hb

you were my only real friend
all you wanted was to hold my hand
you introduced me to nearly everyone I know now
we shared drinks on the lawn, I was eaten alive by mosquitoes
you were the first person here to care about my opinion
making your decisions based on if I would accompany you
and you said the sweetest things a friend can say
not because you had to, because you couldn't wait to
this kind of attention sparked jealously from other parties
so I was pulled away from you, towards loneliness again
and then you left for the place we left behind
I hope you are every happy there, nothing like last time
but I suppose I can never really thank you for the feelings
of acceptance. and I miss you. my only friend.

Crumble

I sh-sh-sh-sh-shake a lot when I think if all of it. IT overwhelms me. Much of my mistrust can be attributed to the passion of your previous relationships. Say what you will, you words are never are fiery when referring to me. "She and I did this" or "I and she went there" but never "All I ever want in life is to die before you" or "Come back to me she said and I died and she is the only thing that ever mattered to me." These are not emotions to feel when it comes to me. Is it loss? Is it loss which provokes such intensity? Must I leave for you to truly remember what I mean to you? I could never. How I so wish to trust you. Not that you are particularly unworthy of trust but you are so often away now and so never near even when you are around and maybe I am pushing you away and maybe it is my fault and maybe we are really not even meant to be but I am forcing it because I don't know how to move on but I am in love in the most pseudo stalker way possible and I could never live happily without you. I want our lives to forever coincide. More importantly I want you to have such grievous, abhorrent, loathsome disdain for them that were the opportunity to arise for you to slowly burn their bodies to tiny pieces you would just at the opportunity. I want you to speak of them as though it pricks your tounge each time you form a syllable and you taste blood each time you speak their names. I want to erase their existence in your life. Or you could prove to me that I mean more to you than they ever did or ever could. Maybe then I could trust you. Maybe I should just give up. Maybe you should just give up on me.

I think I give up on me.

I am not being sarcastic

You are a miserable person
Guilty of all judgment past
Through your lips you seethe
without discretion.

I am not to blame for your
egregious misconduct.

humming birds

We are so effortlessly elated.
You bring the depths of my passion
to the brink of eternity
You revive in me the most human of emotions
that of love, fury, jealousy, and security
you are the lunar eclipse elapsing my most illusive moons
Take my hand as we venture toward the future?

I will be there through the unyielding winters and blistering suns
You will catch me when my faith falls through in an ever present God
and I will listen to your heartbeat because it plays my favorite song

sister, don't get worried.

I lay down my copy of someone else's achievements for a moment to enjoy in the solace that is an empty home. We lay together on the carpet and I stroked him. It was unbearable, the thought of losing him. He loves me in the way no one ever will, with all the strength and vigor I have always longed for; but he is an animal. This is his downfall. There are others, these steps I take in an attempt to fulfill the emptiness I am often plagued by. They will never be enough for me. Still, I wish he wouldn't use such colloquial phrases to describe his past affairs; the unmistakable intentions; the unbearable specific degree. I love him with all the vigor I can muster but still he recedes. I will never understand him. I will never understand anyone because I do not entirely comprehend emotion. I fall to pieces too often. I collapse and revolve elaborate conversations around how to return to where I once was. In this way I am both continually moving and stuck in the same tireless course of action. I will write passages, existential, galvanized, and almost entirely incomprehensible in nature. I will whittle my time away subversively. I will make every attempt to please you; all of you. These strides to enhance society are all in vein. I long for devotion. I am distrustful. No one will ever devote themselves to me completely.

post-secret is for lovers

your jealousy and anger are insufferably displaced
much like the ring above your lip which fattens out your face
you're a fool for thinking it's my fault things, "changed."

summer, winter, fall and spring

words can't express what you mean to me
thus nullifying my attempts at a soliloquy
you are my moon, my sky, sun and sea
you are everything I hold dear and sweet
you are the other half of my anatomy
you are more than I have ever hoped or dreamed
you are the warm rain falling on my skin
you are my pacifist amidst the warmongering
you are my alternative fuel source when the lights glow dim
you are you're and I'm yours in a correct grammatical team
you are the sugar to my iced tea
you have bettered me in more ways than one
and for that I am grateful and my heart you have won
you are the solid ground which steadies me
there is no equitable balance which I can achieve
without your hand in my hand and your lips on my cheek
I love you my, "crumb bum," until eternity

ode to the internet

how I love thee
and your distorted perceptions of reality
how can you sway the winds of the calming sea
and create a thunderous opportunity
for the weak at the heart turn weak in the knee
at the sight of your newest visual tease

and oh what a medium to create such distress
and mistrust and distrust and unhappiness
for the lying and unfaithful, their newest success
intrinsic, elicits the worst of all breast

but a goldmine for the durably calloused.

Insomnia*

*this is the last (and most recent) of my backdated poetry.

Oh what I would give for a chance to retry
to forgive, forget, dry the tears from my eyes
so many regrets in so much lost time
all I've ever wanted is to reclaim what's mine.

The symptoms of my yesteryear
I've swallowed and have crystallized
deep in the fever of my being they lie
Slowly (but surely) eating my alive.

I swear if we met, I could not behave.*

I don't like or trust them
Why is this a shock?
She seemed pretty adamant
When I read that she called
On the occasion I bare my soul
the truth in quiet spurts
you react with such rightious indignation
I question, should I ask permission first?:

"Oh dearest, my darling, my one love true
May I ask a simple favor of you?"

"May I ask you to speak plainly of what was before?
Of those wretched lovers and those glorified whores?
.. and promise me the truth is it's most honest of forms?"

But I wouldn't dare to bother with such precious woes
For the answer I fear (and assume) would be, "No."