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tia Jan 2012
as our dawn laughter
   makes light
above a cicada sun
        we leaf through a
moon skin night
         people journey
between here and
tia Nov 2011
Ice blue-gray eyes,
that laugh, especially with
a semi-crooked smile.

A kind sort of smile, the semi-
crooked one, and a kind
sort of laughing.
Makes you feel like you’ve done
something pretty ****
great to deserve it.
(just pretend.)

And like you want to do it again,
so that maybe your eyes will laugh
with his.
Just maybe.
And if not, hopefully he likes you
A millionth as much as you
like him.
Or a trillionth as much as
you sometimes, barely, dare
to wish.
(upon many a shooting
airplane, birthday candle, and
wish bracelet knot.)

Strong tennis-player muscles
of implied lines, not bulk.
At the same time, arms that
look comforting, make you long
to be held.
Doesn’t matter what catastrophe
strikes, bet it’s worth it.
Not from experience, but here’s to

Accompanied by a mild yet male
scent. Unique with its inevitable,
accompanying trace of extra polar ice.
(be sure to buy some.)
Chewed in a surprisingly
acceptable way.
And a piece shared, with a kind
sort of smile,

A laugh for real.
That always laughs with you, never
at you, at whatever is deemed
worthy, not just when others laugh,
even if it’s dorky, or lame,
or whatever.
Infused with honesty.

A personality to match that genuine
The person you just want to talk to
because you just know
he’ll understand.
And if he thinks it’s stupid, it’s
ok, because
it probably is.
(definitely is.)
And why be unhappy when talking to

Besides, he's not judging
anyways. Just
gets it. Maybe because you
have so much in common.
Though it's more than that.
More than those "commonalities."
Or whatever.

Assumes the best,
though that phrase is still
just not right.
(like all of them.
nothing's right.)
Though you think you're nothing,
he treats you like you're...
someone. Special.
(but maybe not quite someone special.)
Dont know how that
But it's nice.

Nice that he's always there.
(until when you expect it.)
Dependable and trustworthy.
Can't believe he's more stranger
than the best friend he feels like.
The best friend he
should be.
He's always there,
and now he's the one you always
want with you, more
than anything.
More than everything.
Who'd ever need anything else?
Who'd ever want everything else?
(maybe it's just me.)

That one in particular.
Who gives you that feeling you
thought only existed in romance
Who looks at you and something just
Who’s just different than everyone
For who knows what reason.
But you just know.
Since forever.
As in love at first sight.
And all those other clichés which you
now know are apparently true.

Who, if they leave, take you away
with them, a part of yourself never
to be recovered. Once you give
yourself away, you don’t get any

Leaving you in pieces, shambles, a
wreck , a disaster, broken,
confused, angry,

And all the songs make sense now.
About love and heartache. (both of
the above.)

Wish you’d receive the matching
piece of him, so that if you left, he’d
feel the songs too.

Who makes you feel like an idiot for
letting this happen. (because
obviously you are one.)
Who could never possibly like you
back, because no way
you deserve it.

The reason you’re up at two
AM on a Wednesday night/Thursday
morning, writing about
you know who. (as in not Voldemort.)
Who’s reduced you to an idiotic and
hopeless romantic, crying over lost
love and sappy movies.
The one everyone makes fun of.
Stupid pragmas.
(you think I chose this?)

Who’s also made you so much more,
so much better.
(to use yet another cliché.)

Who you can’t help but hoping,
wishing, dreaming for.
No matter what. Because it’s
all you know.
And all you can do.

(please come back.)
long poem...
i call this my rock bottom poem...
in my defense, i was probably around fourteen and a half when i wrote it...
just needed to get it out there though. so here it is.
tia Nov 2011
I uh, I just, I really, really wish… I knew… what I wanted to say and, why I do this to myself and, what’s wrong with me and, how to tell you… I just, just… I just… don’t know.

I uh (really sound like my dad when I say that), I just (really need to stop starting random unplanned sentences with I, then realizing it and saying I need to stop doing it), I really (miss you), really (wish…) wish… I knew (a lot of things)… what I wanted to say and (why…), why I do this to myself (it’s all your fault) and, what’s wrong with me (everything) and, how to tell you (I love you)… I just (I freakin love you, okay?), just (miss you)… I just (wish you’d come back)… don’t know.
tia Nov 2011

For the literal.
If not.
For living.
Like we would.
We will not.
Or else.
Cannot be.
A literal truth.
Of us.
To the reality.
The literal.
Well it’s wrong.
But in life.
Be this.
I should not.
By normal means.
Cannot be expressed.
We are not literally.
The literal cannot have.
But really we are not.
How it all seems.
Only the literal is unable.

Only the literal is unable.
But really we are not.
How it all seems.
The literal cannot have.
We are not literally.
Cannot be expressed.
By normal means.
I should not.
Be this.
But in life.
Well it’s wrong.
The literal.
To the reality.
Of us.
A literal truth.
Cannot be.
Or else.
We will not.
Like we would.
For living.
If not.
For the literal.

originally in two columns, second section written first

— The End —