The little smile you give to me,
When I give you mine:
It's kind of like conspiracy,
Shared in our two minds.
The little giggle that you let fly,
When I let mine fly, too:
It's like laughing gas
Has come to pass
Between us: me and you.
You know what's coming,
And so do I.
No reason to try and hide it.
The smile grows into a grin,
No trace of guile inside it.
Defensively, you try to cover
Everywhere you can,
But you're helpless and you know it,
You can't hide from Daddy's hands!

A squeal of laughter breaks the still:
Anticipation let go in a voice so shrill.
The giggle becomes a full-force gale.
Were both laughing now:
A full-force wail!

Let's play a game,
We'll start from the top,
Just like it's something new.
We'll call this game
"Son and Pop,"
Or maybe just,
"Gonna Get You!"

I'm in your head with what I've read.
Sorry?  You say I'm not?
If we don't want the attention,
then why write this rot?

The poet is a complex breed;
they "spill it" for the page
but deny the closest knowing,
hiding source of love or rage.

Poetry, a selfish sport
we tease the world with rhymes
then troll the lines of someone else
as if we're owed the cries.

Not for public viewing
except what we control;
we measure just the prettiest
and the rest we hold.

Who really knows a writer
except themselves?
Our deepest, truest secrets
we hold upon our shelves.

By this the world's a poem
we wind together deep;
we ought to open up our hearts
let all the feeling seep.

I didn't want it to be this way
So I played safe and hid away

Those feelings deep down that I ignored
are now guests at my front door

Guess you could say that this is my fault
I just thought that this is how I'd adult

Doing what I please, saying "***** it, why not"
lead me to this day; it was a lesson to be taught.

Retention of repetition in modified replication reflects the information of evolution's disquisition demographic disposition to ferry the merry who listen
Psych out the vex and hex the wicked complex
Circumstantial reason in the season its civil unrest
Complacent implications ignited by degradation
The muted separation of lungs and aspiration
A few maybe more to mob the truth be unexplored
Forsaken by tradition of wishing never more
Disputing time and relativity inability to be given free
Verse the heart though be not amazed by the lack or hidden empathy
Commiseration of unmitigated hesitation casting darkness before the integration of our heart is a meager part devoted to the subtle structure of ones nature developed underneath the poise of well built character  to divide and conquer if one were to try and squander the real power and only wander for it's those very same demons of the past that are now used as fuel for the fires of the future. How will you temper the flames that burn so?

The truth is,
my heart still flutters with
just the sight of you.
The truth is,
every time the words "I love you"
threaten to escape my lips
the lump in my throat grows to
the size of a softball that I can't swallow.
The truth is,
I get a tingly feeling throughout my
whole body every time you surprise me
with the littlest things that I love dearly.
The truth is,
watching your chest rise and fall
with every breath you take
as your legs are intertwined
with mine makes everything worth it.
The truth is,
the sound of your raspy morning voice
whispering "good morning" to me
still gives me chills.
The truth is,
I guess I'm sort of in love with you
but since I could never say any of this
out loud,
this poem is for you.