Can you see the water dripping from your mother's mouth?  
It's been giving you life since before your father ever took a sip.
And at times, it scorches the prints right off your fingertips but you still have the same blood.
This same blood, which mixes with the water dripping from your own mouth, turns to wine as your lover grazes each corner of the lips that always turn down.
And as they purse into the softest circle, you remember the way your mother smiled with her mouth, full.

i think hickies are beautiful

love-bites and temporary marks

the thought of someone leaving one

on your skin if rather beautiful

a little piece of them left behind

a reminder that they were there

a reminder that

that beautiful moment
happened.

Find a beautiful piece of art. If you fall in love with Van Gogh or Matisse or John Oliver Killens, or if you fall love with the music of Coltrane, the music of Aretha Franklin, or the music of Chopin - find some beautiful art and admire it, and realize that that was created by human beings just like you, no more human, no less.

Sometimes its agitating having the standards I have. I want to be with an artist. I want to be sketched in an old journal and get photographed in black and white. I want to be turned into metaphors and be someones muse. I’m so used to being the one spending hours writing poetry about boys who don’t love me back and one day I want to fall in love with someone that shows me the same kind of love I give to them. I want someone to write about me, someone to make me theirs and only theirs.

He doesn’t write poems but you hope he loves you like you love poems one you hope he see you like a symphony, like a sculpture, like paint or clay, like something he can get his hands on. you hope hes painting you in colors that dont even exist just so he can give them a name. you hope he see you like every sunset he has ever missed. you dont understand the way he thinks but you hope he thinks of you often.. i hope you think of me as art something not  known in your mind but something so grand in mine , your  mind consumed of hip hop mine consumed of ideological things , It's easy to like how his voice is unique in the most uncomfortable way possible or how everything is uncomfortable to me his kiss was of gold Staining my neck with the mark  of innocence lost , of course lost far before he was in the picture , forever is a big word and love is a long time Lets write ourselves a poem I lose myself in words  , often more often then anyone wants I don't understand the word ‘love’ because when I was 13 years old I was forced to believe in it as people you learn to trust ******* in the most literal sense but in you I see colors ive never seen before something that makes me happy yet so ******* sad to know I have emotions left when ive tried and tried to just not feel anymore  everyone always talks about people leaving, but it seems like I'm the one who leaves with an inability to handle disappointment but with you I see something far more different

i know how it works-

my eyes will burn into the sacred light and
drip tears like the Holy candle on the altar

my hand will grip my other so tight
i'll wonder if i'm actually trying to hold onto faith-
Godly faith

my lips become red and cold
like i'm kissing the holy grail
only it's cupped with holy ice

my throat starts to become dry and i wish
i could drink all the wine He gave
to be drunk
so i could forget about you

my chest caves in on its self  like it's
an ancient religious pagan dome

my ears start to ring
i'll block out you're voice in my head
like the bells before communion, like a priest's sermon

i get scared though that He won't help me if i think like this-
deadly mortal sin at it's finest-

i focus my mind again to pray
hoping somewhere along the line
He'll give you to me