young love is too often undermined and discredited
labeled as “silly” or seen as a waste of time
we pay it no heed; calling it a temporary foolishness
they say we cannot fall in love when we are 16
for we have not yet seen the world or faced its worries
and our heart knows nothing of love or of loss
we are too young, they say over and over again,
we are too young to understand what love is and what love brings
we are too young to know what love stands for
or fathom the pain of lost love and a broken heart
we are too young

no

for centuries now, youthful hearts have been termed incapable of truly comprehending the essence of love
more so, they have been termed inept to ever facing true heartbreak
when the tears of mascara flow down their pink, girlish cheeks
they say
you are too young and this is not real
you do not know what love is and you will grow to understand
one day when you face real heartbreak you will think of all this as silly
you will not remember and you will laugh
cry not; for you have not truly loved nor lost

but

how many of us forget the first sleepless night we stayed up waiting for the call that wasn’t coming
how many of us forget the first time we saw them in someone else’s arms
how many of us forget the first time our heart shattered because of the utterance of a single word
“goodbye”
how many of us forget the silence which was all too loud
the tears
or the cold nights
the feeling of having your world crash and burn before your very own eyes
the vulnerability, the helplessness, knowing your heart is in another’s hands
and you can do nothing about it
tell me; how many of us forget?

cradled in your mother’s arms crying the night away
tearing at your skin, wishing his touch had not stained you
your father pacing up and down the hallway
what has happened to my little girl?
on the phone for hours
crying, yelling, whispering; losing your mind
piece by piece everything falling apart
why does it hurt so much
why does it not end?
have you forgotten? have you forgotten your first heartbreak?

no

young love may be amateur
but it is not false
so vulnerable and so ready to jump into a new life
so willing to give up everything and try to make it work
rushing into it so fast and falling into his arms
ready to give her your heart, your soul, your life
our hearts still untouched by barb wires and guard towers

our first kisses are the most memorable
we can still hear the first song we danced to in our heads
memories of us pop in to say hello every now and then
your first is always your most significant
your first is the one that never leaves you alone
you can forgive, you can accept, you can move on
you cannot disremember

young love-
the very purest
young heartbreak-
the very worst

genuine
vulnerable
& true

I sat at the foot of his bed, and he stood beside me with his pants half down, the top of his belt hugging the base of his **** and a thick bed of ***** hair curling over his jeans. On the sides of his upper-thighs where they grabbed the hips, his skin was striped with razor lines.

“I cut myself here so no one can see.”

People never trust you with these sorts of things when you’re sober. Then they open up to you with such shocking honesty and determination to reach something human in someone else, secretly trying to identify something human in themselves.

I thought to myself “what kind of genuine advice can I give him?” I thought this because I didn’t actually have anything genuine to tell him. I was riddled with uncertainty—which I certainly wasn’t about to reveal to him.

I kept searching for the advice that would mend the sores of my half-panted friend with his bare thighs in my face and his heart on the floor in-front of my laced converse. But I had nothing. So I simply told him, “Want to get lunch sometime?”

He agreed that we would.

A few days went by, and both of us got distracted with life as tends to happen. Our lunch date felt more and more remote. But then I started to feel a little sad myself. Then I started to feel a lot sad, and I thought about death a lot. I wondered if this was the way he felt before talking to me, so I called him and asked to meet me for lunch.

We met up in a Chinatown bar, drinking cheap beer and trying to be young. After a few sips, he asked me why I had been feeling sad lately, but I still didn’t know what to tell him. If I had known, I would have had an answer for him when we sat by his bed, drunk.

I don’t think he knew what to say either, so we sat at the table and drank.

He told me I was a great man, and lucky too. I told him he was the best man I knew.

But somehow we both knew we had lied. Or at least our good praise cancelled each other out.

That night, I got a phone call. He had moved away in the night across the country. He told me to come visit, and I said that I would. Naturally, I never went out to visit him, he was simply too far and I didn’t care quite enough. But I still think about what I would say to him.

You're like a window
Light shines through
But it's dark inside

Cardigans for Curtains
All those lovely shapes, beside
Depending on the weather
Sometimes you're blue (Don't forget I can see through)
Sometimes you're black
Sometimes stars get stuck
           Fixation, Oxygen deprivation
Where would we be without you...?
                    dot, dot, dot, Question

The stars get stuck in the cracks
Obviously a metaphor for your flaws
And these lines/curves/obscurities
                  of my vision
Help me see you

Prism, dancing, and trying to age like wine
Getting, getting better all the time

Reflect it back
   Childhood
Magnolia leaves
Currently being abandoned
             Streets
Real Estate
   And different Paint

Then College
NOT taking you're money
"Too bad, see you next time honey"

Lanterns and Moths like houseguests
   Here to assess the property damage
You are not Real Estate

You are a Window
Light shines through

Ivy like a crown
Curtains like a blanket
You're looking from the corner
Feeling like the abandoned streets
Ex boyfriend like kids throwing stones
                      their blind, so they usually miss...you're beauty

You may crack, fracture, fractal
But you are Urban
                   There will be renewal

Here comes the repairman (Not that you need a man)
            Band-aids & stickers
Heartache like a stomachache
And he's looking in

There's the Windowsill
Light Shines through

You are more than a Window
But it's dark inside

You're my bestfriend and I barely even know you.
Funny thing is, you don't even know you.

You say you're figuring out who you are, and somehow I wish that I could show you,

You're full of substance.

I want to learn every crevice and corner of your life.

I'm so intrigued by your drive.

I want to spend endless nights together, speaking great things into existence.

I'm talking, '****, that's deep.' And 'I'll never forget this.'

And yes it sounds crazy,

but man, you really amaze me.

You see, I focus on vibes... and what I felt was unreal.

I mean, it's been so long and you helped me feel....

Like there's still hope. For genuine bonds, and for love.

Sounds cliche, but you were sent from above.

You taught me something that night;
you happen to be my favorite lesson yet.

I saw something in you.
Something much different than the rest.

You've got a weird hold on me,
one I can't seem to explain.

I'm so glad to have met you,
but that goes without saying.

I stand on the sidelines,
waiting for your call,
yearning for your touch,
hunger for your body against mine,
craving your lips,
but this lust is not all I feel
I ache to have your heart
the desire to have you, all of you, is so genuine
you've made me laugh, you've made me cry
you've made me feel something I've never felt with anyone
but I must endure this yearning for you
because you will never feel the feelings I feel
because for to you, this is a game
and this heartache inside me is concrete

I hate being told I am too nice because I feel like I am not sincere enough.
I hate being told I am quiet because on the inside, I'm screaming in agony.
I hate being told I am supportive because I feel I just bring everyone down.
I hate being told I am happy because I am holding back far too many tears.
I hate being told I am strong because I feel so weak.
I hate being told I am genuine because look at me... I try so hard but all I am is fake.

But worst of all, I hate being told I am loved because all I do is hate myself.

It's quite ironic, actually.