Talk me into
hypnosis

Walk me into
dreams

Take me into
your world

For mine
exists on paper
and yours...
I plea
to see

My poetic senses will grow stale
The words escaping me each and every time
For I know what it’s like
To be immortalized
In love and heartbreak
To be worshiped
In song and in ode
To be penned
Too many times until you lose all meaning
This is not you
You are not ideal
You are as surreal as hurt
We are as casual as fiction
I will not romanticize you to the point of lucidity
And the tides will not turn when you arrive
The stars will not fall when you leave
The world will not stop for us
The words of love will not come
All because I will not love you like a writer

I picture you in a coffee shop. sipping on something hot. You're occupied on your laptop, there's a little book right next to it with a pencil (not mechanical). You seem very at peace but... concentrated. You look like you know what you're doing. Maybe you're writing an essay for school. Maybe you're a writer like me.

Whenever I see you in my head, I'm never involved. I'm watching you from a distance and I don't think you notice me. I don't think you ever will. It's up to me to make the first move. It's up to me to say something intriguing enough to peek your interest. By the time I meet you, I wont be so worried about what you may think of me (unless I happen to remember this moment, that is). I'll be sure of myself. I'll know who I am by then.

The intensive care unit of a library
is straight down the hallway. The
hallway is connected to the Limited
Editions cabinet. The cabinet covers
the window partially. The Limited
Editions section is also referred as
the Limited Light cabinet.

What a writer is doing in the intensive care unit:

Squeezing ink out of a culture-tube.
Containing the pulse of a page.
Salvaging the last drops of ink.

Metaphor to explain that the pen of the writer
is running out of ink:

He needs to run out to save the blood of another
story.

Rhetoric to explain something as simple as the redundant fact that the writer is writing in a library:

Refilling the page with the cadence of life
and all the lives he’ll live through this chapter

Antithesis and paradoxes to enrich the narrative in
whose the writer runs out of ink (still):

Reflecting on the beauty of the discomfort.
To live you must accept to come to an end.

The following is just a series of allegorical ways in which
a lady justifies what by now has become voyeurism:

I agonize reading the line that ties your eyes together
in perfect symmetry

Your eyes are parallel to
the pages you are holding.

pulled\apart\and\back\together\get it

I install myself
into your city
that template
where I hold
my book
I see you
the words
go blurry

Every guy
holding a book
ever
o
Lord
someone
save me

P  erhaps it’s time to scribble down a word or two,
E  ven though I have nothing cogent to proclaim.
N  evertheless the urge is one that must be answered to.

O  nce a long, long time ago the words poured forth, but
N  ow the well has seemingly gone dark and dry.

P  ossibly the act of touching pen to empty pages-
A  s an act of penance for strangling the muse of
P  oesy in a knotted, convoluted scarf of dreariness- will
E  nable what was meaningful so long ago to finally
R  ecover and deliver something worthwhile once again.
                                                          ­  ljm

It goes beyond saying
that there is nothing
more liberating
than the moment
the story-filled
tip of my pencil
touches the soft
surface of an innocent  
white paper

A crescent moon

glows white

with

It's angelic

halo through

a shroud of

dark clouds,

soulmates

within the

shower of the

pouring rain,

love

Is the only

true sense

that's felt

when the

desert

Is misted

In dunes, when

the souls begin to feel

the depths of warmth

and the monsoon revives

the barren sands, and all

Is paradise.

I think it's important to to document who comes in and out of your life. Some people can swear away their enemies and say they were a waste of time, but I don't think a single thing i do is a waste of time. That's life, it keeps moving and people will flood in and out. The greatest thing about that is the experience. If it was wrong then you learn and if it was right then you learn. Life happens, people adapt different schedules, they grow at their own pace, they shape their lives differently and that's okay. You have to accept that, yes, I could know this person until I die or they will just be another lesson I learned. Enjoy them while you have them, take full advantage. Stay up all night talking to them, take pictures every time you see them, be present. The best thing is to stay in the moment, to not think how one day it won't be exactly how it is anymore. Just live and make unforgettable memories.

-k.f.

If I'm being honest with myself,
I'd first have to admit that I'm not as brave as I put out to be
I pretend that I hate hugs when in reality,
It isn't the hug I hate but being so close that people could read the language of my insecurities

If I'm being completely honest with myself,
I'd have to admit that I crave intimacy with another soul but fear vulnerability
So with my lips I say "I'm chilling" while my heart is asking "where is he?"

If I'm being completely honest with myself,
I'd have to admit that I don't just fall in love with looks but I fall in love with souls full of flaws and I fall harder for eyes, a smile and a brain that'll put the sun and stars to shame

If I'm being completely honest with myself,
I'd have to admit that I'm pulled by people I can't have so I settle for being a friend who really is a stranger because if I were to really be honest with myself, I'd admit that my friends don't know me because I hide behind the jokes and advice I give

If I was being honest with myself,
I'd have to admit that I want to have a conversation with someone who understands and loves me for my mind and old soul.
If they loved my body that would be a plus too.

Finally, if I were to be honest with myself,
I crave a friendship so deep I could pray with a sister after she done put me in check.
Someone who understands that we don't always have to dress up with makeup and can just hang.
Not a superficial friendship.