That American bandana in my closet?
I stole that.
Her mom liked me and let me borrow it for our fourth of July party,
and when we were giving our stuff back I forgot it was in my room.
Then I saw it and decided, this is mine now
I don’t think I’ve worn it since.
In the eyes of the law we call this an “adverse possession”
the intent to own and keep something that isn’t yours.
I know she’d roll her eyes if she saw me putting our relationship into legalese.

That stormtrooper nutcracker?  
That was a gift,
a Birthday gift,
an April Birthday gift.
Who the hell gives a Christmas present as a birthday gift?
She did.
I kept it.
And with gifts there is no “consideration”
which to lawyers means a bargain or exchange of promises,
a gift is a “I love you and want you to have this
because I like to make you happy.
But also, if we end I want you to look at this for the rest of your life
and wonder what would have happened
if we could have survived that last fight?”
You don’t get to bargain for that, you get the gift and the grief.
and she gets to know that you’re going to miss her every day.
Sometimes I wonder who the lawyer really is.

I beg you please enter and leave your place of wonder
Come to me I call all darkness
In here you will be safe from the light

We have a new carcass
It will be so easy
We were invited
We can do what we want
We can not be cited

So here we will stay
Even though with all these demons we are cramped
You.can do anything
On her forehead she is stamped

You stare at me with compassion.
You touch me with adventure.
We talk as if we created language.
And when I'm 3000 miles away you tell me you feel me breathing and my heart beat inside of your body.
I feel your imprint in my bed and hear your voice in my deepest of sleeps.
We are going through the withdrawals of the possessions of mind, body and soul yet we aren't possessive; territorial with free spirits of nature running wild.

- Beau

It's not enough to merely tell me
I need your words to compel me
Each breath to leave me hanging on
To the cliff my heart rests upon
Ready to jump as soon as you fumble
Be cautious in your words that mumble
Along the edge of my mistrust
For I will leave if I must
At the first mention of a cage
Your chapter will end and I'll start a new page
For I'm a bird flying free
Gaze up at the sky and see
Me soaring up above
Without the confines of your love
Despite the devotion you professed
I will not be possessed
For the sake of your insecurities
Fear expressed through jealousies
Your use of lusting attraction
Only serves as a distraction
From yourself you seek to hide
Ignoring pain you feel inside
So take a look into the mirror
Until you see a little clearer
Don't ask me for my hand
Until you begin to understand
And perhaps you learn the lesson
Love is about appreciation
Not possession.

My body is Detroit. Spray paint in the form of a Kaleidoscopic, mountainous macabre- knuckle
avalanche going down the 90 degree angle that just isn't right but I can't call it obtuse.
I have gang signs littered across the human vessel, spotty and an embarrassed brown covered by a collar, and green, yellow and maroon covered by sunglasses.
Love is not possession in the way abuse is not love.
Both own you. Sailing, he's steering. my cruise is on the Slave Trade Triangle route.
You never asked me to get your name tattooed on the past 18 years of dermis cut, shaved, kissed, caressed, burnt and brown.

The alcoholic spirit,
   When by it I'm possessed,
Makes me crazy, (or near it),
   And often much depressed;

But the good spirit Mary
   (Belovèd Mary Jane!)
Is Alcohol's contrary:
   She makes me peaceful and sane.

O.O

Here, this is yours.
Just take it please.
Yes, it's been in my possession for some time,
and it's been on my shelf and in my life and on my mind
but it's yours, through and through, it's never ever been mine.
I stole it, I own it, I call it by name,
but please take it back, back to where it's never actually been.
I can't hold it any longer, I can't see it each day, it can't be in my life, knowing we're not the same.
It's just another thing taking up space in my life,
space that I've left occupied by the waiting and wasting of an ending absence of you,
hope that all these things would mirror your presence, that you'd be here with it too.
You left a hole in my heart and it hurts like hell,
and this thing is sitting on my desk looking like your smile and aching like your laugh.
I tried to get rid of it but that didn't go as planned. There's no garbage for my feelings,
and I hate how time never actually tells, and your truths had no meaning.
And this poem has no rhythm anymore, it's just a semblance of the nothings you made me feel,
all the stupid dreams and expectations you raised and shattered, and built and broke.
You never told me I was beautiful or that I had stars in my eyes,
and I'm starting to only hear all the things you never said,
and I'm so disappointed in myself for falling in love with those things.
I think I put so much into Us that was never actually there,
like the idea that you loved me, that you maybe possibly cared.
Or that you thought I was lovely, and sharp, and a human being beyond compare,
or that you wanted to climb mountains and buy ice cream and lay on the floor,
and look at the sky and kiss every inch of the skin that only ever felt like raindrops before the storm that was 'more'.
My heart was yours before I met you and that truth is heavy.
Your silence is killing me. I wish that you knew you were crushing me beneath the weight of your indifference, your contentious contentment with my dimmed spirit.
There is no romanticized silver lining to your heel on my soul.
So take this book, I got it for you and I don't want to read it or see it or have it.
I don't want this heart in my body, or this pit in my stomach,
and all of the We, the Us, the You and I, is a horribly sweet memory because
every word you ever spoke to me was a year long "goodbye".

Come to me...
Yes, slowly...
Walk towards me
For I am not your enemy

Now hold my hand
Look at the beach and the sand
Look how the sun shines
This is your last glance

_________

Everything turned dark
You see on your hand, a mark
A mark of *death and life
Carved using a knife

I turn to you and say
"You are mine from today..."
"I am your living hell,"
"You have no one else to tell."