Going back to the girl you met;

the one you fell in love with.

She wants to run around,

with planned spontaneity.

Drinking far too much red,

and taking blurry pictures.

She wants to take walks,

to nowhere... to anywhere...

with you.

Some thoughts on my saturday afternoon epiphany

I had a epiphanic thought: I don't want to wake up one day

or have my brain snap to some day, and wish I had done more than I did.

I want to focus on myself enough to really enjoy everything.

I haven't been doing that.

Yes things can get painful this way, but I want to have stories to tell!

I want to have wisdom to impart.

It is going to be fucking hard at times.

I know this.

My heart will be, most likely, metaphorically ripped from my chest and left bleeding on someone's kitchen counter, or pillow case- as it were.

I have to be okay with that.

I want these thoughts to be recorded. So when it does get hard,

I can remember how clearly I saw this in my mind's eye.

I want to treat life like a tasting menu- try everything, don't get too committed to anything, unless you truly love it, and of course, pair with a good wine. :)

a pained heart's afternoon rant

I will the tears not to come,

but they do not listen.

I can't help but feel a vast emptiness within myself.

The cavern of where your love has been.

My heart is breaking,

in front of you, and me, and the world.

I feel as though everyone can see it.

As though it's tattooed on my face.

I feel myself desperately grabbing for something, anything

that could fill me again.

I want it back.

I miss my best friend.

I want weekend adventures, and pictures of you doing silly things.

I want my life back.

you...

I want to feel small in your arms,

and mighty with your support.

I feel as though my world is ending,

and there's nothing I can do but stand by and watch.

It's even harder because I'm the one that did it.

I'm the one who cut the final strings.

I hate myself.

I want so badly to feel whole again.

I don't know who I am without you anymore.

The pain will not stop, and neither will the the tears.

I'm exhausted.

I feel like no one understands.

I'm so tired, I just want this to end; for these feelings to go away and leave me alone.

I miss you.

I love you.

I'm sorry...

I'm so afraid of loosing you.
It would be harder than anything that has ever happened.
I'm only so bold, because I know you're not really gone.
This is so scary: loving someone so much.
You're not guaranteed anything. How do you get over that?
I want a guarantee. I want to know.
After this long I feel like I should, and yet...I don't.
I'm so uneasy.
Everything inside of me is racing around like particles in an accelerator, and I know that any minute now....
I'm going to explode.

unexpected afternoon tears

The fact that I love you so much only makes me hate you more.
My stomach is in knots. You're miles away without love induced indigestion, I'm sure.
My heart hurts, and my mind doesn't even know how to kiss it and make it feel better.
You make me feel small.
Constantly I wonder what gives you this ability.
Fairly average in your demeanor and accomplishments, in many ways you pale in comparison to both myself and others that have come before you, and yet somehow I love you more.
I've let you in, fully.
My heart is a house for you. Furnished with love, and sacrifice, acceptance and forgiveness.
Where is my heart home? When will you build this for me?
I'm not sure how much longer I can wait, for I'm starting to get weathered.
I'm starting to get old.
I want to laugh and love with you. I want to be more than our parents have been. I want to have a love so much built on acceptance that nothing can shake us.
Do you?
Do you think on these things?
I don't want to face a life without you.
I'm pleading you to do these small acts for me.
But if you will not... I cannot stay.
I cannot keep my mind with you, if yours is not keeping it company.
I'm breaking apart, and down, like a crumbling brick wall, and the worst part about it is I'm not even sure if you've noticed.

break me

take from some season
write new lines.
Brink merry muse:
beautiful sorry boy
break me under
your perfect drunk lips.

My eyes love to look into yours
and see what they can find.
They beg me to stay longer,
but I can't always find the time.
My heart begs me to press myself to you
so that she might speak to yours.
She says your heart sings her songs,
and that such fluttering she adores.
My arms beg me to be around you
they say to never let you go.
I tell them we have obligations
but to my resistance they beg "no!".
My tongue begs me to kiss you.
So that she might embrace
the moments she spends dancing
with your tongue, so sweet a taste.
My body is rebelling,
it will not let me be.
It longs, and begs,
and pleads with me,
I cannot suppress,
so hurry home, and kiss me
and lay with my hands caress.

How Fucking Dare You?

You made me happy
made me scared
get your fingers outta' my hair.
I hate the way I want to be
I hate the way we've been.
I loved the way you looked at me
the days of sleeping in.
But I refuse to be your call girl
at six o'clock a.m.
Go knock on someone else's window
and see if they will let you in.

in a moment many things

If we could live in moments
only the ones we chose
I would choose to smell your pillow on my bed
and to see your smile for the first time.
I would take your picture.
I would laugh at your jokes.
I would watch you gesture grandly
and meet you off the train.
Infatuation, call it what you will
but if I could live in moments;
I would choose yours here with me
and keep my heart there still.

Come hither here at dusk

My room doth smell of sex my love
of blessed evenings be
Come hither here at dusk my love
come here and lay with me.
Speak the speech of longing
of ever more; of we
of feelings; of sensations
of flesh: of giving sweet.

For a fling, a friend, and a downward spiral

I like the way you look at me

with your eyes deep and dark.

I like the way you softly command

and laugh with me.

I think it's cute when you stumble,

and show a little vulnerability.

I think it's hot when you bite your lower lip

in the middle of a story.

I like the way you smoke your cigarettes,

and the funny thing you do with you tongue.

I like the fact that you're so manly

yet at heart you're still so young.

I like it that you can sing along

with all of my cd's.

I like it that you beckon

"come lay with me and read me poetry".

I like the way you take your coffee,

and the haphazard way you drive when you are lost,

I love how you take claim to being "artistic"

and the way your eyes sparkle after dusk.

Another ending

I'm having a really tough night right now.
I just was telling schmoops, how somehow I feel like I'm not good enough some how.
I don't understand.
How can all these jackasses and girls with half a brain have "relationships"?
Supposedly I'm smart, and funny, and talented, and beautiful according to all these people that know me, and yet, somehow I'm not enough.
I don't get it.
What is it?
I don't want to be the "feel sorry for me emo girl" either.
I'm just genuinely wondering what it is about me that isn't enough for these guys.
Maybe I'll never know.
Maybe someday I will.
It's hard to tell now, but I feel like I'll never find anyone that wants me fully.
Plenty of guys (and girls for that matter) want to "be with" me, but no one wants to commit to me. Why?
I have such great passion inside of me.
I feel like for the past year and a half (at least) I've been doing nothing but being repeatedly punched in the heart.
I guess there's not much I can do.
I don't know.
That's the worst part: not knowing. If I only knew I would do something to remedy, but I can't figure it out.
I have nothing left to write right now, so I guess it's just another end.

A failed audition...

All the world's a stage
and this acting heart
chose to perform for you.
In the hope of hearing
thunderous applause
in the form of kisses.
I'll wait in the wings
I'll sit in the dark,
I'll watch and wonder
when we will get to do
our scene together again.

Feelings, flashes, fire, and smoke

Isn't it funny, how things you never thought you would get over,
can so quickly fade into the background?
Things you thought would hurt forever,
can vanish in an instant.
Nothing is final.
No door is closed without an open window.
No feeling is forever, unless you want it to be.
Sometimes we learn by being burned.
Sometimes we don't.
It's taken me a long time...
but I think I'm finally done playing with flames.

I don't feel a thing

I think the worst emotion is numb.
When the tears have all left you,
and you've nothing left to give.
I didn't eat yesterday.
Just couldn't bring myself to do it.
The ball of sadness in my stomach was enough to keep me full.
I drank so much last night.
I made myself sick.
I laughed and took drags of my cigarette
while the cute boy ran his hand on the small of my back,
all the while thinking of the way you used to touch me.
But I just smiled, asked another question, and took another drag.
I played along in the drinking games, and sang along with the songs.
I got sick when I came home.
I couldn't feel how drunk I was.
I think the worst emotion is numb.

Tears of Epic Proportions...Surprised?

I cried a lot that night
more than I had over any guy
in a very long time.
I cried pools of tears
on the same sheets we had slept together on.
I sobbed loudly, at two in the morning
not caring if the neighbors heard.
I woke up this morning,
my brain in a fog, struggling
to remember what had happened,
but the sickening feeling in my stomach,
the kind you only get when someone dies,
or your parents are getting divorced,
told me it was real.
I walked to the living room,
I saw three pictures of you and I laughing
and dancing together
I went to the bathroom and remembered
how good it used to smell after you were done showering,
like my shampoo and your cologne.
I walked back to my bed
the scene of the heartbreak,
and on my way passed my old catholic school uniform
that had ridden around with me in my car for a week,
intending to see you.
I thought this would be easier
in fact it's harder than anything or anyone recently.
I thought I'd be okay, but I'm paralyzed.
I'm crying a lot this morning,
more than I have over anyone
in a very long time.

I think I need to pull over and ask for directions

who would have thought that this is where we'd be?

that our lives, and lies, and truths, and using

would align in this most comely circumstance;

that lust would bow in the presence of frienship

and frienship would lay down it's crown;

that you and I would be here existing

that you and I would cease to be

in seperate entities:

just one.

The candle on my coffee table
went out just as i finished my poem.
i thought it symbolic,
that wafting smoke sacred,
and the wick slowly loosing it's flame
ominous.
I pulled a little more wick through
and lit the flame again.
I sat and watched it burn for a couple of seconds
envious of that flame, dancing in the breeze.
I'm not sure if there is an explenation,
who can share my flame-like dance,
the way I dance 'til I burn out,
then find another
to ember.

mediocrity is not for me

perhaps I'm growing bored
with you, or the ideas
inside my head.
perhaps, this, was
never meant to be,
and perhaps it should now end.
how quickly I do change my mind
just as quickly as you change your sheets
how quick we were to jump in them
and let our cries escape
within the heat.
I sat on your couch this morning,
and read some poetry
I wished that you would read it too,
but you were staring at the screen.
I want to exist,
in the notes we have written,
the looks we have given,
and the kisses we've shared.
I want the smile you wear in bed
to be quantifying, always there.
I didn't glow on the way home,
or buzz on sexed caffeine,
(at least not the way I did before.)

My favorite pink tank top

I found my favorite pink tank top
when I returned home this evening
from my busy day.
It was crumpled on the floor, and wrinkled,
and I looked at it lying there, and it winked at me.
I was taken aback by the wink, and filled with immediate wonder at what it might be trying to tell me.
I picked it up.
I smelled it.
The scent rushed over me, a combination
of my perfume and your shower gel,
of your skin, touching mine;
And it all came rushing back.
I suddenly knew what it had been trying to remind me.
Of the last evening we spent together.
It was trying to remind me, that it had been much happier
lying on the floor of your apartment kitchen,
than it was on my cold bedroom floor.
It was whispering under all life's noises, of my early mornings
and internship hours, and papers to write.
Just waiting for me to root through my piles of clothes,
and find it, so that we could talk about our memories.
I decided it was a girl, and as I smelled her
she recounted details of that night for me.
She reminded me of the way you had slipped her bright pink straps off my shoulders with such ease,
with such affection, while your
mouth took me in, as your time
melted with mine.
She whispered in my ear as I held her to my face
and recounted for me the way she hadn't even made it to your bedroom. That she had been
exposed in the living room
and hastily thrown off on the trip past
your small kitchen.
She stayed quiet as I walked holding her in my hands
from my bedroom to the living room.
She lay next to me on the couch
as I sat, legs tucked under myself
writing this poem.
She lay there, within my sight,
as I got lost in memories of you and I,
and replayed the conversation I had had with
my favorite professor about you
earlier at the little coffee shop uptown.
I found my favorite pink tank top
when I returned home this evening
from my busy day.
It was crumpled on the floor, and wrinkled,
and I looked at it lying there, and it winked at me.