We are all jigsaw puzzles,
wanting to fit and to belong,
so if I rearrange the pieces
of my still broken heart,
please be patient with me.
If I have to coerce my heart
into the right place in mind,
please be patient with me.
If I have to rearrange
a real, proper smile for you,
please be patient with me.
(And if I have to turn my head
to properly kiss you,
please be patient with me).

For all the sake of confinement,
and rules, and laws, and all that is in motion,
my heart rattles in its cage and roars
like a beast, defying human nature.
In a matter of a second,
I succumb to fury. I am rage
juxtaposed to a calm face.
I wail and tear apart the truth,
limb by limb, for denial paves way
to the entrance of my home.

It lives with me, dines with me, sleeps with me;
a welcome resident within my haven.
For when you live through the ways of love,
and love in spite, (instead of loving for the sake
of loving yourself) only to be loved
because of your monetary value and
the vanity gracefully done on your face,
betrayal is strong and denial is natural.

For all the sake of confinement,
and rules, and laws, and all that is in motion,
even in most literature, we see,
only these people come to know love.

On the other hand,
when you are loved despite not having
money, looks, power, and influence,
they tell us it is blind, and sad.
Because our faces are not on LED screens,
and news outlets, or tabloids, or
made into a film adaptations,
in comparison, our love
is fleeting, and non-existent.

For all the sake of confinement,
and rules, and laws, and all that is in motion,
even in the love we see from those around us,
we are also told this is where love is, or where
it can never be found.

So beauty or no beauty; money or no money,
power or no power; some will never be loved and some will still be loved. As human as it is for us to deny, it is natural as well,
for human beings to defy and change and have different capacities to be loved.

So, love as if no screen can ever behold its depth.

In cords and ribbons;

she does not speak.
People don't know whether to
scoff, or to pity, both maybe.
Yet she continues,
her tongue clicking,
her hands swift and nimble,
as she cuts up her little heart
and neatly wraps each one
into a package with a small,
small love letter.

Simple words, straight forward
and easy to decipher, with
meaning so plain and tangible.
Her tongue clicks, words still
quiet, her fingers folding the envelope
so delicately. Scissors lay on the table,
for cutting bits and pieces of herself
into each small package.

She hopes, with the light of a candle
and a flicker of a match stick,
that people would notice
her silent devotion.
Would not scoff, nor pity.
Hoped they'd smile and laugh,
as they read each part of her;
saw each part of her;
noticed each part of her—

that were all in cords and ribbons.

In the height of a wave,
In the peak of a storm,
In the quiet of a moment,
In the heart that was torn;
Lay a moment of such wonder,
Lay a moment so profound,
Lay a moment so somber,
Lay a man in the ground;
People say that he was drunk,
People say that he was lost,
People say that he was kind,
People say that he was rough;
They whispered he had hurt,
They whispered he had God,
They whispered he had sinned,
They whispered he had none;
But it did not change the man,
It did not change the dead,
It did not change he loved,
It did not change how we would end.

I've seen the same roads,
those that lead nowhere
or cut into an end here,
reaching the edge of a mountain,
or to the lip of the sea,
or fading off into dust
and growing darker into
grainy asphalt—
that somehow hurts.

The roads straighten and curve,
and stretch and narrow,
and bend and break,
and crack just as it is filled
in between the seems.
They intertwine,
and meet in the middle,
and lead off somewhere,
like the t-boning of a barelling car,
going 40 on a 25.

The saddest roads are always short,
yet seeming endless in a moment
of brief contact.
The same speed,
the same view, and the same
edge by the sea, passing like
two stray boats at night.
The loneliest roads are parallel;
equal in distance, that can never touch. Side by side in meeting,
and always apart when leaving.

The loneliest roads taper off,
and stare at emptiness.
Paralell roads never meet,
and will always stay the same.

The loneliest roads between us
are just a few feet apart—
always infinite miles away.

In the course of the world's creation,
I've seen you somewhere, or everywhere, all at once.  

You mapped the stars by my side, when I didn't know where they were or what they were named.

You told me about fascinating little things that walked and lived, and breathed, with such enthusiasm, I began to learn that they existed with such amazement.

You formed nonsense of words, so ridiculous, you  made me question the peak of human intelligence.

You showed me gestures so small, or words that required no enunciation, I learned how silence spoke louder than our words.

You taught me so much, that eventually, I knew the feeling inside of me that grew in my chest, I no longer needed your assistance to name such.

Somewhere, everywhere, all at once, you were in the course of the world's creation.

The moment I took notice, the world stopped revolving.

And in that moment, it was just you and I.