I remember the End.

The End was when she cried of guilt,
with broken trust her tears built.
It was the hardest thing to say
She was so stubborn with her way
But she didn't love me
She just thought I had some miracle elixir,
that I could magically fix her.
Fix her insecurities
Fix her doubt.
That I could give her the amenities and teach her what life was all about.
She made me believe it too!
That I could eventually get through.

Piece by piece I chipped away.
Problem by problem I saved the day.
The End was when I found out I couldn't mend you,
and in all that time all I did was pretend too.

I remember the End.

w.j.w.k

I want to be able to look at you and know
That I could have you
If I wanted to
when I wanted to
And no one else would be allowed to touch you
Because you  are  **mine

Poetry is a quirk of the soul
A seamless song of connections
Where the word rules its truth
And  its spirit encounters you

Adulthood is falsehood.
I remember at the darkest,
hearing a voice other than my mother's,
mantra repeated for knife-depraving comfort,
keeping nails away from face.
I thought it should be the voice
of the woman who held me against her breast
who bore me through blood and near-death.
The voice seemed more woman than my mother.
The deep, solid, earthy voice of iron eyes and earthen hands
rough tenderness of nature,
the comfort of Eve
made woman, never born child.
But I suppose she understood better than we
innocence lost.

My mother has the fragility of spun sugar,
But steel bent will--
I realize there is still the scared child
buried in her heart
and I see the same reflection of me in the mirror.
Buck-toothed, grass haired, round faced, and wide eyed.
I wonder if I will ever feel fully woman.
Or if we're all just scared children.
Powerful and powerless
as the girl building sandcastles
holding dominion
till the tides of time bear them away.

I’ve never been in love

Ben said, if that’s all you have to worry about
then you’re doing pretty **** well

After some consideration
I decided that it’s okay for now
you should know yourself
before someone else
could ever hope to reciprocate
and the biggest lie I can tell myself
is that I have it all figured out
at twenty two

I feel like all I am capable of writing about is love
and cliché lines like
her eyes could stop freight trains
or some nonsense about
how she moves like the phases of the moon
but there is one thing I have realized:
you do not need pretty words for your poetry
to have meaning

All I know for sure
is that I like root beer and whiskey
and the way I know spring is coming
by a scent in the air that I just can’t put my finger on

I know I have a hint of north Baltimore accent
and just because I couldn’t make it at a university
I am not a failure
dorm life isn’t for everyone
and sometimes I would rather drink alone

I’ve never been in love
for now that’s enough