, she knew I was younger
She was lonely, looking for fun
I was lost, looking for a new rush
My face was red, I had been drinking
Her lips were red, she had been hunting
I found a corner to hide, but she smelled blood
Her eyes drilled into mine, she licked her lips and breathed fire
My legs started to shake, my lips started to quiver
She came like a viper, she slithered toward me
Hypnotized by her hips, my mouth watered at her *******
She sat on my lap, and looked me up and down
"You looked lonely," she said, "I think you're cute."
Boy was I, lonely that is, she took my beer and took a sip
Her perfume smelled like fruit, her breath smelled like candy
The warmth from her legs met mine, and my cheeks turned the color of her lips
My heart was dancing, her eyes were twinkling
She took me prisoner, and dragged me upstairs
She slammed the door and sealed my fate
Her smile was devious, her smell so sweet
Her hands on my belt, her tongue on my teeth
She kidnapped me beneath the sheets, she made me her prisoner of war
And I waved the red flag, I was ready for war
I wanted war, I wanted you
I wanted her, I wanted it, I wanted the badge
She dug her nails in my skin, I dug my teeth into hers
Our clothes took themselves off, her thong was black lace
She devoured me, I penetrated her
We danced, we kissed, we wrestled and sang
... And then it was over
It was over in twenty minutes
This veil of innocence that we chastised
That we mock and rush to throw away
Is so easily thrown away
But those twenty minutes were amazing, although I probably wasn't
She knew it was my first time, she called me out
"You're a ******," she said, "Don't tell me you're not."
Embarrassed I countered, "I'm also not eighteen."
She gasped in horror, and stormed out of the room
In her speed to grab her clothes, she'd forgotten to tell me her name
And to this day, I still don't know it.