One moment
One day
Just give me a reason
To ******* away

Just close your eyes
and feel it,
feel the warmth of his skin.
The mundane activities of life
pass you by unnoticed
because in this moment
there is nothing you want more,
nothing you’d rather be doing.
If only this moment would last.
Careless, only noticing your breathing
and the feel of the grass
as you trail your finger though it
And you know its yours.
Beauty beyond what you could imagine,
seeing it in everything, the light,
leaves, trees, him. Its all there
waiting for you.

On that tipsy floating dock All of us ran to the side
Trying to get as far as possible without tipping it or
Falling off.
Even though we were in our bathing suits...

I remember screaming

Then you reached
Your hand brushed my forearm
Your fingertips tickled my palm
And then intertwined with my fingers.
Then as we fell off
I grabbed your bicep

Why did you do that to me?
I'm a girl.
So I played that moment
Again and again and again and again
Like a song
That you don't hear anymore
After you listen to it too much.

But our hands I still
Remember.
Our hands.

I want to write a poem about
                    how
the poems I write are personal now.
I want to write a poem about
why this has become so.
I want to write a poem
explaining
                    how
everywhere my complaining is heard
through my type-work
my mind becomes a big ole ****
and shoots me down.
Ya know, I was once I flying bird.
Who could live outside of herself, while also bringing out the within
This
               is
                                too
                                            personal.
That I cannot r e s t, enjoy
the characters
I've created with the beater of my chest
or a song
or a quote
or a word.
                 instead
Into the paper I come out.
                               It
                    is
           too
personal.
When I cannot seem to
let it go
to let me go
and free my inner me's in pieces and in bits
instead.
Instead of dramatic fits, and murders of lines--
virtual ink inclined to think like me and respond
to this tip, tap tying.
Oh
I               am               too                 personal
With this bit, and that bit.
Of me.
And no more, do my stories reign
The randomness is replaced with madness or glee
whatever feeling I feel, in the poem
it is therefore connected to me.
I'm connected to every word.
I want to write a poem, that not speaking for me.
I want
             to write a poem.
I want
                    to write
I want
to              not

       be

so

personal.

Heart: This is hard for me to say, and I hope you don't panic. Don't panic. Please don't panic. We always panic.

Head: Why would I panic? You're speaking with redundancy. Just express yourself already.

Heart: Well, I don't know how to say this, and I know this will be tough on both of us, but you've got to remain calm.

Head: What is it? For the love of all things holy-

Heart: We're in love.

Head: Love? I thought we were done with all affairs of the heart for the time being. I thought you were shutting yourself down for a bit, and letting us just be free of these binds for awhile. You know this just always causes us unneeded pain.

Heart: It's different this time. It has to be different.

Head: Has to be? What sorts of ridiculousness do you speak of, my friend? Love doesn't have to be anything, but a terrifying void in which we have fallen in once, no twice, and barely made it out unscathed. Correction, we were not unscathed, we were scarred. We are scared. What do expect to come of this?

Heart: Its different. He's different.

Head: You said that about the last one.

Heart: He actually cares. He wants all of us, not just a part. The first wanted our body, the second wanted our smile. This one? He wants all of it.

Head: You're delusional. It will be no different, the outcome is simple mathematics. Us plus a boy equals utter chaos.

Heart: Its so different. He's the smile upon our face when we fall asleep to his final texts late at night, he is the hands running through our hair, he is the body curled up next to ours keeping us warm at night, he is the lips that beg us to live again. He's so different. He might just love us too.

Head: He's dangerous. Don't be an incompetent fool. It won't end well.

Heart: I don't care. We are in love with him.

Head: Well snap out of it.

Heart: Love doesn't work like that and you know it.

Head: Why would you stick around him after all the rumors you have heard, after all the fears in you, after all you have been through? Its illogical.

Heart: That's love for you.

Head: Don't be dumb.

Heart: Love that turns you stupid is the best kind. It makes your toes unable to touch the ground and you're flying. Can't you feel it?

Head: But I'm scared.

Heart: I know. But its worth being a little terrified.

Head: He could hurt us.

Heart: You knew that the second you got into this mess. You didn't care then, why care now?

Head: Because its serious now.

Heart: Why do you say that?

Head: Because we are in love with him.

Heart: Exactly. There was no moment like the last times when we absolutely knew, it came slowly but surely, each time he called us cute and sent us a good morning text and held our fingers close and kissed us like we were special. And then one day I woke up and realized, my god, I'm in love with this boy.

Head: It is so different. Why is it so different?

Heart: Because he's different. So different. That's why we're in love with him.

Head: We are in love with him.

Heart: And there's nothing we can do about it. So might as well jump in headfirst, right?

Head: Stupid. But we are going to do it anyway, are we not?

Heart: Now you're catching on.

Head: Love is stupid.

Heart: We're stupid.

Head: And we are in love with him.

Heart: And that's how it will be.

Head: For now, as long as these moments lasts.

Heart: That's all that matters.

Head: I hope they never end.

Heart: Me neither.

The ginger boy just could not  touch.
For long
he'd been away.
He wasn't sure if to return.
Or if stay
in far display
.
It hurt him much that he did dine
to ignore
such place
where time
and space
where people meet and spirits lift
and only two can sail the drift,
the tide of
friendship.


It made no sense his
versed up mess
but he could not
      think
         of anything best
he could not put
his soul to rest
even if there was no test
even though the patience lives
even if the doubting gives
even if he cannot rhyme
every sentence
every line
all he wants to do is give up his apology.


To remind that all was genuine
to ensure that love divine
the ginger did not **** things up
just was turned
against
by pain and time
they took away his freedom
imprisoned him in his own mind
so when he fell to sorrow
and to longing
for the old times
for his good friend
for the new words
hesitation reigned
and won


All the moments he did try
wishing from his lips to say
lingering his fingers over keys
just type it-- "hey"
what consumed him was this
pain
dramatic and possibly in vain
wanting not to burden bare
a friend so far
and out of hair
a friend unaware.



So he gifted his apology.
And his Promise to return.
His word was only certainty
but when ? no-one could learn.
He hoped to not attain bad feelings.
He hoped to not regret.
But whatever happens, happens
There is hope for this boy yet.

your throat closes up, making you
c h o k e
on your own words, your own shouts for help
nothing but tight lips and squinted eyes
portray any amount of emotions on your face
you want to screech, to tell someone to
h e l p   m e   I   n e e d   y o u
but no words
no squeaks
no whispers
escape past your hard teeth
finally
all alone
you begin to sOB

Our eyes meet unexpected. In confusion and mistrust you look away. As your eyes turn back down you hit your hand in your papers. A sigh of irritation finds it way out of your mouth. I've got nothing left to say, so I turn around and leave. That moment is where I realize that everything is said and done.

Among breezes and peaches
and cool summer nights
we wait for the perfect moment.
delight fills our nostrils with the sweet smell of lust
we pray for the Lord to be with us.