dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

she said, "I'm basically marrying Papa."

a person alone comes with many stories untold. notice their movements, their language, and their appearance.

the way they talk with their hands. maybe this person likes to walk and talk. if so, walk with them. pay close attention to their diction. be careful not to over analyze every word they say. observe the nature of their tone and how they address certain situations. look at them. clothing isn't what I'm worried about here. I mean really, truly, look at them. appreciate their style, their charisma, their body. after all, they are a work of art.

take note of the small conversations you share over a drive or coffee. the small talk is the most significant. if you listen, you'll learn more about them than you ever could in a discussion about politics. hone in on the way they carry themselves around their family, friends, and coworkers.

observation is one of the most powerful tools we have as a human. use it to your best advantage. to some it may seem irrelevant; to others it means the world.

when you tell me about your family your words don't match up to your actions. you love them dearly. they mean the world to you. you don't have to physically say it for me to know the truth.

you use "small words" because you're afraid to believe in yourself. your vocabulary is a wide variety of syllables and letters. you don't fool me, boy.

you hate false hope, but you know you have one hell of a hand.

the dirt, oil, and grease underneath your fingernails and permanently stained on your palms is impressive.

you say you don't have a heart. you tell me you don't care about a **** thing. you may be wearing many upon many of layers, but I know you wear your heart on your sleeve.

that's why she said, "I'm basically marrying Papa."

to have an opinion is a very powerful concept. every person has at least one toward a subject they feel strongly about.

to have an opinion is not a negative. however, I do not regret to inform you that it's unnecessary to have an abundance of them.

to have an opinion is very influential. at least we all make it seem as such.

to have an opinion isn't as meaningful as we lead it on to be. we are told to choose our battles wisely. treat your opinions likewise.

"a society that forgets its past is doomed to repeat it."

then why do we, as humans, continuously repeat our past willingly? knowing very well it will put us right back where we were. we're full of nostalgia and regret. remorse towards those we have manipulated. remorse for the wrongdoings we've faced within our lives. remorse for the loss of loved ones. all they left behind were memories and material items. all they left behind were blank pages we were forced to fill on our own.

so again, I ask, why is it that the only thing we are consistent with is our thirst for guilt and pain? we receive pleasure from the pain. whether it's radiating off of ourselves or the small corner store we all voted to demolish, it never goes away. we feed off of self-inflicted hate and destruction. the longevity of this tragedy is by far the most morally depraved I have ever witnessed and experienced. although not quite as corrupt as our social and economical atmosphere.

perpetual bliss in this day and age is derived from a series of events leading to death and definition. a dictionary is the most powerful tool known to man. explanations are a must in our everyday lives. why do we insist on subsiding into the caves of the past?

I wish I could tell you I never put a cigarette to my lips. or that I never knew I would break your heart. how about I tell you the truth instead? I used to smoke because it made me feel good. now I smoke to get the taste of your name out of my mouth. I knew from the first time we kissed that I would break your heart. but I couldn't resist feeling your lips pressed against mine. I had to have it. I had to have you. boy, did you surprise me though. you had so much hidden behind you. then, it just kind of happened. I fell in love. not in the way you fall asleep either. & I didn't fall. I sort of stumbled upon it. every word you've ever written. every smile you've shot my way. everytime you laugh at me. I couldn't help but to wonder, how can I be so **** selfish? for all that time I knew what was bound to happen. yet I continued to love you. worst of all I continued to let you love me. I let you write over one hundred poems about me. I let you consume me. I let you open doors for me while I slammed them in your face. why did you stay for so long? why? I don't get it. I just don't get it. you had to have an implication on how we would end. had you not? although I tore you apart, I think what I messed up most was myself. I had no intentions on loving you like I did. I had no intentions on loving you like I do. it's funny. ha. I knew I would leave fragments everywhere. but you, you left a striking warpath. who ever knew such a beauty could cause such destruction? you are a tornado. I've always wanted to be a storm chaser. you are the sunsets, the storms, the bitter cold. a few of my favorite things.

all these stars are beautiful, indeed.
however, they aren't the ones you need.
what you want is something irreplaceable.
what you want is something compatible.
the moon never asks for much.
in return you ignore her as such.
she won't be around forever.
& these stars will keep your secrets for never.
so while you're out there wasting wishes,
the moon is no longer blowing you kisses.