Before that, I was just normal.
Not that I’m not normal now,
But not normal like you would think.
I used to be like the girls
You see, laughing at the lunch
Room table, covered in smiles.
But now I realize how sad that really is.
I want to laugh and be happy,
But I want to breathe in the breath
Of the ones I love
Notice the importance of curves
Or the reason I can see each
Of the bones in her ankle.
I don’t want to stop and smell the roses
I want to memorize the wrinkles
In your lips when they press together

*(r.e.)

i had a plan to write you a poem with lyrics from phantom of the opera
but after talking with you last night i realised

i need to let you go.

So this is it.

This is my attempt at moving on.

I will forget your lies.
Forget the moments of bliss where you’d stop and stare.
Try not to think of the love that shone through your beautiful eyes
                                                            ­                                            (windows to your beautiful soul)
I’ll not think of the tender sighs,
the sweet breaths,
those words of sentiment and enchantment

I did learn to love you.
You made me love you.
And then you moved on.

It’s my turn now.
Not even a week, but like you said.

“Don’t dwell on it.”

How could I not, when you were my first?

But I’ll try.
For you.
My red-head phantom.
But most importantly?

*For me.

your face is like marble
perfectly contoured to reflect your state
an evershifting masterpiece
like sand flowing through an hourglass
time slipped away
and your hair like a beach on a crisp day
your voice like a warm stream
my limbs long to intertwine themselves with yours
like the twisting knarls of an overgrown cedar
growing into one another
and though grainy through pixelated screens
you are beauty
in unconventional ways
the words i use to describe you are mundane
and unsuited to yourself
though the english language could not have the capacity
to encapsulate your beauty in any words
and you are
beautiful i mean
i see you
and i cant believe that i am the one to give you butterflies
when tones buzz
and miniscule letters are recieved
i physically cannot contain my feelings
i do a lap
jump up and down
run anywhere
to try and come to grips with you
and how you feel about me
because the butterflies that i feel when i even think about you
fill me to the brim
and burst out in a sigh
or a squeal
some physical reminder of the way you make me feel
like a young mountain range
we are still shifting
and evolving around one another
your magnificent peaks shadow my jagged cliffs
and our plates push up against one another
creating friction
in the best of ways
but the best of days
are made even better
by simply reminding myself that you are a wireless connection away
an entity to feel emotions towards
because your beauty
will always be real to me
and if i ever forget to tell you
please read this poem

I think the reason writers are so important
is because they put pain into words
they make simple sentences into art
and they fill hearts with a sense of belonging
when you read a poem or a story or a book
and you can recognize the feelings within
that is when you know you are not alone
that is when you know you can survive
writers can separate reality from fantasy
or they can blend them together
they take the world
and they make it a little less cold and scary
that is what is most important
that is what makes them great
makes us great.

I say "Hello?"

Automated Female Voice: (you know the one)

"All of our representatives are currently busy with other calls, please hold. Your call is important to us."




"*****!!.... YOU called ME!!!"


*click

Kiss me once
upon the lips,
and speak to
me as if
my ears
are the most
important
you've ever
spoken to.
-JRM

I know who you are.
You are not a fire or a simple flame;
You are greater than that.
Something more important,
Something so  necessary.
That's why you must live.
You are not destruction;
You are not evil.
You are Light.