(I wrote a new poem and it really means something to me so I thought I would share it.)


I want you to make love to me,
But not for why you think.
It’s not just for lust,
Or just a feeling my body craves.

I want you to make love to me
Because I crave to feel all of your skin
Pressed against my own bare flesh.

I want you to make love to me
To calm all of the thoughts in my head
That try to make me doubt your pure intentions.

I want you to make love to me
And speak beautiful words from your perfect lips,
So they can drift into my ears like music.

I want you to make love to me
Because I long for the light touch,
And kisses that will come before the fire.

I want you to make love to me,
While I tell you all these rough fantasies,
But want this at the very same instant.

I want you to make love to me
As I admire just how handsome you are,
Through the light shining in through the window.

I want you to make love to me
So I will be held and taken care of
Once you have ruined me in the best ways.

I want you to make love to me
Because I want you to understand
Just how much love I will always have for you.

I want you to make love to me
For all of these alternate reasons.
But I have no words to speak to make you realize what I mean.
So I wrote you this stupid poem instead.


I love you

If you really love me,
Why won’t you show it?
If you really love me,
Why won’t you say it?

Why won’t you show me that
                                                     you
Don’t love me anymore?
Why won’t you tell me that you

Don’t want me anymore?
That you don’t care, you don’t care,
You care? Don’t you say?
Why don’t you walk away?

Why won’t you send me away,

Like how you
                         Always
Let my presence          fade?

Like how you

                         Loved me?

It's what I crave,
The thing I desire,
But I'm not that brave,
So I just admire,

Admire the one,
For whom I do live,
Without whom I'm none,
There's not much to give,

So what if I ain't,
That guy that she likes,
Should I just faint,
Or give it more tries?

Can't I be loved by any other,
Is that task just way too much,
I never wanted to be a bother,
But if I am but seen as such,

Should I give up after all,
Just be... me myself and I,
Won't I really make one fall,
For who I am.... Wait who am I?

I open my ribs.  
peeling back the sinews and  
capillaries with precision.  
The crack of spreading bones,  
my chambered apparatus laid  
delicately on the table.  
  
My implement extracts its pound
onto the slab with intention,  
pulled and pressed till it's paper  
thin and bled out. Soulspeak scrawled  
in the crackling veins of my parchment.  
  
I put my machinations on display  
for onlookers, merchants  
and collectors  
but none seem to gather any interest.  
Skinpull another page  
but nothing sells  
or charms or foments.  

I pack my wares and  
toss them onto the pile of  
my dried out corpse scattered  
on the floor.  
Failure.  
Another procedure.  
Relent, repeat, cut deeper.  
And hope to find a reader.