My knight does not need to be
in a shining armor,
nor blessed with prestige
or countless honor.

It only needs to be you,
someone who could wield
a sword, respectable enough
to be able to strike a heart of gold.

This winter wonderland puts me in a trance;
Imagining a life not yet lived; a little glance.
But slumber keeps calling my name.
Snowflakes kiss the air, and glitters all around.
But slumber keeps calling my name.
Seeking the comfort of all things warm; you will find me under blankets and with coffee for days...
But slumber keeps calling my name.
And soaking in the moments I have with those, whom I adore,
I look to brush time away once more,
But slumber keeps calling my name.
As the evening creeps in,
I am pensive as the bustle slows down, and the silence inhabits the cold,
Slumber inhabits me too...

and my heart,
I swear to you,
it was floating.

my entire body
was feeling suspended
as you kept the strings of my soul,
moving them, rotating them

with that gentleness
and sweetness.
You kept my heart
in your soft, cold hands

just like a flower
when it falls into the flowing water
of a wild stream;
it remains afloat

and water carries it
gently, softly,
treats it as it needs to be treated,
as if it knew that flowers
are such delicate beings.

You knew, love,
how delicate I was,
for you kept me,
being careful not to flatten me.

And slowly,
you healed me,
you tore off my scars,
my broken petals

and you made me live
again.

This evening, the sun has set in raspberry blush and apricot.
Beckoning down with it those trees that shift through emerald tones the shadowed grass has forgot.
She lies draped, feasting, curved - carved not in marble but with
the ochre the trees leak when the sun is high
Deep and rich. Hands dig into figs and pull the insides out, ******* the ambrosia dry
Leaving fingertips dripping in rose-hip gold oil
myrrh that lights up that dusky soil
So when you touch the ground here, the mud is soft like the moonlight over her
And the juniper berries oft get stuck between your teeth
and make the air taste sweet.
Reflections in water mark no shimmering Daphne. She is flesh and blood
That desires not only to eat, drink and dance
But to feel full in her heart, to cry when needed
Flawed as a child is. She pulls her hair back from her face too regularly
and spits out cherry stones like a boy unimpeded.
And above her head soft stars form in Ariadne's guise
A vision of rich apples and pears, dark by midnight skies.

i truly which that more people my age
were shown the true beauty of poetry
i wish we were more informed of its true impact
i wish we were taught the classic poets
who did that for a living and could do that
i wish we were taught what it truly is
and not just something that rhymes
i wish that more people my age
could truly understand and adore the art that is poetry
because being a poet and writing it is so much more
than what society perceives it to be
because poetry has so much emotion and thoughts behind it
and i wish that society could understand the true art behind it

Ugh, how can one person be so enjoyable?
When I’m with you my jaw legitimately hurts because of how frequently and how hard you make me laugh
You’re one of the funniest people I have had the pleasure of spending time with
You allow me to be myself and you let me make fun of you and you don’t think I’m a *****
If that’s not compatibility, then I don’t know what is
You understand self-deprecating humor and you understand the words I use and you laugh at the same things I laugh at
You know…I don’t like old movies
I hate black and white movies, I think they’re stupid and pointless and so boring and they lack color, what the **** is that ****?
But I want to watch them with you
I hated To **** a Mockingbird, hated it
It’s one of your favorite old pieces of literature and you can quote Boo Radley, and I may hate the novel but the fact that you respect such a highly acclaimed work of literature makes me respect you
I would watch that **** movie with you 100 times just to make you smile
You’re really something great

I’m so sorry I let us wither away

apollo kissed his wings
and forgot to mention
how everything he touches turns to dust

how prettily he cries when he falls,
how beautiful he looks
being ****** up by the sea
maybe this was always his destiny,
to fall twice over and drown

i wish i would've caught you
such a useless sentiment
if wishes were horses, beggars would ride

apollo b u r n s, burns so brightly
burns like the hot sun
but his eyes are blue, cold like dying stars;
he fries his retinas, anyway

never cared too much for his own safety
when he could gaze upon
love upon
worship upon the sun

sunburned and scarred,
would you envelope him in warmth
those last few seconds
before he succumbed to the freezing ocean?

one last night with the fallen,
apollo's fingers graze the gentle curve of his spine
dip into the nooks of his hipbones
and he sings even as he singes

one last night with a beautiful, falling boy
destined to plummet
yet always aiming high

never once did he let fate provide limitations
regret? not a thing
that boy knew how to *f l y