He jokes that we'd argue over bedsides
We'd live in hipsterville &
I'd bike everywhere &
douse myself in patchouli each morning

He giggles at the thought of us
Dancing in our white-walled apt &
the wine spilling over our glasses &
the dog ******* in the tub

What a crazy thought--Us
Sanding our own dining table &
reading the headlines &
taking pills before breakfast

He laughs at these things
These things I've already thought

Buried under sheets alone
in wonderment
of what we could be

--
c

i guess i figured by
twenty years old i would
be the girl with
the band and not
the girl in the corner
behind three crockpots
and a cash box
dancing alone

but that's my favorite
part so far of being twenty
that by now i know
i am who i am
and i don't have to be who
i once wanted to be

sunset flickers across the
road and off the telephone
wires as once again
boredom sets in

maybe not my favorite
part because i hate this
but i figure it's comforting
even if i have to lie to myself

i also figured i would
be in love by now
and not
just lonely

on the other hand
i never realized
that i've always
been lonely

a lonely that
stays the same
regardless of who
i'm with

regardless of who
is under my feet
regardless of how
i spend my weekends

raised in a habitat that
did not tolerate the
concept of evolution
as being a possibility

but isn't that part of
carving my own way?
realizing that
i have changed

and i guess growing up
growing old
is the hardest thing
i'll ever do

Blacken my heart
Capture my Soul
All these ways
And I don't know where.
Where to go?

Anger boils my core
Alone I wander
My heart beats softly
And I want to know why
Why it beats on?

Time continues to haunt me
Clinging to the past
It grips me tightly
And I need to know how
How I let go?

Am I found now?
No. Surely I am lost
My nature has left me
It tempted me with a place to go
It whispered why I am here
And then it told me to let go,
by giving into the pain.

I didn't want to listen
Just let me stay here with my questions.
It's comfortable having that control
It's peaceful to live within the known.

Who are you
Who do you think you are
Such a beauty
Making me feel quite odd
You're so out of reach
Yet within an arms reach
A look so complex
Yet so simple
A super cliche name
That fits you perfectly
I sound so struck
Yet you haven't attacked
You say let's take it slow
All I can say is how slow
You don't know it
But you mean a lot if this happens
If I make a poem because of you

This is why I write
For times like this
When I have no idea
And you don't let me in
I'm left guessing
Out in the open
Confused and lost
Worried and saddened
This is why I write
When I don't know what else to do
Your happiness fleeing your body
Leaving this anger
For what reason I do not know
This is why I write
To let you know
When you won't listen
Its not just random occurance
On why I do it
This is why I write

My starlight captures only what is so deeply etched within my soul.
Phases twist me around till I collide with the earth.
The moon above with it’s devilish glow turns sideways.
I cannot be born again to behold such trickery.
This nature is so unforgiven.

I shake with chills over how it treats me.
From blurry faces to blood dripping from my fingers,
To babies laughs and caskets lowered to the ground.
You are cruel world - you deceive me.
When will you mean, when will you show, and maintain your beauty.
How old will I be when you no longer worship a sun?
What about us? We walk on your soil.
You and I belong

So touched by our stupid pity tragedies that you rain storms that sweep us away.
Why do you not long to know us?
For we are too small and you too well- overwhelming.
The tides roll in but you don’t reach us.
We sit on the sands and try to understand
Hope dwindles on you to look out for us
To be more than a sky of clouds.
The oxygen fills my lungs
I breathe and I breathe you in
But still- your nature breaks me again.

What is love?

Is it when I look at you and go brain dead
Speechless, because I've never seen such beauty
I can't do anything but smile in your presence
Like how bleeding hearts can't help but grow in the sun

Is it when you become my only fantasy
When I close my eyes and see your face glued in my mind
When you've become a sticky note in my memory box
A million dollar account in my memory bank

Is it when your eyes make me feel like I've been captured by doves
Like I'm soaring through the skies and your touch has got me secured in the heavens
When your lips seem to be a kings feast
A piece of heaven sculpted into perfection
When poppies and grass can't drug me as much as your kiss does

Is it when my heart bleeds when yours starts to shed
When your enemies are preparing your death bed and I can't do anything but fight for your life
When I can't feel anything but the need to protect you
To act as your guardian angel in your times of need

If the answer is no
Then I guess I don't love you
Then I guess I'm not loving you the right way

Who knew falling in love could hurt this much?
Why didn't anyone warn me, that it would feel like my heart is ever so slowly being torn from my chest, millimeter by millimeter, all while being crushed in the vice like grip of Fate.
Why did no one prepare me to fall in love with every artist I meet, with the tortured and the passionate?
What could I have known of love as an innocent child, free if the petty cruelties of life and apathy?
How can I resist falling in love with those who support my own feeble attempts at art, who reassure me that I am worthy it respect and continue to uplift my soul and spirit, and more importantly — should I?
How do I communicate my love do that I might get it reciprocated, that I can feel from others what I feel for them?
Alas, there are no answers in this empty apartment.