I want to be your chocolate chips.
Frankly, you are the cookie.
You are plain and sweet,
Perfect really.
You accept any topping or ingredient.
She is a box of raisins.
You two could mix
Be a great team
But she doesn't make you pop.
She can't accentuate your true sweetness
Your beautiful simplicity
Your strength. I want to be your chocolate chips
I want to go through the fire with you
Melt into you
Like she never could.
And I want to make you shine
Because the sweetness in me might just bring out the perfection in you.
So I guess what I am trying to say
Is that if you want to have raisins
I could have that cookie too
But I'm really craving chocolate chip.

Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.

The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.

Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with  Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.

Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ******* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with with my fingers rubbing on her tongue. A pedagogy I use to teach, but pretty much no longer have a use.

Soon my wishes will be verses, earthworms unraveling a silk string that wraps us in the world. Ravishing, I'm raving madly, going crazy, coming, and coming undone. Your physical frame matched with your intellectual marvel drives me totally insane, dumbfounded and looking for all of my marbles. I'd sail a thousand ships to afford even just a glance, you're the oeuvre to all my movements, conducting the symphony of all we have. I've written a myriad of many books: essay, narrative, prose, and poem. That merely begin to document the excitingness interspersed within our knowings.  This mirthy bliss of ours is an overture to our youth, it's this astute aloofness inside these hours fervidly wrapped in a cocoon of me and you.

I'm not coming across, the way that I initially intended to. The truth is I'm clueless on how to take something too awesome for words, and then attempt to put sentences into them. Like those pictures of you I sometimes take when you fall asleep before me. That has been a fantastic example to myself of just a miniature way I adore thee. Scotch, IPAs, and hoppy drinks splattering laughter through the room, now how can I find one of 200,000 words that could even give justice to it.

So whether or not it's romantic, I don't do it for any other reason, except that describing you and I in words is an inadequacy I'm not pleased with. When lips comfort necks, and hair comforts chests. Sleeping nestled like Bell your head nuzzled at my breast. If I could only say, how incredibeautifulamazing it's been- not last month, last year, or yesterday, but every increment between us without discriminating any piece. Then perhaps I'm getting .0001% closer to being able to describe how amazing we make each other feel.

The pure taste so very sweet
On my bitter tongue

Why you lie?

Why you say there's three servings,

When everyone knows, it's only one?

Rude, Haagen Dazs.

Just Rude.


Sincerely,
Lonely, Sad Girl.

There are many different ways
to eat dark chocolate

I like to let each square
make it's home on my tongue
like to let it's home flood
with coffee and muffled
"oh my godddds"

When trying to decide
whether or not something is worth
crying or apologizing for
I try to scale myself
to the rest of the galaxy
try to remind myself that
having a black hole for a heart
is not courageous

But smiling with chocolate covered teeth
or kissing coffee stained lips

that's pretty brave

Pfft I don't need a f!cking man to make me feel loved and happy

Why else would we have chocolate?

I mean really

Chocolate doesn't mind if I am a *****

If I *** really badly

If I eat it (guys would never let you do that! And I bet they wouldn't
taste as good ...okay that's creepy. let's not think about that.)

If I wear what I call my: comfy-lazy-day-clothes and the rest of
humanity calls: hella-ugly-as-****-clothes

If I don't' wear makeup

If I bag on myself

If I sing. For 9 hours... straight...

If I ugly cry

If I literally act SO unbelievably insane it is actually scary and not pleasant or normal or safe and probably merits a psychological analysis

If I am too busy to hang out with it

Chocolate has never told me it loves someone else

Chocolate doesn't mind at all if I **** so badly at most sports that
dolphins are better throwers than me... and runners...

Chocolate doesn't ever care if I read so much that I forget to like, eat or
sleep or breathe or brush my hair or get dressed or get out of bed or put on pants or do anything else.

Chocolate can deal with my insane mood swings

Chocolate doesn't hit on other girls

Chocolate doesn't care that I'm not ready to like, you know "get serious" with it (that would actually be really disturbing let's not think about that either)

Chocolate accepts me for who I am and never judges me
(Although that is mainly because it is edible and inanimate...)

Chocolate respects my boundaries

I love chocolate

See? I don't need a man to be happy.

Who am I kidding I'm lonely as hell. :(
Why am I so pathetically dependant on love?
AUGH. I guess I'll just go and eat some chocolate.

Like bits of broken chocolate,
lying on the floor,
I noticed your existence,
nothing more,
until melting on my feet,
sticking to my soul,
you touched me

The hushed twilight steals away
The breath of those who look upon
The final moment of undarkened beauty
Hours before the whispering glow of dawn
The glimmering starlight bathes a child
In a store bought princess dress
Plastic magic wand in hand
She feels the warm evening wind’s caress
She’s crept out of her bedroom tonight
To make her secret wish
The way they do in fairy tales
But hers is so beautifully unselfish
Her tragic yearning she keeps inside
Is for someone other than herself she wishes she could save
She begs the twinkling night crystal
To bring her daddy back to life from the grave

Repost if you know someone or are someone who has lost a parent.
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my poetry or your thoughts on my work or on poetry itself as an art! :)