Midnight drives
Sharing secrets and stealing kisses
In between red lights
The street lights looked dim
Compared to the light in your eyes
And I play back this memory in my mind
But it isn’t until I realize I’m smiling to myself
That I realize that life is all about
The person who makes you feel less alone
Even when they aren’t around

It took one look
That Monday night
You looked over at me and said
“I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me”
You held me like I was glass
And pressed up against me until our souls were touching
Heavy breaths and light heads
We were meant to last

Singing in your passenger seat
With your hands intertwined with mine
I have finally found my Someplace Better
And this was just our gentle beginning
In the dead of the night, we became alive

I heard it in my youth, and I've heard it once again.
You banish it away, it always comes back again.
Pain, they say, will always make you stronger.
Then when it hurts, why can't I live any longer?

Pain is not supposed to strengthen your soul.
Only your mind it strengthens "and" it leaves a hole,
And that hole is filled with poison to dull the pain,
And that poison will weaken you, like acid rain.

Apparently what you don't know won't hurt you.
That's right. It only hurts everybody else... "true".
People who eventually hurt you another way.
You'll tell them, "Go away, come again another day."

"It doesn't **** you." "Only cats have nine lives."
Because I'm aware of the multiverse, these knives,
Called dysfunctional lovers, friendships, and family,
Have killed me a thousand times; I live candidly.

I live honestly, because the pain of seeding a lie,
Can grow a thorny bush, upon seeing it you cry,
When you're pricked by the destruction of all,
Your chaos, wondering why you don't get a call.

Pain is good for lessons, that's why it's all around,
It's not that you're getting strong, only wiser.
Pain brings you to your knees, makes you touch ground,
For the power, you are weaker, only wiser.

The hardest part about writing poetry is the boundaries you create for yourself.
You think of ideas to put onto paper, but you feel like those thoughts are mundane and probably previously overused.
The hardest part about writing for me, is pushing past those thoughts and convincing myself to write about it anyways.
I need to understand that I have my own twist on similar ideas as others.
I need to trust my mind and let it do the talking.

Inhale. Exhale.
I've lost something, but I'm not quite certain of what.
It's feels like when you reach for a wallet or a phone.
Knowing it's there only to find it's not.
There's a brief moment of lightning panic
as you completely blank on where you left them.
I live in that moment now.
Inhale. Exhale.
I know what I need is close, painfully so.
It's in the space between heart beats.
In the lines connecting my memories.
The dust in my dying mind.
Inhale. Exhale.
It had a name I know.
A name that somehow felt like home.
Like it was written in every cell and every bone.
Yet not at all especially special from the others.
Inhale. Exhale.
I breathe and I breathe.
And slowly ever so slowly.
I feel the thrum and vibrations
I feel the noise and chaos
I feel the endless connected expanse.
Inhale. Exhale.
Everything me rushes away like a wayward wave.
I see the rubik pieces of a life in front of me.
I see the mistakes and the losses.
I see too the victories and the happiness.
Inhale. Exhale.
As ever reality comes rising, looming.
But I see the worries and the fears.
I seem them and know their weight.
Like an old pair of jeans or shoes.
Fitting just to you and so familiar.
Inhale. Exhale.
But this is ok.
Because I remember as you always do.
Where we left the most important things to us.
I know her name as I always would.
Who could forget a part of their soul?
Inhale. Exhale.

We poets,
We never die,
We never get old,
or is a thing of time.
Time is with us,
Because we set times,
we decide when time move,
and when it moves...
We move for an eternal time...