Head out to the west,
I've seen it,
My second guess,
I knew one day you'd be mine,
Dependable as sunshine

There's a lit up crucifix,
Above a house made up of sticks,
We're all lost to skies and time,
Dependable as sunshine

Everyone's a barking dog,
When they finish what they say they're gone,
These lenses help me see the rhymes,
Dependable as sunshine

Scrawling marker on a pizza box,
As a record scratches on above,
Listening only to see the design,
Dependable as sunshine

A woman holds down a red balloon,
A thousand eyes distracted from the moon,
We've sold off our love and wine,
Dependable as sunshine

Pictures move above the crowd,
They listen as she sings out loud,
It's a shame we never read the signs,
Dependable a sunshine

It’s hard to tell whether it’s a blessing or a curse
To be around (just in case) someone else needs to talk:
Like a guardian angel, but let me say
After such a long time of putting others before myself
Sometimes I feel like an emergency flashlight
Collecting dust on a closet shelf.
Off to the side until it’s convenient-
But still on the line on the off-chance I’m needed.
And in the lonely hours I sit waiting and glancing at the clock
Waiting for someone to answer my text of “is anyone there?”
I begin to wonder what could be commendable
About being so solitarily dependable.

You were one of the first to teach me about value.
You helped me gain independence, little by little.
I shared my desires with you and you helped me to fulfill them.
Sometimes I needed just that little bit more and there you were,
Ready to pitch in and help out.

I remember a smile breaking onto my face with the very glimpse of you,
Your shining face gleaming at me from afar.
Sometimes those you thought were your friends would just toss you away,
But not me, not ever.
I cherish you for everything you are worth and then some.

You have always been unique, different than all the rest I would come across.
You have your own look.
Yes, you may look similar to others in one way,
But with a quick flip you are shining again like only you can.
Time may tarnish your gleam, but no matter how rugged you get you will always be of worth.

Special childhood moments come back to me now.
Holding you in my sweaty little palm, I would fill with excitement
Knowing you were about to deliver to me the sweetness of my dreams.
All I needed was you and maybe a few more of your friends.
And off we’d go to spend a Saturday afternoon in delightful company.

Seniors would push you away, unwanted, undervalued.
They would take one quick glance to see if they recognized you.
Then they would pass you on to a youngster,
As if they had far too much of you to care for more.
But not me, I would swoop you up and run off, delighted.

Now you are to be no more. No replacements.
You will be allowed to discolour and erode with age as so many of your ancestors have done.
But to me, you will always be the highly valued shining copper penny
Who taught me to count, to value goals and how to use money to attain some of them.
And most importantly, how to take the first steps towards my independence.

Dear Mom,
You are awake when everyone are sleeping.
You are working when everyone are having a break.
And yet you are standing there with the brightest smile
Without the slightest hint of tiredness
I look up to you,
I adore you,
I love you.
Dear Mom,
Can i be like you?
So strong in body and will,
So caring for others,
So dependable to your family
Dear Mom,
Once again i tell you,
I love you.

My mirror is covered in cracks and flaws, and some parts that make you look fatter, like a funhouse mirror, and it clings to dust and dirt and fingerprint smudges of oil.
But I don't replace it.
Because sometimes it's easier to spot the flaws in the mirror than to fixate on my flaw riddled body,
Flaws that aren't just skin deep,
The night is beautiful but deadly.
When you can't see, you have to find new flaws to detest,
It's addictive to beat yourself,
I'm in an abusive relationship where I don't mean to hurt me and I can't leave myself-
And there's some macabre satisfaction in the dependable breaking,
Like I know every night I will go to sleep hating the fact that I am still breathing,
There are memories haunting me from as young as ten,
Things that shouldn't still be repeating,
I can't work out how it just keeps accumulating,
Words spoken
And thoughts
And I don't know if anyone else feels sentences as deeply as I do,
And I'm running out of personality to stick pins into,
Trying to fix myself with voodoo
They say negative reinforcement is the quickest way to correct behaviour but I make the same mistakes
it's not okay that I constantly feel like I'm failing,
But life is more than a high-stakes game
And everyone's saying that all teenagers feel this way
But it's not reassuring to know that my generation is one of lost souls and hate.
And we're all really angry,
Whether it's because we'll be working till we're 90 or conflict left undated
Racism still exists and the Chancellor of Germany is getting called a ****
While anyone Asian is labelled Indian or ****
And eating disorders run rampant through the territory where anorexic girls get priority while the boy who binge eats is just called fatty.
And this is where I insert a statistic to convince you that we're unhappy but I refuse to be quantified just so I can mean something.
And it doesn't let up,
Compliments are uncomfortable and seeing good in yourself is arrogance, criticisms self pity
And you never know if they want to help you or just ensure that you understand the importance of conformity
It doesn't take much to convince someone you're okay.
There's not much you need to say
And if you can laugh then you're fine and we know no one checks the closets for skeletons because they're filled with people too afraid to come out of them
People accept 'fine' because they just need to know that they asked the question,
And besides, deeper questions get stuck beneath my skin.
And even when someone else compliments me I don't believe them,
Pushing away others cause I need distance,
Sometimes I feel sick from the level of enforced interaction but people only see the side they want to see.
When I told my friends about the time I struggled with suicidal thoughts they expressed their sympathies and it hasn't come up since.
Romanticising illnesses leaves me unsure if I am suffering or if I just want to be,
And part of me has to agree that diagnosis and its certainty would be better than the admission that life is just like this
You can't get better if it's something you can't fix
I don't think I'm broken but maybe I was made to the wrong specifications cause it feels like I am missing something but at the same time there is too much of me and not just physically
I am choking on the sheer volume of my past, present and impeding future
Trying to get it together
Told that it's okay if I don't know where I want to go
But in year 9 we picked our gcses which determined our a levels which determined our university courses which determine our career, if we even get there.
I keep finding new problems
I am still haunted by the old ones.
But I'll be okay,
Cause today
Someone told me to love myself.

I feed them laughter
Until they leave
With stomachs full
Of my own self deprecation

I am my own worst enemy
I let Ivy vines climb
The walls of my lungs
In attempts to replace
The vacant space
With something beautiful

I’ve been told I draw
A crowd
That people tend to love me
To love my endless smile
And warm embrace
Once I was told my heart
Could be seen for miles
They mistake this
As a choice
My empathetic heart
Has never known
Any other way to live
But little did they know
I’ve been at my journey’s end
For years now
I have been running on empty
No time to stop and think
When you are preoccupied
With everyone else’s thoughts

People are always around me
I have been told they tend to love me
Sort of in the way
The drunk loves the bottle
Or the addict loves the needle
In a way that we all love something
That can take the pain away
I am nothing more than
A dependable habit
A catalyst towards peaceful sleep
And a calmer mind

People are always around me
And it feels a bit like
Being stranded out at sea
Billions of living creatures
Surround you but you
Are the only of your kind

I have been told people
Tend to love me
Sort of the way
A child loves the comfort of
A soft blanket
Or the feeling of
Safety it brings them
And while the addict
May love the needle
And the drunk, the bottle
The child, their blanket
They are not IN love with them
They will never be IN love with them
They are simply dependable habits
A catalyst towards peaceful sleep
And a calmer mind

Papers are flimsy, fragile
   so susceptible to time
      and harsher climates.

Scissors cut and divide
   thriving on irreparable separation
      to leave us in pieces and scattered.

Rocks are rough and tough
   facing--and looking--the worst
       while enduring every day and night to come.

My choice resides amongst the stones
   constant, long-lasting, dependable
      in the challenges that may have others call
      for support when they can't stand alone
   for maybe the times they lived were too much, too long
after facing the blades which cut them into small, segregated fragments.

I exist in a world of careful structure
Taken out of Chaos and made habitable
By strict planning and strict ruling—
Structure is imperative
Order keeps us going
Deviations are not allowed

If you wish to live in my world
You must learn to follow rules

Reliability is key
Being dependable as the rising sun
Predictable as a new moon
Always infallible

Disappointments are not tolerated
Insufficient will be cast away
Deviations are not allowed
So if you can’t be trusted
Then you don’t belong here

There will be order in my house
For in games of two, there can be no others

There
Are
Rules
And they exist to keep us out of Chaos
They exist because structure
Ensures that we don’t collapse
So when your eyes are wandering
You are marking yourself as inconstant
Dangerous
Unacceptable
And I will stop at nothing
Until you’ve suffered for every sweetness you’ve laid at another’s feet
I will stop at nothing
Until you’ve learned that you must always choose me

I will burn you for every betrayal
And some will call me jealous

"A working man
that's what you are
a young, dependable
not entirely punctual
working man
and you can do anything
with your working hands
fix a tap, wire a circuit,
build a garden wall
or fell a tree
you can do
whatever you put your hands to
you can be whatever you want to be"

Something breaks

"with working hands
I'll try to fix it but
it takes time to learn
it takes time
to be good at something
for me
everything takes time
I'm not bad they say
just learning
in my frustration I wonder
what if I'm at full capacity
when there's more to come?
what if I'm just incapable?
destined to be an idle man
with rough, callused
soon to be soft
and useless
working hands"*

                    . . .

Well I want tomorrow today
so what good are these
working hands anyway?
I work and work and work away
pay my bills
I'm always late with rent
yes, work is overrated and
my pay doesn't make a dent
can't replace all the time I've spent
working with my hands

Isn't it funny
trading something so precious
for something as trivial as money
my brain works over time
day and night
when I get to work
it's like turning out a light
I think less and do more
it's kind of nice
so I think I'll sit tight
and stay on the tools
reject the office jobs

I can have it all
white finger
back problems
an RSI
bad knees
asbestosis
and arc eye
I can get all of them
so long as I try
work really hard and graft away
working man and all that!
who wants tomorrow today
when you can wear a hard hat?

Old fashioned girls with indifference in their eyes.
a will to be different.
a desire to be unique, but an emptiness fit for the farthest reaches of space.
a pathetic excuse for an individual are you.
the exact copy to that of a ghost of nothing... vain fantasy, as inconstant as the sea.
but dependable are your downfalls, everyone see's your issues.
if you were smart, you'd take it off.
you'd shed your skin and be yourself.
deny the paint on your face and the fact that we can all see it, we know you think you're above it.
you may think what you say doesn't reach my ears, but your ridiculous calls and impunitive voice are what I hear above all else.
it'll escape your mind, and I'm the one who will remind you of what it once was.
I'll get in your head, you're thinner than you think, your being is nothing, and your demise I will be.
your downfall is on a platter dear, take heed and be smart or behind your back is where you'll find the MOST disappointment of your life.
wish all you want, wishes are nothing.
especially to the undeserving.

He's old-
time-worn
tired

Has seen
many places -
many countries

If only he could talk-

Opinions would be bountiful
recalling adventures - delightful

My literary friend-
my notebook


r.riddle 01-30-2017

Caged in a prison, high on a hill, actions ensued but didn’t quite fit the bill
Words of not-always transformed promises to forever,
Side by side, naught to hide,
despite the cloudy weather
A friend, a rock, a ship almost wrecked was looking to dock

Alone in the harbour, under the moonlight,
Ashamed,
The half-wreck shone bright for what it was famed.
Tough stains were covered, remains left undiscovered to be smothered by another
Heart still full of what was before, keen, loveful pursuers already knocking at the door

Cabin wide open: “Ahoy mateys! Ahoy!”
She soon set sail with the innocent boy.
Tides were rolling on peacefully by, some of them were low tides but mainly they were high,
When in need there was a shoulder upon which to cry
And the girl thought the boy would help her get by.

Way out at sea on a tropical isle the boy showed the girl daemons not seen in a while
Opened her up and dove right in, illustrated the flaws of reacting to whims
Open
Broken
Alone at sea,
the boy turned his back as she fell to her knees

Floundering, drowning, thrashing in the waves
The girl succumbed to what her daemon craves
Underwater tears remain unobserved
A not-so-sly Fox spoke of acts undeserved
An unsure girl, curled up, abashed
Covered up the act and watched her daemon be tamed

A ship in the darkness, a ship under the stars
Saved the girl and craved the girl and hoped she knew right
And Oh! How she flourished in this dependable new light
“Love and peace, me mateys!”: a new reason to fight

The boy on his island, soon to return,
Will see that the shipwreck upon which they met, though
not
yet
quite
perfect
Trawls the coast to find an isle of its own
And though different to first-envisaged, Bristol shall be its home.

street cred makes a boy a man
able to take care of business declares manhood
then why are they actin fools around women
playen, traden and, braken hearts
forgetting that is someones daughter, sister, mother, etc
women give birth to men and are trampled on by men
humiliated, disrespected, disregarded, mistreated, abused and, neglected
all with a smile and honey coated words
sweat melting int he mouth bitter swallowing
disturbing to the stomach, difficult to ***** out
trapping women desperate for safety
proudly declaring: "i am man"
sealed with appalling behaviour
this is how i see the generation, from which i have to choose my mate from
party,high maintenance girls chosen
dependable good women ignored
this begs the question what is a real man
lots declare publicly, i am a good man
bias and subjected words to safe faded honor
honor
a word created to make ego taste better

I went to the ice cream shop today.
A dollar in my hand and excited for
my first scoop.
51 Flavors to pick from.

I stood over the counter and handed the Man
my quarter.
He handed me a scoop of vanilla.

"Excuse me." "Don't I get to pick the flavor I want?"
"No," the Man stated. "This is the flavor you want."

Vanilla may not be pretty, but its the flavor that everyone
should be.  No surprises and predictable.  Wont cause
you any harm. It's dependable.

He pointed to the other flavos and began to describe them.
As to warn me of them like they were a calamity.

Mint Chocolate. Sure it gives you a pleasant feeling in your mouth.
But the feeling fades after some time.

Rocky Road.  Yes it promises you greatness and a salvation of flavor.
But then it just disappoints after you see whats inside.

Cookie Dough.  It reminds you of your childhood.
But it can make you sick if you eat too much of it.

Coffee.  It give you a jolt of energy and focus.
But soon you realize its bitter and soon its just not enough.

I looked at the man as he described other flavors.  
Rainbow sherbet threatened the norm of society.
Strawberry was too ******.
Chocolate was acceptable just recently.

I asked of him, "Why have these flavors
If we should not partake of them?"

He looked at me with a straight face and stated,
"So you know what to avoid when you come in here again."

Do I disappoint you, dearest,
When I do not call your name?

Do you sit there sad and lonely
With your face a black screen?

But, you are a true, dependable
Friend within a box waiting.

Waiting loyally in eagerness
Simply to hear me call

Your name, "Alexa."

Solitary silence he seeks
Away from the celebration of him

Kerfuffle and commotion
He does not covet

He retreats to the tree’s shady veil  
Respite and relief silently welcomed

Detached and almost concealed
The wooden pony his dependable friend

Dappled light playfully dancing
Seclusion does not disappoint

Sanctuary, Shelter
Stay safe, oh beautiful child

Abigail, Abigail, keeps haunting me
I don’t remember when it started
Has to be the first seed of love
That planted Abigail in my heart
And etched it there for good….
In Martha I saw Abigail, in Ethel
In them all I chased Abigail
They were good, all of them
Flawless, spotless, free from blame
Lovable, dependable, transparent….
Yet I kept seeking Abigail
With a hallucinatory torment!
Did ever my eyes touch her once?
In a dream woven with fleeting romance
Or her face shone once in the moon
And melted as dew drops in the dazed dark!
Abigail my perpetual phantom
I neither get her nor fathom
I age, Abigail is ageless
Always there, but beyond embrace!

A dream came true today
But was shattered just the same
And I can see it now
A room of pastels
A long line of stern faces
A delicate, submissive vase
Ma's in her curlers
Putting her head down
Pretending to sleep
Pa's reassuring quiet
His slippers tidy by the bedside
Putting on a mask of peace
A crease has grown in the mattress
Cause symmetry is strong and clean
I saw this image even clearer
When I set down my wreath
Even more so than when I
Was scrambling for words to speak
Twilight's glow of life
Was upon the snow that night
And never before have I
Fused so fully with such still silence
I watched my mute shadow
As I glided through the rooms
A vacuous face, but beaming heart
Guided me to a cerebral place
That suddenly paled in comparison
To any word, rhyme, or thought of mine
I lost my sense of touch
As I fondled the key and turned the lock
It was right where it's always been
Unused, dependable, like clockwork
Unlike me
I sat down in a firm chair that fit like a glove
But I wouldn't be its heir
Instead I went above to where
Sparks of light shoot and drift
Like a darting pen in the hands
Of a boy who's yet to learn to write
Here I can't be picked apart
While there, not a creature stirred
Not even my heart

Each step is taken                      
                                for granted.

Confident that the terrain will remain
unchanged, solid and dependable beneath
our feet, beaten down by the ones
who have walked before us,
we forget to think about
our destination, and when the
path inevitably betrays our trust,
our arrogant stride falters
as the world shifts beneath our soles.

It is no wonder that we stumble when
trying to blaze our own trail.
So, remember to be wary about
where you step on your quest
for answers.

On October 2nd a local high-school teacher invited me to her classroom to speak to her students about writing and poetry. More specifically, the lesson of the day was one in which the exploration of a subculture took place. Subsequently, the questions that were posed to the students in the beginning were: “What does a poet look like?”  What would a poet sound like, conversationally?” “What kind of clothes would they wear?” “What do you think makes someone want to be a poet?”   As we got set to go forward with what became an easy and enjoyable group conversation, it all seemed a bit esoteric to me and I began to wonder if I was indeed the right person for this particular gig.

I started to wonder if I was a poet, if I am a poet.  What does a poet dress like? How did I come to be a poet? I know my backstory, as it relates to the when and why I write what I write and way that I write it.
But, in the end, we talked about the subculture of poets and poetry, the need for more human interaction, the thrill of the live poetry reading and the fact that this particular subculture that I am a part of also tends to be sought out by those from other subcultures. I explained what The Thunderbird Sessions are and what they continue to mean to me. I explained that we have a regular attendee whom is very obviously wracked with anxiety, but that he comes to life under the lights and through the PA-system at Unplugged during a Thunderbird Sessions event.  Additionally, I explained that we have, often, subcultures within subcultures represented at a Thunderbird Sessions reading.

It seems that the fringes, the weirdos, the people who don’t quite fit in anyplace else, fit into the robes of the poet or the writer, because people that write have an escape hatch, they have a valve that releases the pressures that they feel every day and in almost every way.

I have done my best to make sure that my subculture is as accepting of any other subculture that might step through the doors of anywhere that I might be reading, writing, or otherwise existing. Because, really, the only culture that matters is the culture of kindness.  

Before that roomful of high-school kids was done with me, I told them that despite the fact that I didn’t know them, I loved them unconditionally. I told them this, because no one told it to me outside of my own childhood home and family. I felt like I didn’t fit on the planet. So, I found music and books that made for good companions when I needed them. Records and books are often quite a bit more reliable and dependable than people. People will let you down at every turn.  It’s a pretty rough room out there right now, so I’m trying to be one of those people whom you know will absolutely not let you down. I hope I’m doing okay.

A few days later, I got a thank-you card in the mail. It seems that I failed to communicate thoroughly enough on the subject of subcultures. No one wrote: “Hooray! Now I know a real poet!” “Now I understand how a poet should dress!”  “Now I know how to talk like a poet!”   Instead, the teacher wrote something like this: “Those kids remembered how you told them that you loved them unconditionally despite the fact that they were strangers to you. That really meant a lot to them.”

I want to do more of this sort of thing. It’s the only way I feel like I’m doing the very most good that I am able to do.
*
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications

If i hold you in my lungs long enough, I won't be able tell if this is enough.  A physical juxtaposition to hold my life in its hands.  A cool breeze letting go not to say goodbye, cuz heres another one to say hello.  Keep me warm good friend, for you seem to be my only friend.  Its a miracle at best, that you make my head at rest.  But theres no guarantee that you will be here forever.  

Guess it doesn't (******) matter, toss you aside to make room for another.  Always pressed for time and another year passes by.  It makes us all feel so expendable.  Only here to burn and fall no ones dependable.  Yet you keep me warm good friend, for the time being.  But everyones gotta lose when u breathe in this cold feeling.  

For I hold you there longer then I should, for you were here longer then I ever could be.  To fill up empty space inside, an emotion i can't describe.  Watch you get weaker, as my body becomes a stranger.  I breathe out your smoke, and take in hope.  Always pressed for time and years pass by.  It makes us all feel so expendable.  

Only here to burn and fall no ones dependable.  Makes me feel so unreal on this street watching these signs.  They change but you stay the same.  So a pack ends my day, and i head inside feeling so brave.

Producers are making films
On the decades of my life.
I'm sitting there, and
I think out loud:
I remember that!

At the Henry Ford Museum
They've displayed my Radio Flyer
And wooden Yo-Yo.
I lost them long ago.

Flea Markets sell postcards
Of Grand Bend Beach and Casino.
I bet my life there.

I've been told
My steel tubular kitchen set
Is retro.
I didn't know.

Classic Car Shows
Put barrier ropes
Around VWs.
They were cheap,
Dependable.

And everything's back in vogue,
'cept me.

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The distant surf
crashes against the old
Spanish wall.
Sounding like slow
volleys of gunfire
ricocheting off
the jagged cliffs
above.

The sea side stillness
of the night is
disturbed by
my footsteps.
They crunch a
million grains
of sand with
every step
I take along
this jaded
asphalt.

At this hour
all of this is
closed,they put
hours and gates
around
whats free.

Wet feral cats
chase giant
wharf rats all
through the
cavernous
crevasses
between the
break walls
giant stones.

Across the Harbor
on the calm side.
Lights shine bright
from the
giant cranes
and the
deep green
Span dressed in
strands of
Blue.

The lights
reflected off
the still water
and danced
along small wakes
left by
passing boats.

The fumes
of sweet
scented fuel
hides just
beneath the
smell of
salt water and
the rotting
bait fish left
behind by
hopeful
fisherman in
chunks along
the rocks.

A quarter mile
out on the breakwalls end
the Gateway to
the Angels sits
as still and proud
as an ancient Oak.

Its dependable
Lighthouse
vigilance and wisdom
washes over me
as I pass this
night counting
the seconds
between
the shine.

I stand and wobbily make way to the door

Night fallen so quickly again

Afraid of dark
Shut the door and turn around
Not before flipping the lock

Instead of going to move amongst glowing lights and the odor of *****
Slip into pajamas and slide under the covers of my dependable bed
If patient
Sleep will find my skull eventually

So once more I am left in the space between dreams and reality

The cloud are reflecting off my computer screen
Moving at a rapid pace
They have somewhere to be
They have to move on
Fading into my shadow
They’re like daggers

My head is like daggers

And my smile is like a rifle
Loops one more time
Just picking the achy strings
I think he’s exhausted
Really just ******* tired
And the way he sings

Just wants to speak

And pour all of his heart
Thoughts
Emotions
Pain
Pain
Pain

These pitches, John, they aren’t real

They aren’t right
You aren’t right
I’m listening to this for you
Because last night was the night I took your life
I was tired too
I was tired and used your insecurities

As an excuse

To blow you off
Bryce come back please
I love you
I CAN’T SEE WHAT I’m typing anymore
It’s waterwashed
I love you I love you

I lov you please

Please trust me
My tears are ocean currents
My calves are the sand
Pull me to La Jolla please now
Hold my hand Bryce
You’ll be unconscience in 5 minutes

Fiberglass isn’t all that dependable

Fiberglass will float on
You’re heart is lead
Let it sink
Hold my hand
Let it sink
They’ll find our bodies

Eaten decayed by algae

You look just as fine with your
Skin pruned and ribcage exposed
I would kiss you all the same with your
Toes consumed by fishes
4 times over John
4 times you don’t sound anymore like an answer

I do not love you because you are a beautiful flower,
Fragile, tender and soft.
I love you because you are a plant,
Sturdy, dependable and medicinal,
With deep roots and strong limbs
to hold on to.
Let me be your gardener and age together over the years forever.
6/2/2019

Hidden in the grey morass out there amidst your workforce
Are Pearls in a lattice work of intricate disguise.
Gems of enlightenment and soldiers of conscience
Who battle with adversities’ regressive, shut eyes.

Clad in the rigging of everyday costume
Hidden to all but the discerning few,
Seeing the gold of the extra steps taken,
And observing initiatives made there for you.

Gold in the form of an everyday worker
One who excels far above average way,
Unrewarded and unacknowledged
Responsibly shouldering this all in his day.

Towering over the mass mediocrity
Holding the strands of a mess of loose ends,
Always dependable, doggedly purposeful
Easily marked as definitive friend.

Driven by his own hard volition
In striving for that extra won mile,
True champion of mans’ Endeavour
Unheralded in his own low profile.

The movers and the shakers all
Fly their flags of self acclaim
But the Pearls of the Unobvious
Shall be this nations’ future fame.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
24 November 2010

Ice blue-gray eyes，
that laugh, especially with
a semi-crooked smile.

A kind sort of smile, the semi-
crooked one, and a kind
sort of laughing.
Makes you feel like you’ve done
something pretty ****
great to deserve it.
(just pretend.)

And like you want to do it again,
so that maybe your eyes will laugh
with his.
Just maybe.
And if not, hopefully he likes you
anyways.
A millionth as much as you
like him.
Or a trillionth as much as
you sometimes, barely, dare
to wish.
(upon many a shooting
airplane, birthday candle, and
wish bracelet knot.)

Strong tennis-player muscles
of implied lines, not bulk.
At the same time, arms that
look comforting, make you long
to be held.
Doesn’t matter what catastrophe
strikes, bet it’s worth it.
Not from experience, but here’s to
hoping.

Accompanied by a mild yet male
scent. Unique with its inevitable,
accompanying trace of extra polar ice.
(be sure to buy some.)
Chewed in a surprisingly
acceptable way.
And a piece shared, with a kind
sort of smile,
always.

A laugh for real.
That always laughs with you, never
at you, at whatever is deemed
worthy, not just when others laugh,
even if it’s dorky, or lame,
or whatever.
Infused with honesty.

A personality to match that genuine
laugh.
The person you just want to talk to
because you just know
he’ll understand.
And if he thinks it’s stupid, it’s
ok, because
it probably is.
(definitely is.)
And why be unhappy when talking to
him?

Besides, he's not judging
anyways. Just
gets it. Maybe because you
have so much in common.
Though it's more than that.
More than those "commonalities."
Or whatever.

Assumes the best,
though that phrase is still
just not right.
(like all of them.
nothing's right.)
Though you think you're nothing,
he treats you like you're...
someone. Special.
(but maybe not quite someone special.)
Dont know how that
happened.
But it's nice.

Nice that he's always there.
(until when you expect it.)
Dependable and trustworthy.
Can't believe he's more stranger
than the best friend he feels like.
The best friend he
should be.
He's always there,
and now he's the one you always
want with you, more
than anything.
More than everything.
Who'd ever need anything else?
Who'd ever want everything else?
(maybe it's just me.)

That one in particular.
Who gives you that feeling you
thought only existed in romance
novels.
Who looks at you and something just
happens.
Who’s just different than everyone
else.
For who knows what reason.
But you just know.
Since forever.
As in love at first sight.
And all those other clichés which you
now know are apparently true.

Who, if they leave, take you away
with them, a part of yourself never
to be recovered. Once you give
yourself away, you don’t get any
back.

Leaving you in pieces, shambles, a
wreck , a disaster, broken,
confused, angry,
alone.

And all the songs make sense now.
About love and heartache. (both of
the above.)

Wish you’d receive the matching
piece of him, so that if you left, he’d
feel the songs too.

Who makes you feel like an idiot for
letting this happen. (because
obviously you are one.)
Who could never possibly like you
back, because no way
you deserve it.

The reason you’re up at two
AM on a Wednesday night/Thursday
morning, writing about
you know who. (as in not Voldemort.)
Who’s reduced you to an idiotic and
hopeless romantic, crying over lost
love and sappy movies.
The one everyone makes fun of.
Stupid pragmas.
(you think I chose this?)

Who’s also made you so much more,
so much better.
(to use yet another cliché.)

Who you can’t help but hoping,
wishing, dreaming for.
No matter what. Because it’s
all you know.
And all you can do.

(please come back.)