I have loved
for the sake of
loving

feeling

d
      r
             i
                  f
                       t
                           i
                              n
                                  g
for the sake
of me
of you
of everything
just to enjoy
the feeling
of
f
  l
    o
       a
         t
            i
             n
                g

s   p   a   c   e   d  
every      o   n   c  e

in          a

w     h    i   l    e

we humans have such a need to be loved
afraid of being
alone
abandoned
left for granted

and i am no different
i want to feel the rush
butterflies in my stomach
wing against my hair
hands against his heart
heart intertwined with my soul

you may ask why
am i so enamoured with this
idea of love

perhaps it is so i do not feel lonely
for i have been (lonely) for a while now
even when i am surrounded by people
there is no one
not really
not anyone who connects with my soul

or perhaps  i just want to feel more put together
after all
everyone thinks you’re so much happier when you have a significant other

or perhaps i just want someone to hold hands with
someone to kiss
embrace
****

oh
ah
oh
i’m not fooling anyone, am i?
the reason i am so enamoured with the idea of love
is because i am obsessed with the notion that someone else can fix me up
heal the void in my heart
clear the window to my soul

Sometimes I wonder if you'll end up hurting me emotionally like all the other's did before you
Maybe it will be silent but fast or be dragged out to the point where my heart is broken
I'm feeling like I'm in a daze that I never truly can escape from
Or someone else might take you away from me
Either way, just close my heart in a glass case and if worse comes to worse and you find yourself wanting to break it into bigger pieces than the ocean
Then take the last days of our love and make me feel loved and dare I say cherished one last time
But be sure to give me closure don't open the door and slam it in my face without telling me why
I beg of you please don't make me cry about how much I regret letting you into the point of no return
Don't make me associate your name with salty wet tears
And wishing I had never let you in

I have a Barbie doll that is so cheap & slutty
she's wearing a belly chain like the cheapest
blonde stripper/****** on the beat up strip;
seems she struck up a thing w/ a Hans Solo
I found but he's holding a laser pistol &
has articulated wrists; so I get that at first sight
he's thinking who's this nasty little piece
of white trash  w/ the nice *** of pink
molded plastic; he's got hard slick backed hair
& he's wearing that stiff Star Wars outfit cuz
god forbid they give a male doll a decent wardrobe;
so he's no metrosexual & I guess technically
he's a movie star; he does look like a young Harrison
Ford; Barbie on the other hand has long slender limbs
& hard fake **** that look real except
she has no ******* which I've heard can happen
& a thin wasp-waisted torso; long out of whatever
clothes she had on as if she's been wandering
back alleys dizzy & naked; I know that happens
but it's never a good story exactly; I'd already
stripped her naked
& dripped hot wax
all over her perfect little **** so now it's covered
in clear solidified drips of viscous wax;
it looks nastier than its sounds; wax on plastic: ouch...
so I had been thinking about polishing her up; u know
giving her a Barbie Spa day to make up for abusing &
mistreating her; treating her like a toy I can just set
on the shelf & forget about; I've lost so many gfs
that way but me & Barbie we're not serious;
I mean she's my property but u know I understand
she's got needs & we're two different...well, I set
Hans Solo beside her on the shelf & next I see
he's on his knees with his pants down sniffing
at her ***** ****; I'm thinking not a good look
but when I pick him up to move him
he winds up behind Barbie with his pants
down; his left hand's tangled in her hair
and his right's holding the gun to her head;
I figured she's had worse & left them to it;
they're still there & I haven't forgotten
I still owe her that Spa Day

They say Cancer is a water-sign
That it is a mutable thing
And cleansing
and that it can fill any body that it meets with
Many feelings,
swirling typhoons
Like tea leaves
and chemical spills
Somewhere below the heart,
They said.

Cancer hangs in the dome of night,
Between the 90th and 120th degree
Where the sky floats like lithium on the tongue
Playing pick-me-ups with the other alkaline metals
Testing every possible reaction
So that one day another might have
What we lost.

Cancer holds a spirit in its claw
So that in the dead summer heat I can still see
A lovely winter leftover weather
You always hoped you'd leave for me

Sometimes I now look around
at night,
watching these celestial compositions flicker like
ancient candles, blues and reds and yellows.
I wonder what your tiny stars shelter, all those light-years away.
How beautiful you look to my unknowing eyes,
Burning violently, silently
In darkness, dying.

I have no shame.
I have no reputation.
And this is how I feel.
"I stared.
I squinted.
I died inside.
I have no life."
But...
I have Family.
I have Friends.
I have people who care.
I have a home.
I have a heart.
That is all I need.