I want something that I cannot have. I cannot have it because I don't truly know what it is. I've seen it polished and propped as if it were on display and I've heard the stories of how much time and effort it took to make it look as such. But I want it. I want love. I want the idea of it at least.
I want the fights brought about by events simpler and less important than the time we wasted to have them. I want to be pained by the sight of her pain and know that the feeling of knives piercing my chest when I see her cry is there because I would literally drive them there myself, if only to prevent her tears.
I want our laughs to intertwine over the smallest things and our conversations to stretch our minds over the biggest. I want to see you sleep at night and I'll smile because I know that you're finally at peace. And I want you to smile when you wake up because you know that I'm fighting to make your reality better than your dreams.
I want love. I want romantic love, I want crazy love. I want passion. I want to pick you up in my arms and in that brief present get lost in your presence. I want to be in you when I am in you and have you wish that I would stay forever. I want to be in your heart and mind, and I want our love to be torturous and blind.
I just want love. I want the idea of it at least.

This isn't something or someone you bring home to mom,
This is a jaded piece of glass with a a fading cigarette dancing from his lips.

This isn't what you dreamt of from children's books,
This is you finding Prince Charming half unconscious in the gutter, a little too faded for his own well being.

This isn't your dad coming home tonight, or any night soon,
This is seven years of you trying to play catch with yourself in the yard but knowing you don't have the strength, let alone the will power to go the distance this time around.

This isn't the party where you kiss everyone with loose ends,
This is where you collapse on the couch at 4 from being love drunk, with a hint of whiskey on your sour tongue.

This isn't closing your eyes and clenching onto your rosary hoping God calls you back,
This is the devil picking up the first time around and telling you what you really want to hear, telling you to **** all your darlings by day break.

This isn't about peace to your superiors,
This is about claiming what was rightfully obtained in the ruins, shackles on your ankles and a rib cage with roses blossoming on the inside.

This isn't about equal governance,
This is about the sands of time knowing those who have vanished,
While the top see no one below.

This  isn't about a single deity,
This is about letting you freely walk these lands and not having to seek refuge from those trying to claim you and the temples you structured.

This isn't about the right of passage,
This is about our land, this is about giving you a home when yours lays in ruin waiting to be built up again, ready to be claimed.

This isn't about the war of the strip,
This is about letting those who exist claim who they are,
claim where they stand as a holy ground to their ancestors.

This isn't a war song,
This is for those born not of a home and still call the distance between two spaces the place where they belong, where they come from.

This isn't a holy war,
This is a war spell bound cluster **** of ignorance, allowing you to free the bomb drops but not letting you seek shelter during the aftershock,
We can run you to the grit but we can't let you see where we lay our heads for some narcissistic reason.  

This isn't about being separate from the path,
This is about paving a new path, about creating the new gap between youth and art.

This isn't about politics,
This is about birthing a new generation of equal representation.

This isn't about showing the world we care about women,
This is letting you know all women are power, the are our youth and our wise, they are our support beams and our battle axes,
Let them shine with the stars as they were birthed to.

This isn't an ode to love,
This is me telling you I love you.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it