this is for the lost and found

this is for the star gazer who connects the dots,
but the dots just don't conform...and he stares infinitely
this is for the mailman who braves a snowstorm to deliver teenage puppy love letters
with ***** induced rhymes to ignite a lust
and his wife hasn't loved him in twenty years...yet he still believes

What are you waiting for?

this is for the couple on the edge of divorce
but the veins leading up to their hearts are still twined like an intricate array of grape vines
a cartographer could probably still design the road map of their love
and yet they still fight

What are they waiting for?

this is for the matchmaker who manifests love from the tip of her fingers
and can put one and one together to make magic
but she can't seem to find the right one
so she lives vicariously through the successes

What are you waiting for?

this is for the girl or boy wishing they could be the hand that was held
through the maze of ten thousand footsteps they walked alone
because they cannot have this dance tonight
and their palms remained unclasped
...still they wish

What are you waiting for?

this is for you, struggling with the wait the plagues
trapped in the limbo to move forward or continue to let life happen

Stop waiting.

Be unsatisfied.
The moments we settle  are moments wasted
wasted on waiting,
I want you to have caffeinated jitters
instead...
we wait
and we wait
we wait.
and some more
wait enough and life will pass you by
so make a change
step out into the daylight that only occurs twelve hours of the day

Be a shot out of a cannon, or the confetti of victory
a firework that illuminates the entire midnight heavens
don't search for the brightest star in the sky, be it
don't wait. don't make an excuse
because, i may not alwys be looking, but you're transparent enough i can see right through you

and if you need it
I'll be your push, like a swing
but its up to you to sprout wings

be unstoppable when you terrorize the sky
be a force of nature
be a gust of wind so strong that it knocks God on his backside
and  his laughter shakes the universe
and for one brief and fleeting moment he shines light upon your rainy day

when you finally stop waiting for life to happen
don't bother telling me because i will see
because the wreckage you left behind tearin up that robin egg sky
will last longer than rainbows

that stargazer who stares infinitely will see your supernova soul
burst through the darkness, fleeting beautiful and damaged
forever shall you be etched in the stars
may be you forever...capable

a conscious thought stated:
don't write another love poem
but his words are vanilla to my ears
the smoothest silk texture
spun from his consonants and vowels
running from his lips and melting over my flesh
you can see where i get distracted...

because infatuation and intimacy intertwine
spinning a tangled web
woven from the strongest thread
and your fingers are musicians magic
strumming on my heartstrings
playing chords on my heart
carrying a tune that would make Celine Dion quiver.
it made me quiver
but there aren't six degrees of separation
from lust to love
there's one degree
but a thousand steps in between

the chemists couldn't explain
why our chemistry combined
in such an intricate way
and all the experiments were inconclusive
because only we are the mad scientists behind our insanity

and while the scientists tinkered
the mathematicians drew up an equation
insert me and you
into x and y
but x and y don't define hidden variables
that even we had to search to find
the eraser's been rubbed raw
against the paper with a hole in the center
they'll never solve their invented equation
because mathematics aren't involved

just a finely designed road map
tracing your veins and mine
from fingertip to fingertip
eye to eye
an artists divine sight
i'll be the paint to your brush
your lily pads to Monet
if your words are paint
my body's a blank canvas

i'm a writer
but even i'm struggling to find the words
that may as well be hidden in catacombs
but we don't need Edgar Allen Poe
to quoth the raven "nevermore"
nevermore shall i search for this unicorn of words
mythical in that they don't exist and yet somehow you do

we'll resurrect Charles Dickens
because he's the only man who would even make an attempt
but even his hands are trembling
with the pressure mounting of a lost word and a quivering pen

thunk

as we watched him dissolve into the pen and ink that created him

this conscious thought beckoned forward in my head
do not write another love poem just yet
for who will scribe the words to fit our facets
when the skins withered, wrinkled and dry
but our hands still twine like grape vines

maybe by then they'll have written another edition of the dictionary

It’s a tug of war between what you think and what you want her to think
Because in reality, I know that she could rip me in two
She could tear me into a million pieces and light me on fire
And while I’m lying there, smoking and whirling in the wind
I would crawl back to her
Apologize
And slowly shrivel away inside,
While I wait for her to give me another chance
But the battle of it is that she can’t know the power she holds!
She can know that I love her,
Of course
But what would she do if she knew that I’m a puppet
And she’s holding the strings?
Who am I kidding?
She already knows

I think kisses, should be given like gifts.
Like; I like what you’ve done smooch here have this
A kiss is like a bow on a present, it may be small, but it makes it all that much more pleasant.
Whether its a peck, French or Australian, a kiss is delightful, something uniquely **** Saipan
Lips pressed against skin send chills down spines and smiles on faces, lips pressed to lips send blood running through veins and a heart throb that chases.
The next time you pick flower petals one after another, thinking do they love me, love me not.  Think about how splendid it'd be to have a new lover, to kiss you, and be kissed a lot.
I hope this inspires you to taste new tongues, to swap some spit and to have some fun, because at the end of the day and the best thing in the morning, is a wonderful kiss, to follow your yawning.

You are a beautiful puzzle made out of glass
You have a warm caramel center, hidden inside of a labyrinth of glass walls
And any wrong move, wrong turn, wrong anything, is met with a shatter of those glass panes, and slamming down of stone walls.
Crashing down around the caramel, sealing it in
It took me years to excavate that caramel, to keep it intact, to drink deep and be merry with you.
And now you relaid the stone,  reset the glass, and with a big sign that says “warning, spencer, keep out”
But my doors are open, and you wont step foot outside your castle, leaving me to the cold lonely breeze.

I’m not the kind of person who should be alone.  I think too much and other people make me happy, human interaction feeds my soul.  And yet here I sit, frantically typing as if the more keys I smash into the board the faster ill get over you.  The more letters I put on the page the less I have to deal with, ya right, *******.  But I write and write and write because putting these words on the paper is like pulling poison out of me, ******* and drawing it out like wax, spinning it like cloth and throwing that cloth in a big ******* fire, but instead of light and warmth im left with a little less inside and little more outside.  But whats a pond to the ocean? Whats a match to the sun?  All these thoughts become undone and remade in print. Because typing out poetry is like boxing, you hit and hit and hit the paper and then all of a sudden you get hit back, letters on screens mirroring internal screams.  Writing on paper is a sword fight, and yes the pen is mightier but that paper betrays you, words carved into paper flesh like tattoos glyphed into trees.  And just like me words don’t like to be alone, trees don’t like to be alone, I am not the type of person who should be alone.  Singular is not my preferred pronoun.

He pushes me away
But pulls me right back in when he wants something
He wants to see a little skin
I gave him what he wanted foolishly thinking the boy who wanted to see me naked also wanted me as a person
I play the game waiting for someone to win
We're just going in circles
He wants my body and I want to be loved
He wants to mess around and I want someone to stay in my life
We're like fire and gasoline
I let him go trying to end this silly game once and for all
But he slithers his way back in my life
And I let him stay
I know he will never love me
I can't make him love me
He only loves my body

the world needs a lesson in self esteem

we can start by re-examining exactly what each part of that term means

self (hyphen): "to, with, toward, for, on, in oneself"
esteem: "favorable opinion or judgement; respect or regard"
self esteem: to hold a favorable opinion or judgement, respect or regard, to, with, toward, for, on, or in oneself

the world needs this lesson because our children do not know what this term means
because the reason they do not know is because their parents did not know
because the reason their parents did not know is because every generation before them passed along
a belief that you had to fit into every box, had to blend in to every crowd, had to meet every bullet point on the checklist
in order to be considered a person of worth

because the great secret that they never told is that people were not made
to fit into boxes, or be marked on a checklist

because my mother married a man who did not deserve her
because she thought that she wouldn't be able to do any better
because that man looked at his beautiful new stepdaughter
and told her she was worthless, and that her mother knew it too

because that girl was cursed with the hips and the **** and the waist of her great grandmother
and when she went to school with her stepfather's words in her head
a boy in her second grade class said the same **** things, and worse

because i was that girl and i was never the girl who got to walk behind me in the hallways
and laugh at the way that my shirt was too tight, and my thighs were too big, and laugh even harder when i cried
because my best friend in high school was always "the hot one"
and because i cried myself to sleep every time one of our guy friends talked to me about how much he wanted to **** her

because i craved objectification before i'd even finished ninth grade
because i wished that i could sink my hands into my own flesh and rip pieces away and be left with something "beautiful"
because i looked in the mirror every day of my life and pointed out every small detail of what was wrong with my reflection
because i hoped that would help me pretend it didn't hurt when other people pointed out the imperfections

because even after satisfying girlfriend boyfriend girlfriend boyfriend, i still did not feel good about my own body
because it took finding the woman that i want to spend the rest of my life with to make me want to turn the lights on when we ****
because she is the most beautiful woman that i have ever seen
but before me, she'd always wanted to leave the lights off too
because we are grateful to each other for the confidence we have gained
and because we both wish we hadn't needed the other to find something that should have been found within ourselves

the world needs a lesson in self-esteem
and i know this because
i had to write this poem

Nerds, Geeks, Fanboys or Girls
We are more than your Sheldon
We love our worlds
Our passion is more than T-Shirt Deep.
You've seen Spider-Man?
Good for you!
I can tell you in which issue Gwen Stacey dies
I can spoil 4 future seasons of Game of Thrones
and no I didn't need a ****** show;
Walking Dead.......whatever
been doing that since 2001
Our entertainment is far from the television or movie
You buy your toy or your ticket
but don't think you know us.
We created these worlds
they are by us and for us
We are not just maladjusted brainiacs
we feel deeper and want more
You watch; we experience
We fly through the sky
on the backs of dragons
We know the regenerations of The Doctor
We don't just relate To fiction, but THROUGH fiction.
We know the Allomantic properties of pewter
You don't.....?
Wait a year, you will...

I think of you in colours that don't exist --
     that's not to say that I don't think of you at all,
          because, of course, technically every colour exists:
Even the ones we cannot imagine,
   Even the ones we cannot see.
Even the ones either side of the spectrum that light up the notes used for money, not music, because the notes used for money
   are
      not
         always
            real.
Even the ones either side of the spectrum that light up the heat of your body like your presence does the room
      and your eyes do my smile
           and your smile does my eyes;
You tell me that technically every colour exits,
   even if we cannot see it,
   even if we cannot imagine it –

For think of it now.
          Imagine in your head a colour that does not exist.
                    Now describe it to me.
Is it a splash of red with tints of a yellowy-blue?
Is it a pinky-purple hue,
    a hint of green, turquoise, maroon, sapphire, olive, violet?
Does it already exist in colours we already have names for,
      have we lived so long that every thought we think is no longer our own,
            every thought we think has been thought of before,
I think of you in colours that don’t exist
   but so has everyone else.

We cannot see it,
      we cannot imagine it.
But if we cannot imagine something that does not exist
   simply because we are confined to describing it
      in the words of an already existent language,
   what does that say about us?
We can imagine a waterfall of chocolate,
       a glass elevator bursting through the roof;
   shrinking potions and growing potions and talking rabbits.
We can imagine standing on the top of a building
      looking out over the greying city lights
            with lungs full of water
            a noose round our necks
            and the sole belief in our heads that we are jumping to fly
We can rewrite the future and make up the past
We can imagine wizards and witches and fairies and goblins
We have unicorns, ******* it,
     we have God.

And yet when I present to you a lover,
   an artist,
      standing in front of you now,
         yearning to make you his canvas,
You are too scared to fall in love,
              too scared to admit that you don’t have the words in your encapsulating little language to describe the things that you feel towards him.
For he does not need language,
   he does not need words.
He will stand here now,
   in front of you,
      and let you grace his collarbones with a diamond noose,
                          crown his withered corpse in a wreath of daisies,
                          dress his bones in slashes of rubies.
He will tear himself apart for you,
     for you,
     for you to watch galaxies flow out of his veins,
  velvet red blood screaming unwritten poetry,
  a torrent of unimagined colours pouring into him and out of him
          and with his one last remaining breath
              and a trembling hand,
he picks up his paintbrush
      and draws you into orbit,
  and like his fingers used to trace your shattered ribcage
    like the keys of an ivory piano,
he traces the outline of your lips.
And at last you draw breath,
         to whisper his name, to whisper your love, and all that remains
   is silence.
And you choke on the air and sound is still
         for all words exist so none can be spoken and suddenly everything
   is black.
And I think of you in colours that don’t exist
     like the wolf howls in lament of the side of the moon he will never see
          for all colours exist, and when I think of you,
there are none.

                                                      *-j.­s.