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NDHK Sep 2012
She sits across from me sipping and slurping her fat free french vanilla.
While I'm pacing myself with cappuccino imitation.

"All I'm saying is, that if he starts calling me baby, I might wanna keep him!"

She says it with that cajoling tone.
But I can notice the glimmer in her eyes that tells me she longs for that.
That sweet pet name that would mean she's special to him, in her mind...

I never could get comfortable around those things...pet names.
Cutesy little endearments reserved for a child's affection.

What is wrong with me?

She's vibrating with unmasked giddiness, glancing at her phone.
They've been dating for only months but she is lost in him.

Him.
With his once a week date nights
and clean shaven face
and joking interaction with her friends.  

She's full of soft embrace and warm affection and vulnerable interest.
Wanting never looked so form fitting on a person.
Like a cup waiting for a refill...

"If you want, I could see if his friend is up for dinner next week? You know it's been months for you..."

I hope she doesn't choke on her millionth slurp with the glare of indignation leveled at her cherub-like face.

"Ah thanks, but no thanks." races out of my mouth before I even hesitate to pretend to consider her obvious proposal.

How is it that easy to just offer companionship like that? Do I give off a "desperate for love" vibe?
And what the hell makes her think I can't find someone on my own **** time?


"Okay, okay. It's just...I hate seeing you alone. Don't you want to not be alone anymore?"

I know she loves me but those kind of questions from her caring heart, make me contemplate knocking her in the head.

My alone-ness she says.
My singular existence.

I'd laugh at her if I didn't know it would hurt her feelings.
To disregard her feeble attempts at pairing me up with whatever half-assed man candy she could sway my way.

I'm staring at the ring left from my coffee,
wondering if I should just give in this one time for her,
for me,
for the over used batteries at home.

"I'm not lonely you know. I just, haven't felt that connection yet."

Looking pitifully back at me she wonders aloud, "You're always waiting on that connection but have you ever felt it before? I mean, how do you know it's even real, that body, mind, spirit...magnet pull you believe so fiercely?"

It's the first time I've given her a genuine smile today as I tell her yes I have felt it before.
Briefly...
Bitter sweetly...

I just never got his last name.

It might have been years ago but I can still recall with clarity that electric tornado that seemed to have surrounded us.

We had only been gifted ten hours together but it left a mark on me for over fourteen years.
His face is definitely matured I imagine and his body shaped differently.
But I'll never mistake those sea green eyes, haloed by dusty blue cloud rings.  

The only boy who has ever made me want to get lost and never be found.

"Well...good luck with that. But until mystery man crashes back into your life, for god's sake live a little huh!"

She means well I'm sure but like an eager pup I just tsk at her goofily plastered expression and finish off the grainy remains of my only afternoon delight. She's in a hurry to make her "honey bunny" a homemade dinner anyway so it's not hard to cut things short on our weekly coffee shop vent session.

She's floating out the door before I even get my coat above my elbows but I can't feel offended.
Mulling over the uncomfortable idea of boring interaction with another stranger I decide to grab one more drink for the ride home.

Alone.

Oh, wonderful...now she's planted that seed.

Shaking it off, I order my vice and move benignly to wait and resolve to not think about anything related to that anymore either.

"Seems outrageous they charge so much for imitation don't you think?"

The question's asked to me but I pretend I can't hear it. A guy hitting on me today is not what I want to deal with.

And he seems to be standing right behind me
making goosebumps scatter across my neck.

He tries again, "So I guess you like buying bottom of the barrel cappuccino?"

This time I've gotten a little itchy from his voice and want him to just stop in his tracks.
So I turn to tell him where, in fact, he can go...

But I'm the one stopped short and a bit flabbergasted.

No way do things happen to me like this.

Those coincidental, lucky, fated things...

I almost wish I was a liar right now with the things I just spilled to my loyally, encouraging friend.
Because there is no way the universe would be this cruel.

Finally I exhale and word *****,

"They're the only place that taste just like the ones at my grandmas' house every summer when I was a girl. I waited a long time to find that connection again, even if it is just coffee..."

The smirking face and broad shoulders that greet me aren't the cause of my temporary delirium.
Not even the wild hair and black rimmed glasses.

It's the sea green, haloed dusty blue eyes centering all the rest that shallow my breaths

Of all the places.....

Like a falling satin sheet his face morphs into a query riddled expression.

I hear the barista call out a name and he reluctantly steps away, never taking his eyes off mine whispering,

"I'll...be right back. Don't move...please?"

I'm nodding like an awkward parrot and he turns to grab his imitation coffee.
The same kind I'm waiting on.
And I start smiling after a second.

Not because of the similar drink order, which could be anyone...

But because of something I haven't known until this moment for over fourteen years.
All thanks to fate, or destiny...
Or perhaps the oblivious barista.

His last name...


*© NDHK
Elioinai Oct 2014
Is it just me?
What is it about you that makes me go all starry eyed and cliché?
Is it my own penchant for giddiness?
Your own words, she is in perpetual romance
    You also said, A vampire would come,
To take my life.
May 4, 2012
I had a heart ring I had painted in purple and sparkly black, and N was playfully telling my future according to the colors. That was the night I fell in love with him, later I wrote the poem.
vircapio gale Jul 2012
shiva knew from ashes, what we from
baring bodies claim to know, that
down-dogs in the buff sets vanity aside,
if not by force then over time
along with any pretzel pose, or
tapas, work, or sweaty hopping
balance challenge deeper rhythm breath
revealing limits undenied and beauty
now revised for harmful lies to go.
beginning **** and ending ****
the mirror is the sun, the blue
horizon line of thought of one.
to bend is in the mind as well,
the keener meaning flexible
of soulful empathy of self.
the class ends in corpse and being
peaceearth-airsky-lovewind-all
apparels us only with the same light
we know and bow in namaste
to saunter to the beach and swim away communal heat.
i'm underwater soon,
three hours of dominoes
fading into deep greens
of algae kumbhaka pranayam. released.
the pond-bottom gasps at me with silt, such
delight shining darkly cool and shouts
jump in bubbles at the greenrays
piercing sweetly down to play our bodies perfect.
this is an existential feast.
old rocks on which to stand connect our feet,
waterslip awareness of the deep
and of the sky
gives rise to touching 'accidents' --
we clothe ourselves in thinner veils
we talk of history and elders, while
hormones sparkle greetings stroking clear we swim
in circles slowly, diving down and playing at pretend.
'adults being children' being adult in reserve
being 'natural' being ****,
discreet in underwater lust...
'i love you' our dripping eyelashes say
against the hot raft that burns our skin;
above the surface
neutral for the genitals we are
evaporate of self-seeing worry not
to spash each other's souls.
kindred lovers elsewhere whine possession
of us, but 'living, you said, isn't about being safe,'
seducing all, at every turn, an unabashed
reflex there to be desired in.

beachbathers, nubs of pink, tan and brown
shine unbroken at the shores.
occasionally waving 'nonjudgmental' waves.
sunglassed faces work away at being easeful:
assuaging fears of voyeurism far

i have set the wall to play vairagyam
naked in the open family value smiles
leaving me to judge our acts undone
or sensed beyond the moment in the center shade,
beneath our floating hiding place
our echoed panting speaking more surreal
than just the treading water in my space
you spit the teasing offer naturally
while hidden in the middle of a lake
our shocks of pleasure, gleaming eyes
in echoes brahmacharya pulls
with spinal lock of spiral loving this
we cannot have our vibrate bliss

i name it potently for what it is,
it cools the ***** enough for
feigning innocence

i duck in and out with image firmly planted
playing on an unreal living all
caution gone~

but not before imagining
the details stored away and swept together:
in that single moment apex entrance
of our carnal members swaying into
underwater yogasex.

the ladder slips along my sides
weaving up unbreathing giddiness, as
nubile, as young forever yearnings mar until
i hook my toes and float for you
clad by sun and sky, clearest ripples
flick the lips of vastness into grin
reflects your dive,
spread silouette above
you fly into my breath
to pinnacle the dance we live
without an act we guard propriety
until alone and years have gone
i'm here before a screen to live it over differently
Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.
hiperverb and imaginery poetry, based upon the eternal endless realistic living and non  logic  retoric literature.
copyrigth JOSE LUIS CT  2018
Vitis Lio Mar 2014
And approaching the place
And company I crave most
I feel like the first day of
Year one, or that night
Just before I turned ten, when
I lay in bed and was
Terrified. You
Start school only once
You turn ten
Only once, I
Meet my friends every
Couple of-
But am filled with dread mixed
With Joy - Giddiness, it is
The worst and best feeling
That causes you to constantly remember
But wish, not to forget, exactly, but
Have it done with already
And I don't want this feeling
Like I'm about to throw up
I just want to be with them
Already, now, always.
For The Herd.
Sora Dec 2012
DJ turn it loud
DJ slow it down and go silent
DJ rev it up
DJ cool down a bit
I'm the DJ who drops the beats
The bass trembles in your tendons like a banjo string being played
And vibrates your collar bone like a cell phone in a theater
I'm the DJ who shoots arrows into hearts
The guitar solo swirls your vision like a sheet of fog
And pulses through your entire body like a defibrillator
I'm the DJ who ramps up the emotion
Sorrow courses through the crevices of your brain bringing you back to the world outside
Giddiness is wired through your toes and fingers and guides you away from worries
Anger pounds in your heart when that special pattern of drum beats and guitar chords remind you of your ex.
DJ turn it loud
DJ slow it down and go silent
DJ rev it up
DJ cool down a bit
I'm the DJ who drops the beats...
Just thinking of music and how I would most likely be dead without it. I think we can come together and split apart with one another through music. To each their own road.
Arzella Sep 2018
Surely you,
Jester.
Unduly-expressed.

Lambasted,
insulted.

Abrasive ...
au naturel?

I think...
Surely not.

Unless,
Had the aforementioned not just the will to rip through my throat,
 but too the audacity to penetrate the inclement root you call heart.

Well, I had made my decision.
and lo!
I would have stood by it too;
had my own form of insecurity been given the chance to wilt.

Not further admonished on
how to think. how to act
How 'one' should primarily be.
Instead I lie bludgeoned,
berated;
and by the very thing that
antecedently spurred  
a cascade of unsophisticated giddiness.

That too was far from the cry of a
Devil-may-care persona.
I would almost weep the lost opportunity,  
Whereas I should simply, and most ardently
Just be.
Jane EB Smith Apr 2013
Thirty three years we go back,
Of course I think of you when I hear it.
Thirty three years of listening, questioning, understanding...
Of course I think of you.
My mind isn't a spigot I can turn off  
and forget the water that flowed through.
I think of you when I was proud to be your wife,
proud of your accomplishments.
What does she know of those?
She doesn't know      you.

She doesn't       know       you.

She hasn't loved you through the rages and disappointments,
through the utter giddiness of new fatherhood,
through your father's death,
your mother's pain.
She didn't thrill with each promotion,
plan homes,
plant gardens,
hope for thunder,
dance in the rain,
live on  bagels for lunch,
play badminton in the dark.  
She hasn't dried your tears over a son's illness.
She didn't play bridge with friends
or know their son who died,
the tow -headed little boy who made us think of becoming parents.
What comfort can she give?
She doesn't know you.
She knows this creation you've become
in Hollywood jeans
and weekend hikes without attachments.
She knows your daughters as  bait--what a great dad--
your sons as accomplishments;
your wife as an anchor
who held you down, held you back
when all along I thought I was your support.

She doesn't know you.

And neither do I.
Reina J Morris Jun 2013
I remember when there was a time that
you would look at me and my heart would smile,
and I was told, "That is how you know he loves you..."
When your heart smiles.

I remember when I think back on the times when all
I had to do was just think of you and there I go grinning,
feeling giddy and warm like sunshine;
yet I've not felt that in such a long time.

Where did all that go and will I ever get it back,
do you know?  Instead, my heart stopped smiling
and I don't have that grin, that giddiness or
feel warm like sunshine anymore.

Where I'm at it's dark, cold and confined.
I watched you from a distance and saw your
face no more, but I'll always remember those
moments we've shared together and watch
over you from beyond the nethers;

help you to keep alive those feelings of
when your heart smiles, the giddiness
and the warmth of sunshine until
the stars die out; until time erases time.

**Creative Writings -  Reina J. Morris
elle Feb 2017
"what's the best part about having a crush?"
the giddiness,
the fantasies,
the butterflies.


"what's the worst part about having a crush?"
*the fact that
the butterflies only exist in your stomach.
the fact that
the person at the back of your mind every minute and hour of the day --
doesn't think of you.
the fact that
all you can do is continue living, trying your hardest not to immerse yourself in the reverie.
the fact that
at the end of the day, some things don't work out the way you want them to.
mjad Jan 12
Talking to you never gets easier
I fall back into fifteen
Every time your name is on my screen
The giddiness, the waiting
Waiting to see what you say
But now it's been almost ten years
What do I want to hear?
I'm not sure
Why do you tell me things aren't good with her?
At the absolutely worst timing
I have someone now
And you're not around
We're just talking
MB Aug 2013
Dearest Mr. Green,
It was an honor to have my heart broken by you. Your book, The Fault in Our Stars was one of the best recommendations I may have ever crossed. I thank you deeply for all the hours of pure giddiness and tortuous pain that you created in both Hazel Grace and Augustus Waters. However, I do have many questions about Hazel's future: does she ever loose her battle to her cancer? What happened to Augustus's parents soon after the loss of their son set into reality?

Your story honestly had my heart ripping slowly into pieces, the way you described how Hazel Grace and Augustus had crossed paths and went down a beautiful road into the hearts of all your readers... gave me the deepest appreciation of the young fighters of childhood cancers.

As a daughter of a cancer survivor, I've had my fair shares of visiting support groups with my mother while she was going through her treatments. I remember the panic I felt every time she went in for PET scans and Chemo, worrying for any ounce of her body to betray her. Thank you for making the pain and worry of cancer so beautifully worded, and the uncertainty of how quickly cancer can easily take the happiness away from someone.  
Thank you for the hopes given to me when you wrote the heartfelt words, “Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.”

You are truly an incredible soul with a heartbreaking habit of writing books with main characters who tend to die of some serious form of illness. I find you to be both evil yet so perfect when it comes to your stories. You are my inspiration. However, I am slightly upset that AIA is not a real book. It would be quiet a wonderful rollercoaster to ride.

“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like betrayal”  Yours, could not have put my thoughts onto paper in any more of a perfected way.

Yesterday, you gained a new fan. I adore you as an author and person. I really do.

Sincerely,
m.b
July 11, 2013- I have yet to hear a reply...
Kendall Seers Mar 2020
There is a rush to throwing yourself into a wave.
A certain giddiness or
a daring hope,
that this time
you will make it to the other side.
Head high and anxiety low,
Able to reassure yourself that
Yes, you can do it.

It is such a rush
that when the ocean breaks on your head,
you know that underwater is temporary,
And bearable.
So here you go.
Set your eyes on that wave,
tell yourself,
this time I will do it.
I will never know
If I don’t try after all.

So what if I have been here,
been trying, for years?
The water laps at my neck, as I cough.
I have been at sea for so long,
my muscles ache, heart most of all.
I keep trying, though
My lips are blue,
glabrous flesh has wrinkled,
And I can hardly see
for all the salt in my eyes.
Brine?
Tears?
I can’t tell.

Though I crave to rest,
The sea does not care.
Each attempt leeching heat,
and locks growing green as kelp.
I fear that should I rest now,
I would never see shore again.
But rather,
find my new bed is one of the sea,
Where I could sleep,
undisturbed by the crashes above,
and never drown.
Being neurodivergent in university is a heck of a time.
Harsh Nov 2015
Do you remember your first one night stand? The very first?
It's funny how in all the wrong ways it's very much like in the movies,
but in some it's not, which often leaves you properly ****** up,
many days after the actual *******.
It always starts with *****.
***** you absolute poisonous ambrosia, tell me how can you resemble
love so very well?
From the exaggerated self-confidence, delusional happiness to the shame and atrociously bitter after taste, not to mention the ****** of a hangover,
you my friend might well be love's virtuous twin.
What does 'a one night stand kind of girl' look like?
I used to think 'definitely not like me',
but tonight the discoloured mirror in my bathroom begs to differ.
She looks remarkably like me. She is me.
Perhaps there's an equation with variables of age, time and the amount of one night stands which calculates how well one fits into the model,
irrespective of the math somehow she looks strikingly similar to me.
Ability to dance topped with confident is my kryptonite.
So after dancing so **** fine, when he looked me dead straight in the eyes, and said "I want to take you home, kiss you and *******",
like hell I couldn't resist.
Everything was just like in the movies right down to the clothes
scattered all over the floor, leaving without getting his number, and
the infamous walk of shame.
But,
he was gentle.
He asked "is this really what you want" even at the very last moment,
when his naked body was lying on top of mine,
fractions of an inch away from entering me,
which made me think of my unborn son and how I will teach him about self control, respect and the vitality of consent.
How this is what a true gentleman behaves like, even when the beast within him was roaring to be unleashed.
He held me tight all night long.
He buried his face in my neck and wrapped his arms so tightly around me, I could feel his heart beat through my veins.
His cologne ran all night long and into the morning reminding me how much I used to get turned on by men's aftershave, one of my favourite scents in the world,
right amongst freshly baked cookies, rain on dry grass and wall paint.
This was not like in the movies.
As I bid him goodbye and locked his fancy apartment door behind me,
I felt rudely shaken awake from the day dream, I felt something in me drop.
It wasn't because I knew I would never see him again,
but rather 'cause I knew later tonight I'd remember last night and miss the sensation over and over again.
The phenomenon of feeling desired, the warmth that accompanies hours of drunken ***, the sweaty stickiness, the giddiness, the passion that accompany a one night stand.
Not being alone.  
A warm bed.
I knew I will miss all that. I miss all that.
I forgot my wristwatch on his bedside table.
Made me think of the time I lost.
The time I lost calculating the significant impact a one night stand would have on my dignity.
The time I am loosing thinking about the past, though so very raw and fresh, which remains unattainable.
I also forgot my earrings on the floor next to his bedside table, when I removed them in  hurry in the heat of the moment, in fear of accidentally scraping him.
Us girls, we do that a lot.
We remove pieces of ourselves to avoid hurting the fugitive men who walk in and out of our lives, and leave those pieces behind,
without realizing that with every encounter we were becoming less and less like our true-selves.
Both pieces were cheap gifts from someone in the family that I held to for many years.
They made up in sentiment what they lacked in price.
Very much like virginity.
You realize after sometime like religion, race and nationality its a socially constructed concept.
It is only as valuable and important as you want it to be.
Virginity should not define anyone.
"Virginity should not define you", I said to the girl in the mirror.
For a one night stand kind of girl, her eyes were so judgmental.
This poem is the sole property of me and cannot be copied or used without permission. [Copyright G.H. Rodrigo 15/11/2015]
Cíara McNamara Jul 2015
Our first date -
a bottle of cheap whiskey
and awkward glances.

The taste of it sweet upon my lips,
before I got to taste you.

Through drunken ramblings
and childlike giddiness
we learnt so much.

You were more intelligent than me,
I like that -
to be challenged.


I'm challenging enough,
I don't need the added intelligence.

And soon one cheap bottle of whiskey
became two.
R Jun 2013
11:22pm

Right now, as I sit here listening to Neil Young and allow myself to ponder over every little thing about my life, I have realized something that I should have became aware of a long time ago:

-I am not defined by my sadness-

Nor am I defined by the amount of times I've been dumped, or failed a test, or made some stupid mistake. I am not defined by my past, and I surely can't be defined by my questionable future. Why does it matter if I'm depressed, or if I **** at math, or if I don't have very many friends? These are all just tiny little fractions of the millions and millions of pieces that make up who I am as a person. And, to be quite honest; just because I'm sad, that doesn't mean that I have to be sad. I am completely capable of being happy if I want to be. I can do anything I want if I truly set my mind and heart to it. But the moment I let my sadness define who I am as a person, that will be the very moment when I lose all hopes for any positive change in my life.

Just because I'm sad, that doesn't mean I can't appreciate really good songs, or really good meals, or really good jokes. Just because I'm sad, that doesn't mean I can't laugh and have a good time with my friends, or discover all the beautiful things that life has to offer. Just because I'm sad, that doesn't mean I can't be happy, right? Because when you think about it, our minds are composed of emotion after emotion; ranging from complete sadness to hopelessness to anger to confusion to giddiness to absolute joy. So no, I am not defined by my sadness. But I'm not defined by my happiness, either.

I have strengths, and I have weaknesses. I make amazing progress only to watch it crumple in a single moment. I can go weeks -months even- without picking up the razor and drawing it across my skin. But the second I start getting those feelings again -those urges to distract myself from the emotional pain of a bad day by inflicting physical pain upon myself- that razor will be in my hand and before I know it, the familiar red drops will be trickling down my arms.

So yes, it's been hard. Life is hard. But if it was easy -if I didn't have to work my **** off to achieve the things I want- then would it be worth it? No. See, that's the thing about progress. When we want something, we get up and we fight for it. It might be difficult as hell but it's worth it because we know deep down that it's something we have to do for ourselves. Even if we make mistakes along the way, we learn from them and keep going until we can finally pat ourselves on the back and say I did it! And that right there, is the best part. The part where we can feel pride on the fact that maybe, just maybe, we are more capable than we thought we were.

It is now 12:06am and I would like to say one more thing:

I am 16 years old. I am still a child. I am immature, inexperienced, and still so uneducated. I have so much to learn, so much to experience, so much to live for. However, I have lived long enough to know that life is beautiful yet ugly, challenging yet worth it, infinite yet extremely finite. In that sense, I am terribly old. I am a teenager; a young adult. With 16 years under my belt, I should be able to say that I have been living life to the fullest. But I would be lying to myself if I did. I am so old, but mostly, old enough to know that I have done wrong. Old enough to know that I shouldn't have been letting my sadness define me.

And I am still so young...

But mostly, too young to not have hopes for a better future.
Too young to not have realized yet that *everything will be okay.
Not a poem... Just a thought.
Mikaila Sep 2013
Who am I without the trappings of romance?
Shockingly, I am still a poet. Although my love inspires me, it doesn't drive me. In fact, when I am happy my poetry all but stops, except for the occasional ode to the beauty of whoever I adore. But beneath all of that, my love is for the WORLD. For the earth. For every person who has ever let an emotion of any depth flit across their face briefly and revealed their exquisite soul to the sky, just for a second. It's for everything old and broken and deliciously stripped of its pretenses. It's for the sound a paintbrush makes on velvet, and the lush panorama of a city street slicked gold with rain, and the way a chord hit by a choir resonates in your chest and bones and fingertips, and the way the air smells when you're gardening in the summer and you've really got the dirt under your fingernails. Something in me craves the world. I am still a poet without love. Without love, I am still a passionately inspired person, full of giddiness for everything that I adore. Shows, moments, sunlight, music, books. The way two words can sound together in my head can bring me to the verge of an awed laugh, the way two notes sound when struck together can push me to the edge of tears, the way the scene of a film is shot can make me hold my breath, the lights hitting a stage like folds of satin can make me sigh with longing to be nearly so pure and beautiful. This isn't an act. This is me, stripped down to the electricity. Touch me and you could be seared awake. Somebody called me a live wire of emotion, once, and the term stuck with me. Exposed, raw, like a nerve, crackling and passionate, vulnerable as hell and practically humming with awe, that is who I am. I feel as if I never make it clear that with or without somebody to channel it towards, I am still this way. All this force running through me anchors me to the ground. Every moment I spend (for better or worse, I suppose) doing anything at all, even the mundane things, is fraught with some kind of tension or wonder. It does get tiring, but I live in a world that's just... drenched in beauty. In color and sound and love and humanity and brutal beauty and soft cruelty. The whole of my experience here on earth has been so intense I can barely stand it, each second. When I feel joy I feel it so that I could die of it, when I feel pain I feel it as if I already have died of it. When I laugh I laugh with my liver and the little bones in my feet, and when I cry I cry like a river overflowing its banks. The only reason, I promise, that I would ever put myself through the hell that is losing all of my loves to this consuming intensity is that it is ALL I have. It is, for some stupid reason that I will never fully understand unless I lose it, worth every moment of searing agony, to feel every moment of agonizing joy.
This is who I am. With or without another person to give credit for it. To send it to and devote it to and build it around and channel it towards. Somehow I cannot be cynical. I've tried. Hard. I've tired of my constant emergencies, my little stupid things that clench their fingers round my heart and drag me up or down without my consent. But the thing is, something in me shouts always, that this is what I'm supposed to be. That I need to be brave enough to lose everything to stay who I am, because comfortable love is a dime a dozen, but my love, inside, the way it grows, is the sun, and once it's out...
It's out for good.
Myles A Roth Nov 2012
bitter ****** taste,
Defeat.
On the back of one’s tongue
Waiting
Stomach acid-like
to get you
when you are most lulled into your self-centered world
to soak you to your core
in cold, cold water
but you, oh noble you
waisting so much time in youthful giddiness about the job well done
now see it wasn’t
can take it back
well, no you cant.
but you can move on
that is,
unless you drown yourself in it
defeat.
beth winters Dec 2010
i want to scream you through my mouth.
i don't have to exist any longer, as sun
shine or stretched clothing that doesn't
fit any longer, the shirts in your drawer,
the scarves fumbled with and discarded
underneath the stairs of a community c
ollege. if you want this, would you tell m
e. i don't have to step outside this door,
not once or twice without you. because,
of course, there are better things. i don
't think i make any more sense than pre
tty birds that cheep unicorn songs, and
grow shelters for their green-houses. i
could write you a song, if you'd like.

when the sun shines for the second tim
e, i'll let you know. right now the clouds
are labelled grey, and drawing islands i
n the discovering sand does not remedy
seasonal blues unaffected by the medic
ation of your smile and racing for play-g
round swings that cut up my thighs any
way. if i could put you on repeat, i woul
d, but life ain't youtube, and people ain
't paintings you can put in a frame and
hang on the wall, they ain't songs you
can listen to until you go cross-eyed wi
th giddiness. i'm not new anymore, i'm
words i've already written, places i've
already been, i am people unfamiliar b
ecause i've talked to them for so long.
JP Mar 2016
sitting on park bench
she jogs
a smile
a burn in my brain
a strong breathe
little giddiness
took doctor appointment
he appreciated
for burning so much energy
understood
why people sit on....
Bellie-boo Jan 2014
I wake up early,
Can't wait to start my day,
anxious for every monday,
Trade coffee for a mint.

What am I?

Spend half my time sighing,
The other half moaning ;)
I dazes off and think of:
Lips,
Eyes,
hands,
Tounge,
Voice,
Shoulders,
Collarbone,
Ches­t,
Jaw,
Warmth,
Arms,
feelings.

What am I?

Full of anxiety,
Fear,
Pain,
Passion,
Warmth,
Giddiness,
Joy,
Sorrow,
Exc­itement,
Yearning,
Thanks.

What am I!?

"why my dear,
You are in love."

I...I couldn't...be. . . .

yet I can't Help but to run to his embrace.

What am I!?

"Why my dear you are in love"
Lily Feb 2020
Toddlers can put green crayons in the freezer without
Anybody questioning them and I
Have a problem with that.
I have a problem with the fact that toddlers can put
Green crayons in the freezer and tell their parents that they are
Preserving
The Earth and that they’ve been learning about
Animal adaptations and conjunctions in school
And that they
Love
Their friends.
I have a problem with the fact that a
Toddler’s idea of
Beauty
Is a butterfly landing on their finger during
Recess, a snowflake on their tongue, the
Grogginess of  staying up past 8:30,
****** snacks, Dora the Explorer,
The satisfaction of scraping the
First chunk out of a tub of butter, the
Giddiness and fear at your first sleepover,
The one where you had to timidly shake your
Friend awake in the middle of the night because you could
Not for the
Life of you find the bathroom.
I’m not ashamed to admit that
I haven’t said I love you in a time that
Lingers like the smell of burning.
It’s always love you or love ya and I’ve
Forgotten what it feels like for those words to
Caress my lips, to guide my heart
Out of its cage into the
Stale air.
I want to be considering beauty like a
Toddler.  I want to be watching Dora and
Learning about conjunctions, but instead I’m
Crying because I can’t fit into my jeans right and I
Don’t know how to do makeup.  I want to say
I love you and let it
Ring in the air like
Frozen music
But I can’t
Because you’re
States away and instead I brush my hair
So many times for people who don’t even like me that
There’s no personality left.
I have a problem with the fact that you
Moved on so quickly and left me with the
Loves me not flower petal and that
Dora the Explorer is not on Netflix
Anymore and the price of Happy Meals goes
Up everyday like the age of my
Heart  
And that
Toddlers can put green crayons in the freezer without
Anybody questioning them and say that
They
Are preserving the Earth.
This is an imitation of Bob Hicok's poem "Whither Thou Goest" that I did in my poetry class.  As always, please leave your thoughts! :) <3
Triumphant am I when I see you stumble
Impishly witnessing your short fall from grace
My ego is puffed up with your simple proof of humanity
Your hands flailing as your feet benignly betray you
Gathering my own importance close, I feed on your shame

I take frantic pleasure in your failure
My lungs inflated with harnessed laughter at your plight
I move closer-taking all of this in...my skin humming
My mind keenly focused on your suffering
I have no expendable sympathy for you

I register your cries-they dust my ears with echos
I won't offer you the help you so desperately need
Giddiness-crawling up; determined, hot in my throat
Tasting bitterly...suspiciously like the bile of my own flaws
Straining to recapture my ignorant bliss, my eyes root for you

Recognizing my self-reflection, I swat it away with a fervor
Swallowing, I clamp it there locked in place-I begin to choke
Questions of my own imperfections threaten to suffocate me
Who am I to relish in your demise, when I carry this stained heart
My hands tainted, anointed by the trembling of my secrets

With a wretched mind, denial forlornly guides my tongue
Flushing out the haphazard judgements I cast on you
As I stand here stricken by my will to desparage your choices
Am I not solely responsible for the poisonous kiss of my words

My shame mounts, my dignity absent in the wake of this purge
Standing exposed my arms in disconnect, legs lead and water
And then euphorically the words become less insistent, quieter
Slowly my throat releases, my gasping breaths regulate themselves
Realization settles in heavy but clear

Could it be when I am judging you, I'm truly critical of me
And if so, I am forced to wonder almost reverently...
Were you ever really here at all?
Katy Turner Oct 2012
I promise I don’t love you,
Not how I did,
With immature giddiness
And worship.

I promise I don’t want you,
Not how I had,
With every dumb fiber of my
Body, my soul.

I swear to you I am ok
Alone. Unlike those days
We were apart; those days
We were together.

And honestly,
Half the time I think of you,
I feel guilty.

It isn’t out of love.
Kayla Knight Oct 2010
Thank you.*

Such abused words.

Too often they are a lie.
Lists of names barely remembered,
slurred together in a hasty speech,
a meaningless slip of arrogance.

I had no audience,
no beautiful faces
like drowning lights,
yellow eyes in a smoky room.
Fearful and cold,
I wrote them alone,
birthed in my mind
by desperation and giddiness,
those flighty muses.

But you were there,
my euchre girls
and boating boys,
and I held you
tightly to my chest.

I release them now
my handful of
teardrop butterflies,

And they fly home to you.
© 2010 by Kayla Knight
GyozaNeeko Mar 2015
It was just the two of us against all of the sky’s tears that night. Behind askew glasses and matted hair I watched you seep into the chilly wet darkness and pouring noise, how the iridescent urban glows blurred and blinked through your body, like fairy lights on black satin. You gripped my hollowness by the wrist and I came to respect the force of block falls on touch as you threw my world back on its two feet, not before a brief eternity of giddiness and disbelief. The supposedly accursed head of mine took in the images of shock through raindrop-filled lenses as my body changed direction against my will and gravity. My world was a kaleidoscope of lights and blaring horns, and with your hand around mine it was nothing but a distasteful harmony of passion and discord and it made me smile. You were yelling at me and I looked at you and I laughed. You asked me what I wanted and I begged and chortled and pleaded and giggled for the thousandth time, for you to hurry up and tell me that you don’t need me because I had somewhere else I need to go and even after all of that your grip only got tighter, sinking me into the eye of your storm. But that was just you, wasn’t it? Always ready to swallow me straight into your depths in times of uncertainty. I clutched the sides of your dripping face and I peered into your swimmy eyes to admire the reflection of my own and realized I could not find myself because all I saw was the apex of skyscrapers straight pass through your transparency as pure as the waters of the Maldives Islands on a sunny summer day quite unlike this one, but quite like the summers we spent in school for years walking down hate-filled corridors, fingers entwined and then suddenly I was afraid to touch you. I kicked and I screamed and tore ripples through your skin, begging you once more to pour me out of your hands so they are free to start scrubbing the belittling words off our locker doors, or the spay-painted ****** dripping red on the top of your locker like a store brand, hitting you on the head again and again the fact that not all rain yield desirable crops and yet you still pelted raindrop kisses on every inch of my puffy red cheeks till it was enough to smoothen my dry storm down to a drizzle. It was then I realized I was so, so cold. I looked tiredly down below and I was the Emperor of the gazillion city veins below, the King of the critter cars heading nowhere. I was God, and with that power I summoned it and looked back to earnestly, sahara-driedly request you to forget me once and for all because we are in the end sinners in the eyes of common sense, because you were too stubborn to flow out of the box to realize that I am the mercury leak to your springs, slowly diffusing into you when you spread yourself into every crevice of my body when we cuddle at night, a limitless barrel of radioactivity poured down your throat and all over your shirt in the shadows. You came into my life uninvited, flooded my earths with your torrents and left my world in a waste pool of yellow, but also a warm bed enough to nurse a young forest. I hate the way you swept me off since day one just as much as I love drinking in every last drop of your presence. Your arms wafted around my waist like petrichor and lured me back to safety. The rain on the 74th rooftop was ready to stop, but I was.  At least I wasn't sure.

Closing my eyes, I opted to drown.
My first attempt at a short story sigh.
jad Jul 2014
It was midday and the clouds loitered around the edges of the sky as if they were suspicious of the sun. Beams of light ricocheted off of goggles and snow and beads of sweat that were caught in my oldest brother's beard.  The hike up was our way of earning our run. The hard work and constant determination to get what was important to us made the view and the ridge taste so much sweeter. Finally able to rest, I planted a granola bar in my mouth and squinted through a frame of icy eyelashes to see a sight I had seen before, every day for the past week, but still punched the air out of my lungs. The powder was up to my thighs and the snow lovingly seeped its way into my boots just to kiss my toes with painful numbing. I wiggled them to try tickling some sanity and warmth into them. I only hoped that my toenails wouldn't fall off, but they would inevitably be purple. I pulled up my balaclava to dodge the lunges of frostbite's ravenous teeth. Each nip of cold, the company of my brothers, the view, and the raw interaction with the mountain created a moment that reeked of a dream: a seemingly perfect balance between pain and pleasure.
      The hype of the day kept us from settling our thoughts and quickly my siblings were bounding down the mountain on tele-skis, skis, snowboards, and giddiness. My mind was simultaneously crowded and opened by the superfluous love shared between myself and the people I shared this moment with, the people I look up to, the people who raised me.  My four brothers' elated screams echoed off the mountain ranges that boxed-in the valley below. I joined their chorus of "Shred the Gnar!" and yodels, knowingly embracing the carefree and somewhat foolish mindset of Mother Nature's glee. My skis led the way and found fresh tracks. The lines of the songs that blasted into my ears were translated into the lines that I skied. The music shuffled from Wu-Tang Clan to the Tibetan Monks Of Gaden Sharste & Corciolli but the abrupt change of pace did not hinder my contentedness. I have gained a knack for happily going with the flow, knowing that what the universe hands me is often what I need. The peaceful bellowing of the monks allowed me to take a moment to appreciate that my life is this one on top of this mountain not limited by my economic state with this physically fit and capable body and this working mind. While just minutes before, the fearlessness of Wu-Tang's hip-hop allowed me to bring an angst and stoke for life into my current experience, while also finding the gangster within me. The random shuffling of songs only fed my innate addiction to change and let my enthusiasm multiply and blossom.
Although childish in our hearts and in our unpracticed aerials, we were not childish in our perspective. We had a shared mature understanding of the bigger picture. This was a vast understanding of the world that comes with being a small, overrated mammal sliding on some sticks down the biggest thing it could get its hands on. Each of us took our fair share of tumbles and we iced them each with cacophonous laughter that got muffled by mouthfuls of snow. To be atop a mountain, to go almost unnoticed by a mountain really teaches the skill of not taking things too seriously. In one instance, I grabbed some air and landed scattered into a disorganized pile of all my gear. But my commitment to the bettering of my skills, my world, and myself, let me rise from even my greatest wrecks and the most deadly of wreckage, not unscathed but changed and always for the better. With such a brutal fall, I gained the experience necessary for landing it next time...and the next time, I did.
         After reaching the bottom, without hesitancy, we followed our spontaneous urges to pursue more. Every run I took and every moment spent on that mountain came from a drive to experience and learn. It was based off of my ceaseless search for something new...or for the rad or for the gnar or for swagger or for living a life that could inspire. The seed of this search was planted in me by my five older siblings who all held within their bellies a fire of the same breed. And we sewed that common thread together on ridge lines and in powdered fields where nature is in perfect harmony with man and my head is in perfect harmony with my heart...where my intelligence and ambition trust one another and I trust them because they have gotten me this far and I know they are not tired yet.
In over my head as if I'm the little kid doing a nosedive in the deep end, because I'm invincible.
Why do we do it?
Why are we constantly putting ourselves in situations that ultimately end up hurting us?
It's only human nature to crave love. To need love.
In the end, no matter how badly we get burned, we still have our memories to hold onto,
carefully choosing the ones that make us the happiest, the ones worth remembering.
Late night texts that we read and re-read, smiling at messages from a boy through a touchscreen.
Elation, giddiness, emotions creating such a high that we cling to every moment of it.
To experience the feeling that someone out there, even for a second, cares about you...
Nothing beats that, because invincibility cannot be beat.
ohNoe Oct 2014
the voodoo doll I have for You
  I speak to every night
with babble beg plead please
  and then a wish for Yur sweet dreams

the tattoo I have of You
  I stare at every night
with a sentimental smile singing please
  and then a wish for You in sweet dreams

I Love You Shannon Hickman (S.H.)
  Stud Hero (S.H.) Inspiration
I was put on this planet
  to be the being who whispers to you
Let's hold hands as we journey even further
  let's Love where we are
    & then Love the journey however far

I'm supposed to bring You Happy Fun Joy
  I'm supposed to be Yur Happy ***** Poet Boy
I should show You the You of You
  Incredible Wonderful Awesome Amazing True
That's the only possible reason I exist,
  unless you'll kiss me inside a dream mist
    which You share with me
      WHICH YOU SHARE WITH ME

Every time we were together
  didn't You feel the Forever?
Didn't You hear the tremble in my voice
  which mirrored the Miracle of Yur choice?

I grieve **** shall always believe...
Please never grieve!!
  **** Please Believe!!
Shannon,
  Please Believe!!!!

Oh Shannon,
  when You listen to a song whose emotions You feel saying You are amazing & Yur touch is the
  primordial nova, do You ever remember that was My touch and that EVERY SINGLE TOUCH OF
  MY EYES WAS PURE LOVE

Ohhhhhh,
  Shannon,
    how the **** did I not lift You with me onto clouds where WE could watch Z-O-E climb trees as WE
    giggled at our giddiness?!

My words made You want me
  **** you bored of the real me
HOW is that OUR Reality?

Stud Hero (S.H.),
  Clint shall now strive for excellent,
    far better than merely partying
      with some misc poeting

I will be everything I can be of me w/out You
  even though the only thing I'll ever want
is Yur life, mind, voice, curves, caress, kiss
  and the Soul in Yur eyes

**** how shall it ever compare
  to when You were forever there
when I was suddenly infinitely hotter
  and am pretty sure I could breathe underwater

Oh, Once Upon A Time Lover
  Forever Fantasy Dream Lover
******* with You
  or into You
    or Both
was the most Man I've ever been
  the realest my lips & tongue & **** have ever been
**** besides beyond the ******
  was the sensual
    & You made my heart's soul whirlpool
      with even the hint of a touch
        (a whisper from Yur look was almost too much)

Yet You were able to eliminate Yur Love for me,
  while for me it is the only Forever I'll ever be.
One day You could suddenly unsay NEED,
  **** Yur the only breath I'll ever bleed

Dumped Discarded
  thrown tossed away
Broken Sharded
  so easily tossed away

How?
  WOW to OW
How?
  HOW!?!?

Not just someone,
  not just fun,
    The One,
Not some ******* Stupid Movie “Neo”,
  SHE IS THE ONE

**** she decided i'm noone
  i am none

every belief i've ever held is unbelieved
  wrong wrong wrong wrong un-believed
                                         (i'm not me)

now mostly Yur a memory
  that personality which spoke words with that voice which sang sighed from that face, oh, that that
  face, through that mouth, sweet mother of the universe, that mouth, with those lips (ohhhh, so unfair
  to have those lips AND those eyes)
now mostly a memory

**** I do remember,
  I remember Every time we touched
                      Every time we talked
and when the nerves of my body
  forget Yur Lips, Yur Fingertips
    & the sweet squeezes between Yur thighs
I will still feel Yur eyes

You thought I saw inside You
  **** it was really inside You seeing me

Oh S.H.,
  the silly sweet stunned smile in my eyes
    is because of You
and Yur what makes them Blue
  (even blind I would see You)

My only philosophy
  is You should BE with Me
tell me to touch You deep inside
  that that's how You NEED Clint,
    in every possible way that can be meant

Other than that
  i'm just the shadow of a shell
and i don't understand
  how you aren't as well
You said I was awesome
  Yur that & then some

In some ways
  I'll be that way always
and even prove
  I can improve

My moonlight is as ever silver nova bright
My soul is still a sibling sister to the sun
I am as always an ocean
  my hand the waves upon the sand

I've decided to be healthy
  and so I shall be
I've embraced positivity
  so I'm as pleasant as can be

Active athletic
  no longer amateur alcoholic
I push to make me
  the Me knowing You
    made me want to Be
Goals for body & soul
  and the Noe I want you to know

And I'm reaching them
  & teaching me
Although other than that
  i'm just a shallow shadow of a shell

And Always
  And All Ways
S.H., S.H., S.H.
  my every realization
  my only information
    is Yur my Inspiration

Maybe Yur future music muse will Someday as a guitar sing my name

Maybe someday as You ride mtb miles
  or rule the road Hickman style
a song will echo in You our smiles
  for miles & miles & miles & miles
Maybe Yur memory music muse
  shall moan laugh sigh
    as a guitar sings my name

Then as You ride on by,
  will You call my name?

I'll be biking or hiking
  or swimming or gyming
    or running or writing
as I'm hoping & wishing
  & wanting & waiting
ben a while, sorry, have a few looong ones to catch up typing, been focusing on physical, triathlon training and miles of riding thinking...

— The End —