She was the unfinished puzzle
She was the guitar with broken strings
She was the meadow stripped of green
She was the crooked table of support
She was the inner voice of reason

She was the dream forgotten leaving a shadow of frustration
She was the rush of a fresh storm promising heavy rain
She was the ever-changing bricks in a decaying building
She was the wrecking ball extinguishing it from existence

She was the heaven-sent false prophet
She was the flower ripped from its stem
She was the blank pages of a neglected book
She was the dust covering all abandoned objects
She was the frustration in desire

She was the locked door
She was the vacant room
She was the thought with no voice
She was not love

One thing
Standing in place of another
Making you have to think more
And confusing most

If we stopped letting things
Symbolize something else
Maybe things would make more sense
To everyone

Maybe the loss of metaphors
Would provide more explanations
In a world of bewilderment
And cruelty

I want you to come see me
because you want to
because the thought of being away from me makes you feel like your heart is a sailor that tied your stomach into knots as if his beloved ship would sail away
if the rope wasn't tight enough
or if a loop came undone

I want you to hold me  
because when I'm not in your arms you feel like the world is tilting and slipping away like grains of sand
from between your nimble fingers

I want you to crave me
because my skin sets your skin on fire and my lips ignite a spark in you that makes it hard to breathe and that a hundred cold showers couldn't put out  

I want you
to want me

but all these nights I lie awake
yearning for a whiff of you
I know
somewhere
you are satisfied
with the taste
of her

How I speak of you with eloquence,
The cheer that builds my confidence;
You are the that pumps my heart,
Giving life onto the veins of my body.

And when life is solely on my shoulder,
You are the supporter that supplements strength;
All I need is but your words and hugs,
The bear that comforts the wee cat, my love.

It's raining
and I have to change my outfit.
This must be the world's way of telling me
that I can't predict and script tomorrow,
that, or that I should get a weather app.

Words like knives.
Spoke like rain.
Everything he said drove me insane.

Lips like cherries.
Tongue like viper.
Everything I said, shot down, ******.

Eyes like storms.
Ears like caves.
Everything I said echoed back like waves.

Hands like hooks.
Arms like vines.
Every word he spoke, twist, entwine.

Laugh like witch.
Smile like Chesire cat.
Everything he gave, he took back.

Thinks like humans.
Soul like ice.
Every bullet was from him, don't have to think twice.

Memories like sunset.
Boy like moon.
Everything I had would be gone too soon.

Conjugated amid liberated duality,
     surreptitious catharsis of
        poetic revelations' flip side,
          the underbelly of sentience
  potentially validating perceptions'
          indefinitely extended,
figuratively speaking beyond
      literally unleashed metaphors
             play it backwards, if you dare

For 10 months, I've been holding up
a pitcher of affections and feelings that
you never knew it had your name on it.
It kept filling and filling, and no matter
how much I fill it, I couldn't give you taste
because it might disappoint you.

At some point, I gave you a sample
and you seemed to enjoy the sweetness
but I was wondering if it was too sweet
so I couldn't give you everything

There was a time it turned out bitter
maybe, because you sought other pitchers
but it still had a sweet after taste

I try to make it a sweet - sour taste
so that it gives you "kilig" affixes
Still, I couldn't reach for that taste
so I still couldn't give you that pitcher

But as unprepared as I could be
you demanded my pitcher
and I poured everything in your cup..

I wasn't sure if I didn't have enough
to fill your cup, or that your cup wasn't ready
to take in all that it contains....
Maybe, your cup was too small or
There was too much in my pitcher