No amount of words can describe my love for you.
No noun, no verb, no adjective.
No dictionary can fill what I feel for you.
No book has said it.
No law has written it.
I could go far as the universe would let me,
And I would still be lost for words.
Even if I dare ask the gods, what can they say?
Nothing.
Words, unwritten.
Unspoken.
Unknown.
Nothing can compare.

Tonight I feel like a book, uncertain of words in it, sometimes they are slow & sometimes crawling,
in the readers minds, initiating conversations &
bedazzled on my tongue are some fallen tears, unspoken words, leftover kisses from my lover &
colliding bodies in my head are made of clay,
the memories of touching and being touched unfold in my dreams, they're me turning pages in a book
and i’m not joking when i say i feel like a book,
because i do and the words seep right through me
like my soul doesn't really exist, it is rather an uneven montage of feelings & words, like a book

In a world of rap
Where most music is just bass
She listens to jazz
Jazz that's dressed in sparkly crap.

In a world of texts
She chooses a pen with feathers
And writes letters
To the birdies that live in their nests.

In a world of Instagram
Where reside plastic filled humanoids
She chooses to hang up Polaroids
With a genuine act captured, not a sham!

In a world of internet
Where facts and fiction have rivalry
She sits herself in a library
Loving the silence and smell of wood she'd get.

The world of today
She despises a bit
People call her weird for she throws a fit
When she sees no romance in the holidays.

Unusual she is
She was born in the wrong era
Even the name, she scoffs, sad little Klera
For gay she isn't because

In the year of 2020
She's looking for the 1960s

We are tired.
So very very tired.
Everything feels like a waste of time
And our minds feel tired.
Our bones won't respond.
Their eyes look bored
And the train of thought has paused.
Everything feels so insufferable,
Nothing feels new or true anymore.

This kind of tired
Was born in us.
And somehow it has tangled its way
Around our hearts.
The dreary days come from years
Of waking to the same
Numb dumb feeling in our smiles.
We feel motion sickness in our hands
From writing all these bubblegum dreams
Knowing that our reality
Will never be as sweet
As the dreams that come from sleep.

It's the tragic trend of the generation
That spent so long overthinking
That they figured it all out.
Now our anxious minds feel the tired
From knowing the illusion has reached the credits.
There's no reset button,
And we're too poor to drown in the dust
Of the bones of those from before.
So we'll stay tired
And drown in bittersweet fallacies
Waking and hating
The haunting reality.