One thing that I can’t do is sit back idle while I sense tears in her eyes.
I can’t let that happen.
One thing I can’t do is imagine anyone trying to hurt her in any way.
I guess that means I’m gullible, right?
People are people, and I put absolutely nothing as being below them, but she’s an inspiration. She’s a free spirit in public and a good converser in private. She’s a being of light in the tunnel of life, and I’m glad to know her. But somehow she still hurts. And when she hurts, I don’t know why, but I can feel something in my spirit turning.
What’s going on? Why is this happening? Lost words, empty convo, I’m confused to the point of losing grips on myself, my therapy failing for the first time in years. I’m just as shaken as she is, and yet she can rebuild.
Why is this cherry child crying clear tears of pain? Why has this been put in her life? What is it I can do to help? Things I’ll never answer in my lifetime, but the mystery is still killing me.
Upset sadness clouds my judgement, questions arise that I refuse to answer, wishing for her attention sometimes but then not the next. And yet all I want to be is there.
It just feels different, like the balance of the world has shifted in disturbing proportions and now I have no control over what I initially thought I completely overpowered.
Am I really a shoulder to cry on or merely another passing emotion in a setting of many? Is my feeling really different from anyone else’s in this confusion?
One thing I can’t do is let the questions pass without trying to reach out and caress the answers. I need to know what it is that’s going on, I need to know how I can be the knight in shining armor for the princess who’s stolen my heart.
Is that wrong?
Is it considered obsessive if I study people in an effort to learn any and everything I can about a situation I’ve never had to deal with? Am I supposed to feel as stupid as I do when the things I do don’t work?
One thing I have to know is if there are answers to my questions.
The questions I refuse to ask.

Thunder’s crack has nothing on the noise of a wailing heart; a wailing heart is louder.
I know you.
You are vulnerability
If you are the sky, I am the grey that clouds you. I am a two part nightmare of anger and frustration, closer to the heart and far more contemplated than love.
Do you know me?
I am a double dose of bad weather, one strike of my blade causes sparks to appear, and the downpour of my tears causes drought to cease and oceans to overflow with tasteless, clear nectar known as my emotional essence.
I am trouble
Do you know me?
I am as false as silicon ******* but with an intention so real as to throw my mind into limbo. True intent meets darkened heart, I am as bad as a lover.
Do you know what it’s like to kiss someone’s lips over and over again, but wish it was someone else instead?
Do you know what its like to build an intimacy with someone on the basis of a “practice” for someone else?
I do
And the attention I give that thought is enough to spoil children. I am a lost cause, but a just one in all respects. I am a forbidden detail. But one as pivotal as the next.
I am confusion.
Do you know me?

Is it the way her hair flows as we kiss in the winds of autumn, or the way we touch by a lake of moonlight?
Whatever it is, I’ve been caught like I was falling, and I was indeed.
I felt she was special, felt she was an inspiration to me more than just physically, more than just emotionally.
She was an extension of my spirit and a personal angel. She was a piece of me that fit the place of the one missing…
But now my puzzle is no longer complete. Now my soul feels funny, so funny that I can’t identify the buzz that is apparent.
Was it the fact that I knew it would happen or the fact that I hoped it wouldn’t that makes me feel this way?
Do I feel comical or pain? Hurt or hilarity? I’m stuck somewhere I’ve never been, walking the wild woods with warmth slowly seeping out of my fingertips and collecting into the darkness as my body grows colder.
But I am a factory of warmth.
This is why I feel this way. Not broken, but still rebuilding. Not hurt, but still heeling. I am confusion’s worst nightmare, but constant lover.
I am a rock in the middle of the pond that breaks the constant flow of the water around me.
But I am the sole rock to do it the way I do, and so regardless of how the water breaks, I still feel empty in such a large pond.
I am the embodiment of dangerously delicious curiosity and tantalizing intrigue. I challenge the forbidden and go against the normality simply for the hell of it.
But I’m still just a kid. And like any other
I still need love

The feeling
To whom it may concern.
Caressing the curves of her hips has been long thought about.
Dancing to the music she makes.
Hearing her voice as we bicker or chat has been long considered about.
Listening to the breaths she takes.
Oh, listen to me going on. I’ve been fished in like trout, finding my hook like song writers, and yet I still take the bait with each passing day. Is it literal connection or mere intrigue of infatuations? Am I just ranting when I speak of her perfect imperfections?
She is an addiction as sweet as chocolate, but one so healthy as to compare to spinach, and I’d love to sample that intimacy. She’s a flower dancing in the wind, unaware of the forces provided, but yet opening her petals as the rain lets a staccato of drops down to nourish her.
And I watch as this little flower grows. And I develop a feeling.
A feeling that goes beyond love, reaching a plane that love can only lust to achieve. Beyond a hunger for attention and reaching into the very depths of my heart to pull out the emotion.
Reminiscence.
She is my future memory and my present past. A thought constantly on my mind, a form ever in my head and an opinion intended for gain. She is everything I lust, and yet lust doesn’t seem to be the word.
When she speaks, fireworks in my mind tell me to pay attention, forcing reactions out of me that I can only pray were subtle. When we match eye contact, my heart skips two beats before going back to normal, freezing my body in the wish of a romance. When she laughs, the tune replays in my mind, one of the things which I would love to hear over and over again.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, of all the fairer that roam these halls, tell me why it is that I choose one of whom I know the least, one of whom I struggle to speak to and stutter when around. Starlight, star-bright, tell me on this fair night, why I’d love her, though I wish I might, when we connect in so many other ways.
Giddy, graceful, gorgeous girl, with a side of personality unexplored. She still remains a mystery that I realize I may never solve. But it doesn’t deter me, in fact, I’m rooted like oak, mind twisted like tornadoes as I continue my last daydream of you.
Once again, you are my wish.
Once again, you’re on my mind.
And once again, I pray that someday,
You Let Us Love
~The Feeling

Brand new night

New lovers every night, their memories strewn about my heart
Like poppy seeds.
Constantly changing in a never- ending rotation cycle of light and dark
Like day and night.
We meet, greet, know, and immediately love. It makes me feel good to have the attention at times.
But I never quite keep it.
Even when I have it, there’s always something wrong.
I leave her for her
But then leave her for another…. And then have that one break up with me.
It makes me feel
Tempered.
Makes me feel like even when I find my counterpart, there’s something that’s missing or holding us in a place where secrets may be common knowledge, but then common knowledges are secreted.
Everyone knew. Friends, parents, and even complete strangers… But the only person who didn’t know was me.
Is this a curse?
I open my heart for yet another, memories strewn over my soul. And once again, I think I know love.
But yet again, I fall short by mere millimeters and crash down back to the reality of my situation.
I’m desperate for a recreation.
I knew love one day, and maybe will one day soon enough
But I’m still on the edge of my mind contemplating who shall victimize my heart again in the toxins of the addictive chemical considered romance on this
Brand New Night.

Dust—press play

Dust
Unwanted fragments of a greater item. I am a fragment of dust to life, but not a nuisance to myself or anyone else… So why do I feel unwanted?
Play
Several explanations for a relatively short word. I could simply be joking around, but I don’t feel so comico at the moment. I could be addressing an issue through performing arts, maybe even enjoying some sort of activity like I did when I was a youthier youth.
Press
Could be the media, could be a motion done involving applying pressure to something, could be an action when applying pressure to someone.
I am a partical of dust
Forced pressure surrounding an otherwise struggles form
Addressing issues noted as things rarely cared about.
But that’s not where this poem’s name came from.
I seek acceptance like a homeless dog, but I still have some sort of vibe of emptiness.
Like Air.
Though the air isn’t empty, the air is teeming with life that we literally couldn’t care about. And so it is with me.
I am
Dust
Press
Play

Your words are like a hidden key,

They unlock secret parts of me.

I might be your fall, but you’re a pick-me-up to me. I might have written my way into your book, but you did more, you illustrated your love clearly, you displayed it so publicly that it was somehow secreted in front of my own eyes.

Your ruby red cheeks provide a window into your mind, indicating what it is you think when I speak: happiness, anger, fear, contentment.

Your lips provide a physical contact point for us to meet, connection yet no wifi needed, communication yet no cell towers, A commitment between two invisible entities, a communication between two hearts.

My eyes betray my emotion as your cheeks betray yours. What study is it that requires me out of your head? What history is more important than that of our own? What pit is so deep, so dark as to keep the sun away? For, love, tell me this, and I shall change it faster than a bad tv channel.

Your worries should fade, for they are nothing but spiteful superficial seeds sown by one who claims to dis thee. Hateration is a disease, but, my love, when one is as beautiful as you are or as sweet and mellifluous as you, you must accept that you attract it.

Taking note of your existence is like being in a building burning and continuing your business, ergo I always do what I can to let you know that I see you. I love you, I loved you, and I’m loving you to this day. So may our loves last as long as our kisses, and may our kisses last as long as our intimatic energies can remain stabilized.

Baby girl, if there’s one thing I would tell you right now, it’s that you truly drive me crazy.
Don’t get it confused, I was always crazy, but you drive me more so. You push me past the levels of my normal mind and force my creativity. You open my vocal chords unexpectedly and take on information as if you were the processing unit of a computer.
I feel I can tell you anything and everything and you wouldn’t judge.
I feel like I can do nearly anything and you won’t keep a grudge.
But, who knows, maybe I’m wrong. Could it be that you’ve got ya boy kickin’ the back of his heels with the tips of his toes? Could it be you’ve got a brotha blockin’ thoughts of thots that you think he’s got?
You said I had too many crushes, said that that was a problem. But you also admitted to having crushes even though you were taken. How Ironic.
But you also said you were pained in your past, and you said you were interested in the intimacy of someone who could provide it.
Well, I can’t make any promises, but I can at least try.
I was a rusty spirit before I met you, and, no lie, baby girl, you’ve destroyed that layer of rust and brought the poet back.
Unknowingly, you gave me an inspiration.
So I can’t wait to talk to you, can’t wait to hear that pretty voice with the southern accent, or see those pretty eyes brightened with an eternal flame that not even your past trials could extinguish.
Can’t wait to be with you again.

Love letter 22

Ok, so maybe dreams do come true, maybe I am a romantic at heart and maybe I am a little hungry for someone’s attention.
It’s in human nature.
But now I don’t know what to say. It’s like one minute you’re a quiet thought of a possibility, and the next you’re more than that, you’re a possible in my world of confusion.
I’m so confused. What’s happening to me? Could I be tripping again? Lord, please don’t let me fall this time, please let me ride out a storm to a quiet peace that is true intimacy.
I want to hold the heart of someone whose heart is already given to someone else… I want to be the center in a double circle, but I know I’ll cause problems.
I want an intimacy, one I’ve been secretly searching for since the last, but I know the outcome. I know what will happen and I know what could become of another soul that ripped a hole in my chest with the separation severed by force.
I don’t want that.
I want her, but I don’t want her heartache, or the responsibility of knowing that I caused it. Call me lazy, call me cheap, call me crazy, call me weak.
But one thing you can’t call me is untrue.
So Maybe I’m tripping, maybe I’m falling for a girl with the issues of one who shouldn’t be allowed to stress over such things, maybe I’ve fallen for a broken soul that I believe I could fix, maybe I am the broken soul that needs a fix. All I know is that I might be forming what I dread and desire.
Maybe I’m adding to the heat of my heart.