Breathing on the surface but smothering inside,
Pale face blue lips and wide open eyes.
Running desperately with no company and guide,
Too little time and too many disguise.

Like a lost site pervade with dreariness and spite.

Who would help you when they heard your yelp?
Hoped to be broach but no one to approach.
Who would love you when without the pure white dove?

Trapped in coach and let the soul slowly encroach.

How would you feel when no one to reach?
Stares at the window just to look for a shadow.
How would you feel when your heart starts to screech?
At last it became hollow slowly loaded with deep sorrow.

Like a letter unsent filled with unread content.

Holding on like a puppet being sway,
With those unsure senses and constraint.
Living faithlessly and ends up stray,
Nerves are brutally torn and mind gone insane.

I find myself in this position yet again
Writing a letter I'll never send
It'll sit on my desk then in my drawer
And eventually end up in the trash

I scrawl it out in informal pencil
Because my tears would bleed the pen
And would make barely readable chicken scratch
Become smeared, smudged and completely illegible

I pour out my heart and soul to you
And then I lose my nerve
I want you to know all these things
But I wish you could without being told

So I find myself in this position again
Sealing an envelope and writing an address
Wanting you to know and losing my nerve
And writing a letter that I will never send

on my mother’s side of the family,
we are german immigrants spider webbing out
from jasper, indiana.
those branches of the family tree are the sort of people
who like everything about the midwest
that has always made me chafe,
made me feel like i could never belong here
on the buckle of the bible belt.
for them, i think it’s comfortable,
living in a town where everyone is basically just like them.  

so i sit down for thanksgiving dinner with people
who voted for donald trump.
because people can love me, they can be friends with my family,
eat thanksgiving dinner with us, break bread,
be my own flesh and blood,
and they can still believe deep down somewhere inside of them
that this country belongs more to them than it does to me.
i mean, if they didn’t, what’s the other explanation
to hearing a man on the campaign trail call
latinos rapists and criminals
and threaten to build a wall to keep us out,
and thinking that was something that you were okay
with overlooking in your vote?
they can clap my latino immigrant father’s shoulder in one hand
and build a wall with the other.
and that realization is painful to reconcile
with the pledge i was taught to say everyday,
it’s difficult to reconcile with the american dream as i understood it.

so dear aunt cindy,
you shared posts on facebook are beginning to reek of white supremacy
and i just have to wonder, did you forget me?
when i was sleeping your guest room,
when i was eating thanksgiving dinner at your table,
did you forget where i come from?
did you forget about the half of me in paranavaí,
shifting, drifting away from middle america,
inch by inch, year by year, the product of tectonic plates.
dear aunt cindy, your daughter-in-law is an immigrant, too,
but she’s from europe, she’s white, so maybe that’s different.
dear aunt cindy, i don’t want to believe
every well-wish, birthday card, christmas gift has been a lie
but what am i supposed to think when you like a post on facebook
about white nationalism, about keeping “illegal aliens” out?
see, i don’t want to think that you’ve been lying all these years,
that you don’t care about me because i believe you do,
but when you also believe that this country belongs to you
more than it belongs to immigrants, to latinos,
to those who don’t look like you,
how can you not taste the aftershock of my name in your mouth?
dear aunt cindy, when you hate people like me,
when you hate people who come from where i’m from,
how can i not think you hate me too?

my mother, the furious peacemaker, says that she doesn’t think like that.
but that’s like coming out and telling me you still love me
but you… just don’t get it,
that you don’t think it’s quite normal, quite natural,
like i’m supposed to thank you for not spitting in my face.
maybe aunt cindy does not look at us and see “other”  
my father always says that my people will know me,
but i think if i ever have children they will come out of me
with our family history wiped clean from them.
their names will probably be easier, never mispronounced.
whiter than mine.  
and it’s the guilty reminder that, sometimes,
when it’s dangerous or difficult for me,
i am afforded the privilege of a choice in taking who i am off.
when it’s dangerous or difficult, i don’t have to be latino.
i can disappear.
but even when i am allowed to disappear, to pass,
i cannot scrub my heritage, who i am, off my skin
and i will not be ashamed.
so i tell people who i am,
because if you’ve got a problem with me,
well, then i’d like to know up front.

Distance is a weird phenomenon, so is time.
We were two continents apart, yet connected.
So far yet so close.
We are in the same city and yet I can't see you.
So close yet so far.
Maybe because tears often blur my vision.
I talk to you and you make everything sound so normal, like nothing ever changed.
We never stopped talking. But we never started as well. And now that you're going, I feel like you were long gone before you came back.
I think it's fair enough: we didn't meet when you left, we didn't meet when you came back.
I hope this settles the score.
Until next time,
All my love.

Dear Family and Friends,

I am sorry for leaving so soon, but I could not see past the blues.
My feelings were heavy and thoughts so unsteady.
I didn’t know what to do.

So here I was, with a blade in my hand.
I shook my head as I made the first cut.
As the blood dripped, I could not resist.
I dropped the blade and lied in pain.
I closed my eyes and whispered goodbye.

Please know this was not your fault.
I could not battle the demons any longer.
I hope you know that I loved you dearly.
Now I am at rest, and I hope you all get the best.

Farewell, little ones.
I hope to see you once again.

i held it  delicately in my naive unworn hands, why did you rip it from me? why did you insist on making my gift, yours? it wasn't supposed to be under you're belt it was never meant to be one of your badges. from the day you said i had nice eyes, i knew i didn't want to give it to you. but i was naive, i wanted fun. i should have asked you what colour they were before i got into your car- my eyes i mean. i bet you would have said brown, well they're hazel thats what everybody whose ever like me has said, and if i had asked that very moment i wouldn't have gotten into your car, i wouldn't  have cried myself to sleep that night, or the 100 that followed. i should have known i was worth more than you ever gave me credit for.
2 years later your name still makes me want to *****. i don't hate you, i would have had to love you first and i never did.

I've been living my life without you for so long
that I can't seem to remember
what it feels like to have you here.
Sometimes I forget you even exist,
not that you're no longer alive,
but I forget that you were legitimatley ever here at all,
but I always seem to remember you
here and there.
I'd like to think this life would be easier with you here,
to help me through the days like these,
to tell me that I'm important,
to make me feel there's a meaning to this,
all of this,
any of this.
You are the reason I can never bring myself to say
any of those words
I always wish I would've heard from you.

Mercy in small
peices broken apart.
Each of equal size
in hundred parts.
Ninety nine remained
with God unsent.
Only single part for
creation was sent.
Yet enough to show
mercy to each other.
Want to see then
see eyes of a mother.

to: aleph

hey
there's so much things going on in these last two weeks. at least in my head. you left. i closed the door loudly. i locked it and i hoped that you could hear the sound of the locks clicking. ( but i didn't want you to hear how my hands was shaking when i was looking for the right key).

all i want to say is i'm sorry. i'm sorry i don't tell you enough, i'm sorry that i told you too much things that doesn't matter. i'm sorry i treat you like another ego-booster. i'm sorry i acted like i didn't care. i, in fact, really care about you and it hurts me to see you think that i don't.

please never forget the way i looked you in the eyes when we listen to that verse together.

i wish i was braver, i'd break this silence that's been killing me. but then again, if i was braver, i would have told you i love you a thousand times.

i'd say "i'd do it all again", sweetly like in one of our favorite songs, but no, i'm not brave enough, and we destroyed each other too much.

--status: draft. 26.3.2015 22:47

‘Don’t you miss me?’
Said the girl to her phone.
‘Wouldn’t you rather be here than alone?’
‘Don’t you dare text him’
Say her friends, and she won’t.
But she wishes he would so that she could let go.
‘Will he try harder?’
Like she did, she wonders.
Innately she knows that he won’t, she slips under.
‘Am I that unlovable? Why can’t they love me?’
She sits on her bed and cries tears that aren’t seen.

i'm not going to be happy and fulfilled,
to make you feel better about what you did,
your twisted and malicious abuse of my feelings.

no i don't want to be your friend,
i don't want to pretend that it doesn't hurt,
that you looked me in the eyes,
and lied, over and over again.

it's absolutely ridiculous,
that you claim i'm the one that's ridiculous,
because i won't give you what you want,
i won't comfort your guilt,
for the abuse you put me through.

Hello Nicole,

Its been a while since I've thought of your name... Today I read a poem that brought tears to my eyes at the thought of you, but I refused to let them fall.

I am alway's being told to forgive you, by clueless friends and family, that you were young and didn't know any better. But hell, you were old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. Plenty old enough to use some basic common sense. Common sense such as

"Dont leave your 2 year old daughter in the car in the summer for hours on end"

"Dont leave your 3 year old daughter at the park overnight"

"Dont bring your 4 year old daughter to the house of your married lover"

"Dont take your 5 year old daughter to a ******* and leave her in the car"

"Dont allow your ******* of a drug dealer to care for your baby girl"

Last year in total you sent me 6 packages, called 8 times, wrote 5 letters, wrote or spoke I Love You 16 times, and yet not once did you apologize. On the 8th call, you told me you were pregnant again, and it was going to be a baby girl. I cried harder than I ever had before on that one phone call. You asked if I was happy that I would get another sister, and as calmly as possible I told you I hope the baby is stronger than all the rest, and to lose my ******* number.

A total of 4 children, 3 of which you don't even see anymore. You allowed us to go through hell and beyond in your care, only to be tossed away into a somehow even more unfortunate lifestyle. Yet you somehow expect me to be happy for your pregnancy of a brand new lifeform.

The baby is now alive and kicking,  and I heard she looks exactly like me even though her father was as Mexican as they come. I also heard you get ****** when people compare me and the baby's looks.
Good.
I hope she is a reminder of what you did to me, so that maybe, just maybe, you treat her right.

I wish I could say I wish you the best in life, but that would be a lie. I do hope you get better, for the sake of everyones lives around you. It was nice not talking to you again.

No longer your's,
Victoria-Rose

Last night, as the rain came down, I thought a thought of you and me:
Of sitting by the fireside, and drinking cups of homemade tea.
Cause you were happy, I was sad, like all the days we never had
Where you would smile and make me glad, but none of that has happened yet.

I’ve only ever dreamt.
Never learned, never spent
The time.
And that was my mistake.      

Tomorrow, if the rain comes down, I’ll sit and think of what’s to be.
I’ll draw my feelings, read the news, and keep a record of my dreams.
Cause I’ve been thinking all the time, that you are yours and I am mine,
Or we could switch and that’d be fine. But I could never lead the line.

I’ve only ever heard.
Never seen, never learned
The way.
And that was my mistake.

Screeching silence whispering
Truths your lips won't form
Letters from shapes to messages
Unsent piled high under the desk
Where secrets are swept, clean
Unseen by judging eyes
Stamped with footprints,
Soles ***** from creeping in beds
Of flowers in gardens your feet
Should never have sought
Sowing seeds you can't water.

I took out a pen and some paper, looseleaf,
Not worth the words I sponged onto it but it’ll do
I wrote down my feelings about everything
The silence of people on a subway ride to work
The closest star to us that isn’t the Sun
How the Bermuda Triangle got its shape and why the other ones
Weren’t cut out for it
Were it not for the clocks in my room, serving as reminders
That time still existed and would far outlive me
I swear I would have written forever
I swear I would have

Sometimes I would write letters to friends and never send them
Instead cram them into envelopes and into larger envelopes
And stack them in the fireplace, under the wood
And sometimes light it, other times just hold out my hands
And feel invisible warmth

The ones I did send, though, felt hollow
Words typed or written but not the words I needed
Or wanted
To say then. I’d rather ask you how your day was than to receive
A strange ****** expression because a question concerning
Cosmic dust and how it rushes together to create man
Doesn’t really serve as a good icebreaker.
Most of the unsent letters were to you
You and the clouds that guide you around, shifting rain
Back toward the sky

I wrote how are you today?
And meant I want you to keep auditioning for dance because you’re wonderful
I wrote doesn’t this weather feel strange?
And meant get a bigger umbrella so I can be under it too
We should try to go for dinner
We need to have an excuse to be together
Are tattoos a bad thing?
Look, topics to occupy us
My house is empty tonight
Where are you so late and what do you think about?
I miss the vase we sold
I miss you
I feel like today is longer than yesterday and will be shorter than tomorrow
I miss you

And they stacked, one upon the other
The spaces between each squeezed under the weight of the next
The weight of the words compounded more than the previous
Filling the spaces of my apartment to the point where
I could not see out the windows

“Today is Monday the 16th.  To whom it may concern, I’ve contemplated the ideas laid before me and can finally take confidence that I’ve chosen the right one. Many people say that virtuosity is next to solace and I believe that. Many people also claim that it takes a life to learn how to live, and I believe that too. I’ve so many things to say to everyone, even the people I’ve only met once or twice. But those people are just as important.

I can hear echoing between the televisions between the open rooms. The same words delayed by seconds but still audible and clear.  The reactions aren’t echoed, they’re different, variant on the person and how they feel about it. To make sense of my claim, I guess it’s just a matter of perspective, and now my perspective is clear, and now I want it to echo between the people to whom I send these letters. Whether the variation between reactions will be the same or not I am all-around unclear, but I know the reactions may have enough weight to keep me held to the ground, or even a bit lower than that. Either way, I’ve spent my life reacting to things as if acting on an echo.  I want to change the channel now. I want to close my door so the sound can fill the room and make the stacks of unsent letters shudder. I want to keep it there and turn the air the color of the closest star to us other than the Sun. I want to-“

I wanted a lot of things, to do and to say
But that letter and those that followed joined the others in the quiet spaces
Spaces which kept the frays of this life muffled and still
Like an ocean scooped into a bucket
Or the world’s smallest word
Backspaced by one letter

seeking to post, embracing the sprite of send,
**, **, oh no, oh no, my work is roasted,
thy error message says
boy, thy work,
lost, burnt, and toasted!

did not your brother William foretell,
“These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triump die, like fire and powder
Which, as they kiss, consume”
their issue, our poems, explode and die, unsent!

Can you blast us a group message, a fine line of one or two,
what ails the system this politically incorrect discrimination,
some can, some can't, it is a glitch or has our transatlantic
"special relationship" or my operating system,
sunk beneath the clouds?

Post us brother, why some of us can and others not,
post our words which you love so much!

Don't ******* a writer.
Her thoughts will be validated upon paper,
her eyes will cry tears of ink that sink into the pages forming words never quite forgotten,
your past together will be an anthem to young girls who suffer in the same,
when she spits out her blood soaked poetry the guilt will drive you insane.
Don't. ******* a poet
Because at three thirty in the morning she will write an angry piece about how perfect your eyes looked when the rain splattered your windshield, how your kind words melted the barricade, and when you were safely inside you lit a match, just to see how many things would catch
Dont break a poets heart,
it will not break her pen and when she sends the message across the web of how you hurt her,
the sound will resonate across the night clubs and everyone will know you shattered her like good china, smashed underfoot by a mad man, tension she couldn't bare, and drunk text messages unsent about how much she cares.

We, were an unfinished painting the artist got bored with, A Mona Lisa on an etch sketch,
you curled yourself around me and tucked yourself underneath my tongue,
you said when I smiled your limbs came undone, and you fell in love with me every time I sung to you,
well maybe I should have sung louder, because my message is now falling on deaf ears,
I want to hear the words, I need you, I want to see you, I miss you.
Instead I'm glued to my screen trying not to send you hate mail so obscene,
I never meant to get this attached to you, and maybe that's why you're running away.
If I asked you to stay would you bother? Or just run faster?
I promised myself I wouldn't write a poem about you, because if I did that I would have to open my mouth,
and I'm scared now that you've jumped out, and have found safety in another girls arms, how did I not realize this would cause me harm, I never wanted to fall for you.
Don't make empty promises, to poets.
We will never forget, because we produce the highest form of lies known to man, I can make words in languages you'll never understand, but with a flick of my hand and the right stance I could make you fall in love with me after the second glance. So don't try to lie to a writer, buddy I've been there. You think hearing "I hate you." hurts wait until you wake up to.
"Your eyes make mine want to bleed, your voice crackles up my spine, and shake me to the core. Every time you look at me I think of how many different ways I could feed your organs to starving children in Africa. Your pancreas I'd send to Guam, your heart to Ethiopia. Lead you into the depths of hell and keep you locked up. In case I wanted to play with you later, no. I'm not bitter, what makes you say that."
Or better yet, imagine waking up to silence. I cannot speak for my words are numb to the bubble of hatred in my centre. If I let it escape I will never stop screaming, I've been meaning to tell you that I could never regret anything we've done together.

I send text messages like it's an art form. Subtle, curious glances at a blinking light that comes not nearly enough, quick replies like fluid in my fingers. I am the new generation. I am the electronic daughter of a turntable and a symphony, the quiet-on-the-outside-until-someone-calls-my-name burst of energy who comes in like a thunderstorm and leaves like a gust of wind. I love like a wildfire, dance across life like a firefly, and drown myself in the quick distractions of a busy, lights-flashing-so-bright-it-hurts world.

I grab, reaching for bonds that aren't there, pull him underwater with me and clash with him like two hydrogen atoms, then burst apart in a flash of light. Love for me is an atom bomb. Love is an explosion. Love is quick encounters, kisses in the dark, passion in bright bursts that come and go as fast as lightning strikes the earth.

And, gods, I want him.

I cry to love him, sleep fitfully to think of him, and cannot desire for more than to run from him. I want to reach out, reach forward, reach into him, grab for something, nothing, anything that can promise me he will or won't lead to another broken promise.

Lips touching, pulling me down, leaving me screaming out for air because my air not oxygen, it's nothing but him and the scent of him and the feeling of his arms wrapped around me and

I

can't

breathe

My eyes keep flickering to the green light. I groan, and type another message.

I've got it so bad for this boy

I understand. Have you talked to him about it?

no way,,,, im a hot mess. he's too much for me, seriously

Young love.

seriously man don't do that I'm so frustratingly dependent rn

You love him. 

do not

Do so.

I throw the phone down, pull a stuffed animal towards me, grumble to myself, and look for the flickering light. Nothing. No response. I press my palm to my forehead and return to music, but it isn't enough.

You love him.

do not

Like a symphony of lights and sounds knows how to love. She doesn't, I don't, not really, but I know how to reach, how to desire, how to drown myself with the semblence of a feeling. I wish I knew how to love, and I wouldn't mind if he taught me, but can I love now? After I loved that once and it was ripped from me? I don't know how. I don't remember.

he ****** me up, dude, i don't even know if this is love or if i'm trying to replace the feeling i had with you-know-who with someone else

I don't think so. He tried to ground you, and I don't think you really want to replace that

it's like risking true love for the safe option

"true love" What

I'm just saying... that's how i was with him really. it was love once but it distorted into more of a safety net

I guess. But you can love someone again, honey. You just have to figure out how

yeah i do. somehow. god help me

You can do it

unsent: maybe. or maybe im hopeless

It's easy to dream when you're lost. Hope is a powerful thing. They say I'm part of a generation lost in the glamour, but are we? Are we lost in the glamour, or are we losing ourselves in the flashing lights to avoid the reality of life, that stuff *****?

Maybe we'll figure out how to love again, or maybe they're right. Maybe I got lost in the glamour.

Maybe the wildfire will never go out, the wind will never stop, and the lights will keep flashing.

Maybe I'm hopeless.

Dear Grandma,

I miss you.
Every time I pray, I ask G-d to say hi to you for me.
Have you heard?
Are my messages getting to you?
I hope so.

I wish there had been more time--
That you got to meet this version of me.
The version that I didn't even know I had to hide from you because I didn't have the words back then or the bravery to tell myself.

Did you know you taught me how to be brave?
Back in '99 just before the world had its
Christian birthday of two millennia
and before John and Rae and Nana died
but after Gordon left us
and some time before my molars grew in.

I couldn't sleep in that house with Mom and Dad at the movies.
But you sat with me and told me stories of
deserts and mountains
of caves and tropical storms.
You told me about your adventures until I drifted off--
Your voice lulling me into dreams of
battling latent fears and
throwing them to the wind.

And then,
You left me, too.

And I never got to tell you.
And maybe that's why I'm trying to be brave like you,
So that doesn't happen again.

I love you.
Say hi to Henly for me.

Wake up laughing
cackle into the kitchen
9:15 a.m. on Sunday
cop-outs couched in cups of coffee
          Sofa King Redundant
Lock the door but no one's coming
          I'm the LORD OF ALL I SURVEY!

Survey says the pilot's out
sink is full and
blinds are drawn.
It smells like sweat and silence
and a mostly empty fridge.

"Everything the light touches is yours!"
Outstanding power bill
          bank statements
               unreconciled
unwashed clothes
and unsent thank-you notes.
Shrink-wrapped books on how to cope.

Maybe I'll ask for a raise...

Long ago
the story began
One ***** in a vein
spun out rhymes
Of the insane

A sweet girl gone
She will not go far
The tip of a needle
Will curse who you are

His hands choked her blue
Voices drove him mad
The addiction won
He lost all he had

Behind bars
he waits for letters
His poems got a few 
So many unsent
Now no place to go
Letters lacking a recipent

She wanted it to pass by quick
The time without him
The last letter she stamped and addressed
She wonders if he got it
Or did her words shatter his reason to live
Is it why his neck was slit

She wants to know if he opened it before committing to suicide

Two blue roses on his grave
Nothing went right
No happily ever after
To end the night

Now which way to go? I sit and ponder
It no longer matters
After all, I'm destined to forever wonder.


The needle left its curse, on and on she goes, reaching no farther than her toes.

I know I'm not supposed to feel upset but some reason I do
I knew that some days I will always feel this way, unreasonable
thoughts never seemed feasible, unspeakable words I've lost
like a cross marking the memories stained saying 'wrong'.

I thought I knew you and your history but I really didn't,
this isn't supposed to upset me but for some reason it does
enough to make me want to remind you of the great things
the singsong of the morning sunrise and everything bright.
The positive light. But it might not be all that bright right now.
My shoulder is yours and I will always lend you my ear
so hear me when I tell you "we are friends forever"
and nothing will sever our friendship.

Stay strong- I believe in you. I believe in how wonderful and magnificent you are.
Don't forget to smile
-Star Gazer

Arctic baby, keep your furs  on
this is  no  bikini ride.

Its  I who has  to hush you
telling  this is  no invite  to  Cuba

Mountain sleigh why  cut marks
like your  stilettos heels

Just  count  the  self opportunities
unswore the  star  dust

Smell the  cedar and  cinnamon incense
burn a  candle  wholeheartedly

Let me
read your unsent
love notes.

Sketches of being nonchalant through symphonies of unsent letters. Playing.

Drinking the melancholy through a cloudless night, alone. Swings betrayed.

Stealing the numbers, sitting in the blue, sinking.

How red the moon hangs below?

How crushed are the fairy lanterns?

She lived. She died. She survived.

To breed a demon within.

She wanted a pause. She wanted a release. Not weeping. Not longing. Surviving.

To breach the silence its thickness, She pretends to crumble her summer.

Idle musings to feel the blade cut of the grass, dancing barefoot, losing a grip.

As laughter emanates, pockmarked with a mortal sense, trying the road, less.

Inhaling does not hurt anymore. And nor does the whiskey in her tone.

From her hidden detritus, she laughs.

Loving you was a lot like smoking cigarettes. If you ask me why, I would go along the lines of how I got addicted to you the same way I did when I acquired the vice of finishing a pack of Marlboros everyday.

I still smell you on my fingers. Hours spent with you on my lips make me want you more. You have seeped into my mind, making my head pound and my hands shake. I tried hard to get away from you but fleeing from the power you have over me is like dragging a mountain behind me. I can do well without you but I find myself crawling back to where you are like a parched man in a desert searching for an oasis. I cannot figure why I continue opening my mouth to taste you. Even after we part, I still feel you in my veins. I feel you slowly travelling down the road in my bloodstream. You will wreck me, I know that I will crash into a solid wall but I fear that I might have given you the control to drive. I cannot keep letting myself be a slave to your power. Everytime I breathe you in, I lose another second that I can add up to my life.

I come to you when I feel smaller than the fingers on an infant's hand or in times when I feel as if the walls are closing in on me. I have to say farewell to you, love. For everytime I inhale you, I exhale my approval to die a painful death. The moment I begun with you marked the start of my ending point. I know that you are only offering me an easy way out, you are not the villain here. I gladly accepted the sinister nature you possess and made it a part of the air I breathe. I will let go of you. I will be grateful for our little affair. Now I give up. My voice would not be as hoarse anymore because it would be clear as day as soon as I stop this conversation with you.
Goodbye.

I will see you in my memory as you creep in the confines of my vitality.

February 6, 2011 at 10:09pm

Why I just don't like thee..

I don't like thee's annoying messy hair
               that flips through the air...
I don't like thee's funny and low voice
               that I have to listen with no choice...
I don't like thee's huge and chubby body
              he looks more like a bunny...
I don't like thee's smile and crazy looks
              it just make me bow and read my book...
I don't like thee's weird and mysterious glances...
             it pounds my heart to dance...
I don't like thee's soft and gentle light..
            he makes me feel weak inside...
I don't like thee's warm and cuddling arms
           he's like a hunter that senses harm...
I don't like thee's way of saying my name
           because he says it not just as same...
I don't like thee's being right all the time..
           for when he opens his mouth I'm silenced...
I just don't like thee at all....

For it is not just liking thee that make me feel this way
          an incomparable joy that takes my blues away..

FOR I DO LOVE THEE..

I love  his hair
          as it plays into the air
I love as he speaks in funny and low voice
          that makes me listen as the only choice
I love his huge and chubby body
          he's actually cuter than a bunny
I love how he smile and his crazy looks
          I just blush and pretends to read my book
I love the weirdness and the mystery of his glances
          it make my heart to gracefully dance
I love his soft and gentle light
          Iit weakens my soul inside
I love the warmth of his cuddling arms
          I know it can protect me from any harm
I love the way he says my name
          there's no one who can say it as same
I love it when he is always right all the time
          Iin my amazement I am silenced...

**I JUST DO LOVE THEE..
WITH GREATER REASONS SAID ABOVE...
WITH REASONS THAT MY MIND CANNOT EVEN UNDERSTAND...
I JUST LOVE YOU
NO MATTER HOW MY LIPS CRITICIZE AND DENY
MY HEART BEATS THIS ONE LINE...
I LOVE YOU
AND I HOPE YOU DO KNOW...

i long to taste you
in the darkness
to feel your breath upon my neck
and taste your sweet kisses
once more.
i crave your touch
like a woman possessed
perhaps i am,
perhaps i am sure to drown
in this perpetual state of hunger
with your voice in my head
and your name upon my lips.

The summation of incredible moments of unsubstantiated ecstasy we both once shared
Are only to be realized on the aftermath
Of cold, solid reality that it is ceased on the resounding note of tragedy
Wells of tears unseen, piles of letters unsent, composition of melodies unfinished,
Unspoken desires to be fathomed silently on the backs of a lonely romantic, idealistic mind
Who dances solemnly on these fragile footsteps of a love,
That is forever lost, non-refundable, and unattainable.