1)
A simple gesture of happiness.

2)
A substance more fake than plastic.

3)
A reason why love is so abundant.

4)
A reason why people believe.
A force stronger than any words.
A swift move into a land to drift off and watch as glistening teeth and a perfect smile pull you into a breeze past reality.

5)
I wish I could always see your smile.

Smiles.

Wake up my brother,
You're not what you think,
Wake up my sister,
And your problems will shrink,
Simply keep talking,
Someone is listening,
Simply keep loving,
The sun is glistening,
Speak your truth,
With no regrets,
All you can do,
Is do your best,
Hold on tough,
But remain kind,
Search inside,
And Peace you'll find,
It's never the end,
Unless you say,
Wake up my friend,
This is a beautiful day.

Electric tension crackles across your lips,
tiny bolts from tiny hurricanes raging around the eyes of your pupils.
We sit where two halls meet,
parallel paths on perpendicular lines,
an x marking, a t crossed, the intersection with
our eyes playing a game of red light, green light.
A smile, possibly imposed,
a gold spot where my finger touched the blush
of rose begs rising on the hills of your cheeks,
your shyness fogging your glasses
and your passion hiding in deeper dimples.
A smile, possibly imposing,
building trenches in your face to match the
sharpness of your chin and contrasting the
charm leaking out of the corners of your mouth like faulty boxes,
packages, boxes and bags tied with ribbon in denial,
the fabric timeless tapestries torn and tied around the tree like tinsel.
You touched my hand,
drawing me back on the sketchbook tiles, shading me in
when my mind wandered off to wonder.
It sounded like the moments between the fingers of
impatience and angry clocks.
Tick tock transgressions make me a momentary monarch of mirth before I
falter and realize that you biting your levi lip
to hold the tide back
means that the hurricane is swelling.
You apologize because of secrets you hold in Roman ruins
and for sweetening the cyanide syllables.
You regret these moments, because unlike promises,
you can’t recant.
You stand and storms pass, stomachs settle and
the last jagged bolt streaks
into oblivion.

I love you like a funny joke.
I'm smiling because i just remembered your punchline but  I always seem to forget it.

I love you like an artist loves his first painting.
Although there are flaws, they are what makes the painting unique.

I love you like my favorite band.
I know every word to your songs and and desperately want to talk to you but I never get the chance since you’re touring in bigger cities.

I love you like a kindi-gardener’s fresh box of crayons.
Rarely touched and taken well care of.
But eventually lost and broken and smashed

I hate you like a sheet on the clothesline in the middle of a hurricane.
Being ripped from my line and drifting off away from you while you’re safe and sound.

I love you like a heroine addict loves his dealer.
Enough said.

I love you like a tree loves the rain.
Soaking up every drop of you that’s given.

I love you like a book worth reading over and over again.
Wanting to memorize your every feature like I could never see you again.

I hate you like a broken down car on the highway.
Stalled out, I was replaced before I had a chance to be fixed.

I love you like a sunset in the summer.
Indescribable, speechless except for the word “gorgeous”

I love you like star gazing.
Watching to find something and call it my own.
But I haven’t discovered anything yet.

I love you like pancakes on a sunday morning.

I love you like chocolate

I love you like nature.

I love you.

Burning of eyes as I just awoke
My room pitch black
The warmth of my bed makes me want to stay forever
But excitement boils over my five year old mind
as I remember it is Christmas morning

My feet turn to ice as I stick them out of the blanket
The floor making them stick.
I lift up my feet and gallop to my sisters room.
Boom, boom, boom,
My heels make contact with the hardwood floor

I grab the golden **** to my sisters room
I push quietly but fast
The door makes a slight squeak
I sprint to her bedside.
“WAKE UP CAMILLE IT’S CHRISTMAS!” I yell in the middle of her room.
At that point, I didn’t care about waking my parents up.

She sits right up with a smile on her face
And flings the blankets beside her legs as she puts her feet to the ground.
We race down the hallway
Dogs nails tapping on the floor as they follow us to the living room
The big, dusty, gross purple couch is the barrier between
me and the present I have been dreaming about for this entire year,
A new bike.
I run around the couch to see the chrome shining in the moonlight
The tires casting a shadow over the small area rug.
Stockings on the back of the big leather chair,
which instantly drew our attention.

We tear open the stockings and compare the new trinkets we got.
Cardboard, tin wrapping, and chocolate wrappers flying everywhere.
We were smiling so much I swear we could hear them.

Parents come out to see us grinning beside the heater as we tear apart our favorite toy for the day.
We gather around the living room like it was superbowl sunday and the tree is our
flatscreen.
The blue and silver and red and green collage of corny wrapping paper,
the giant boxes wrapped tightly and perfectly.

Dad is beside the tree, deciding which present we can open, and lightly tossing it to us.
We catch is as carefully as we could, set it on our laps and wait for our turn to unwrap.

As thank you’s are thrown around like baseballs at a little league practice
I patiently glance at my mom, and get the nod that I can unwrap.
This square box is staring eye to eye with me and I get the jitters as I unwrap it.
The red paper finally off, I open the box with ease.

What I found was the coolest thing ever, thats all I remember.

But now, that box is filled with my happiness.
My memories.
Never has an empty box held so much.
It has the family dinners,
The camp outs and bon fires.
The laughs that come from the belly while playing games around the table.
The piano lessons for hours
And those coloring books that were more sacred than the bible.

But for now, the box is closed for the time being.
Sitting upon a shelf in my closet, waiting for the right time to be opened again.

The greatest gift I have ever received is the memories of home.
What home is to me is all inside that box.

Dads cooking on the table,
Moms questions about our day at school,
Camille talking about her math homework.

Now it’s just two lonely guys sitting at a table
discussing how ****** the economy is,
girls,
that one time when he tried to give me “the talk”
But he doesn’t need to, I go to public school after all.

What I am trying to say is, I miss those family dinners more than anything.
I miss the nights we would spend outside gazing at the stars
Pointing out the constellations in the sky and making up our own.

I look for those constellations all the time.
I once found a rose, and I named it Camille.
Dad never knew why I named it that, since shes my sister.
I named the constellation of the rose Camille because
Well, she has the rosy cheeks and the lovely smile.
But she sure as hell has her thorns.

A family dinner now is three people instead of four,
I say bedroom with a plural,

But this family, although gone through hell and back,
We live together in between different walls, roads, and doors.
But most of all, we live behind our present, and live in the past.

I want to end this by saying, Christmas brings new memories and my favorite time of the year,
because then my family exists.
I started to open presents slower and slower,
and hugging tighter and tighter.
And loving more and more.
I love you, Mom, Dad, Camille.
I really do, even when you think I don’t,
I love you guys, and I always will.

I see Happiness out of humanity.
then theres me.
I see smiles out of people.
everyone. everthing. seems like im alone.
where do i go to turn.
I am Broken.
like glass that trembles when it gets broken
im hurt.
but im just broken.

I am so damaged
So fragile.
My head is spinning
all the while
It is breaking
Slowly cracking
What is it making?
It is so heavy.
So fragile.
I wonder if it will last awhile.
Before the cracks become craters
And the skull becomes
Merely nothing but faded.

Here a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies:
Pray be silent and not stir
Th’ easy earth that covers her.