the first time
our lips met
didn't feel foreign,
it was as if
you were my home
country
and I had only just
entered your land,
then took a taste of the berry tree
which my greatest grandma had grew,
in either ways;
she would be
******.

In me is the silence
that is not there
in the middle of 50,000
Irish bees

that are a black cloak
over my pale skin
my body is their heart
it's beating faster

from their poison, I feel
connected, one
with life, one
with spring, the

loud buzzing
of love here on earth
upon me
within me

The ocean rustles

endlessly far around me --


here, in the brooklet.

She's got issues believing I love her, cause she's a doubter. That really ******* ***** when I've gone eight days without her and have no way to prove it to her. Her confidence, I try to improve it and pursue her with the utmost competence. But out goes my humor and there goes my bottomless dominance with fewer words and more of my lustful providence. Incompetence is always on her mind and I'm always like, "Girl, you're doing fine." Anxiety has her worrying, but I know she's really trying. She knows I feel like dying every single time that she has to go away and her parents hold her back from this relationship, it's gay. And now I feel the need to attack people that talk **** about us and how they say we just want ***. They say that there's no love, I say, "*****, I'll cut your neck." Step back, mind your own, or you're going to get hurt. I'm busy on my throne and my girl has got my shirt. I'm a king, you're a peasant, ***** you can't find real love. I know it stings, but that doesn't mean you get to push and shove and punch anyone who's got a thing going. Like *****, you really think you're blowing away our opportunities, but nope. We're stuck in unity. I'll never leave this girl unless there's a betrayal. Shes the Oregon to my trail. The hammer to my nail. And when she's with me, I know I'll never fail. Cause the incentive is raised and my ship is assail. Across all seven seas in the shake of a tail. Whatever I do, with you, I'll prevail. I love you now and the loving wont stop. I picked you up from the bottom and stood you at the top. I'm so proud of you in every possible way. I hope you keep loving me baby, have a nice day.

it was beautiful . . .

we simply put forehead to forehead,
                         fingertip to fingertip,
                         touched toe to toe and

we accepted -

we didn’t move,
we didn’t flinch

- and we weren’t afraid
of one another.

                 (it was strange . . .)

we cared not to harm
one another.

just accepted

us, together, as one
became the object of
reality.

resting . . .

breathing . . .

never flinching;
never afraid.

we even shared
our deepest thoughts

as one
we shared our plots,
our stories and
all our characters,

the . . . protagonist
and the other and . . .

                     (it was weird . . .)

we weren’t afraid
of each other

even then,
we wished not
to harm each other.

just accepted

us, together, as one
became the new meaning
of fantasy

we shared our
wildest dreams

and laughed
and danced

and, still, firmly pressed
together we were free

(and still not afraid!)

to fall down
and get up
together . . .

we helped
one another.

we’d cry
over our bruises

together.

we accepted
everything
that made us whole

and, that, was all . . .

and, it was beautiful . . .

This is just another perspective
given form by conscious centrality, or
Perhaps I’m too introspective.

From young we learn to seek directive, and
to live with a certain frugality,
But this is just another perspective.

An unmoved pen is too corrective;
The hand hesitates for fear of banality;
Or perhaps I’m too introspective.

Life, as poetry, is connective;
Embrace the paradox of each duality; but
This is just another perspective.

I dream to love the imperfective,
Because we’re all an abnormality;
Perhaps I’m too introspective.

What if we stop trying to be corrective,
And instead embrace individuality?
This is just another perspective,
Or perhaps I’m too introspective.

The world is divided
but I learned to tie
the pieces together
      
to patterns, and still
I saw more and more differences
so I searched for connection
      
in religion and the One
soul of mankind
in which you have to believe
      
because it cannot be seen
in the divided world
in which I live, surviving, and
      
the other is a stranger
however much I know about him
even if he is my dearest
      
there is plenty to guess
I call it secrets
that comes close
      
to the mystery

perhaps, this smooth jazz
that’s playing sweetly in my ears
is from within

perhaps, I think,
I hear the melody
once again

I think
I hear it . . .
————————————
. . . as a rule
and as a flaw,
he used his soul
to guide the way

protected soles
in case of
beckoning calls
to search
throughout the day

and through the night
he fought off enemies
from standing
in the . . .

wait.

and through the night
he didn’t fight
he taught his enemies
to play

and through the mourn
and through the hate
they learned to love
and understand

they gained some empathy . . .
and more than that
they helped him
with his plan . . .

continued on
creating bonds
to break the norm
of common man

he heard the music
more and more . . .
——————————
I hear the melody
once again . . .