Beautiful and bittersweetly
You were fading into me
And I was gently fading into you

Alas!  
They so bittersweetly croon in mine ear,
“Thou art as lovely as that morbid Queen Persephone!”
Have I been such a fool, cruel and extreme?
My hollow footsteps do fall here
Bringing forth wintry winds of death.

Alas!
They so eagerly whisper in thine ear,
“Thy lover art as lovely as that dreadful Queen Persephone!”
Hast thou been such a fool, sightless and mad?
Failed to listen for my light steps,
And forgot to feel winter’s dismal chill.  

Alas!
They so desperately murmur in our ear,
“Thy love affair is as fair as that of the wraithlike Hades and Persephone!”
Have we been such fools, violent and severe?
Our footsteps resonate here forevermore,
The Lilies from our garden washed pitifully upon the Plutonian shore.

Quite a few years from now,
my daughter will be twelve.
And all her friends will start
to think about things like
first kisses and winter dances,
and I know she will ask me
what my first love had been like.
And when that happens,
I'm going to smile
(though it may be bittersweetly)
as I remember
driving around aimlessly with you
singing along to bad radio stations
and exploring our town
to find the best local coffeeshops.
I'll remember nights
in our high school arts building
when nobody else was around
looking at the newest pictures
the photography class pinned up,
and how gentle you were
whenever our lips met.
I'll remember how no matter
how close you held me,
I always wanted it to be closer.
I'll remember exactly the way
that your favorite scarf smelled,
and the safety I felt
when you'd pull me into your arms.

I don't know what else will happen
between today and the day my daughter asks,
but whenever it is,
the answer to that question
will always be you—
so I want you to know
I can't thank you enough
for a story that makes me glad
I let myself fall in love with you.

I love children.
Okay let me rephrase that:

I love children that aren't mine.

I have abso-positively-*******-lutey no responsibilities attached to them.
They didn't leave *my body completely wrecked.
They don't look at me and call me "momma"
or any other variation of the name
and I love that
because frankly,
children scare me.

Okay let me rephrase that:
The idea of ruining a child's life scares me.

First off:
I wouldn't think my newborn child is beautiful.
Newborns look like potatoes and I don't particularly find potatoes attractive.

Secondly:
They'd have a name that haunts them in their sleep.
I named my dog Legolas after gorgeous Orlando Bloom in Lord of the Rings so don't try me.
I will name them Harry ******* Potter without batting an eyelash.

Thirdly:
I will be brutally honest with them.
When they ask me why the sky is blue,
I will say that I don't know.
I didn't pay attention enough in school to know.

When they ask me why some boys kiss boys,
I will say that it's perfectly normal.
Mommy probably kissed some girls and boys at some point in her life.

When they ask me why the little girl in their 2nd grade class comes to school with
bruises on her arms,
with her hair in two pigtails,
a smile on her lips,
but fear, loneliness, and heartbreak in her eyes,
I will say that some people in this world don't deserve Angels.
They don't deserve to be alive at all.

When they ask me why they don't ever see their great aunt Perla,
but hear her name whispered at family events,
I will tell them to ask the little girl in their 2nd grade class.

Fourthly:
They will learn to clean house, top to bottom,
The way my momma taught me.
They will hate it.
Then they will hate that they love it.

Fifthly:
I will argue with them every step of the way until they can learn to hold their own.
But until then,
No, you may not have $60 to go shopping.
Unless you're buying books or music.
Then you can have $100.

Lastly:
I will teach them to love.
My love for them will be overbearing, smothering, and unwavering.
This is how they will love their children.

But when they finally ask me what love is,
I will smile,
bittersweetly,
and say that love is...

Love is drowning in the ocean,
gasping for air that never quite reaches your lungs,
but when it does,
it hurts
because water doesn't belong in your lungs.

You can't help breathing the water in, however.
You just want it.
Want something to fill you, to overwhelm you.

Love is repeating this, over and over until one day,
the breathing
doesn't hurt anymore.

There is no more water in your lungs.
Just air.

There is water still, all around you,
but you are not drowning anymore.

You're swimming.

You, my dear, sweet, beautiful, hypothetical child,
are swimming!

*which is something that I have yet to do.

And you could blame it on me
Y'know, if it was my fault
If I had anything to do with it at all
It’d make me happy,
Even if I lost you
To make you happy.

Bittersweetly, that isn’t the case
Because I’m not the instigator
All I can do is be here
To be here, for you.

What is love?
Is it the outstretched hand of grace,
Helping those who are abandoned and in pain?
Is love the magnetic pull between lovers,
Enchanting both into a realm of splendor?
Or is it the inner calm,
That fills you while you witness God paint the sky
magnificent colors?
Is love the moments in which
The dam of your heart bursts open
Because life is so bittersweetly beautiful?
Surely,
I can't reckon which one is true,
But love must be true
Inherently
Maybe it's a mixture of mind and heart
That leads to the conclusion of love
For true love
Can neither be rash
Nor too cold
It must be balanced,
And directed by the Soul.

I chase after melancholy
like a toxic lover I'm begging to stay
by the time I'm back drowning in it
I just want it to go back away...
what a beautiful melody
a symophony of strings playing just for me
bittersweetly...
I carry shame with me like a pocket knife
scar tissue forms no matter how lightly you're cutting
insecurity and jealousy is damaging
I want you to need me
while I don't need anything...
are you waiting for me to write a poem about you?
I'm waiting for too much way too soon...
I don't get nearly as lost as I used to,
just a little confused
everyone else remembers details I never want to
youthful while longing for my youth
if I'm an old soul
I'm a pair of vintage dark blues
freying hems just add to the character
but I'm a little too broken in
so wear me down gently

Melting in my melancholy
My heart bittersweetly beating
Only for you

Familiar fingerprints grace its' sparkly glass mould
Through the ripples of alcohol; our story unfolds

All my tribulations; I'm too weak to face  by myself
Not without that bottle of scotch, on the same top shelf

And lately reflection seems to be a friend of mine
In these hollow corridors I've so often pined
This magical cocktail pairs well with regret
And bittersweetly I swallow; hoping to forget

Some day I will digest these deliciously painful memories
I'll rise to the occasion and shed these liquid accessories

All my tribulations; I hope to one day face by myself
And the dust will collect on that bottle; of a  (lonely) bottom shelf

~J. Hitchcock

I don't remember whether
The weather was better
Or the worse you've seen
We had been calling since an hour ago
I don't remember why
But I wanted you to sing
The request was sudden
A song you loved sprang to mind
"Hey, can you sing for me?"
The line went cold
Then your meek voice spoke
"What song should I do?"
"How about Sarishinohara?"
I felt your breath as you commence
The words flowed so bittersweetly fulfilled
I'm left stunned with a gentle gaze to the world
I could tell you were nervous
But that made it all so gorgeous
You told me before you sang
That you were hiding
In your small bathroom
I could only imagine you
Being as quiet as possible
When you would forget the lyrics
I would sing the parts
I'm sure people would stare at me
Just a random girl singing to herself
But it would never matter to me
Cause it was only us
Singing to escape reality