Poetry
Would you hold my hand when I tell you this? I love you. These words are insufficient. I desire you. I want you. I fixate on every detail. You are the most special of my interests. I'm cooking in the pressure of these urges, an endless tide eroding
Writing
Icicles cling, but they don't often stab. They hold on tight to tilted roofs and drip-drop their way to the ground. One drop at a time. Taking their time. What's the rush when the sun doesn't shine? I want to be an icicle. Maybe
Poetry
Me talking doesn't equal them listening them listening doesn't equal them understanding them understanding doesn't equal them remembering them remembering doesn't equal them acting them acting doesn't equal them staying them staying doesn't equal them committing If they
Poetry
One day I’ll meet a person, She’ll be painfully familiar. Time tics on, beckoning, I slowly start to hear her. Waves on gentle waves, pictures getting clearer. Coloring my pages, a song sent from her soul. I’ll try to keep from falling, but I’m bound to
Poetry
You went up in flames Then you burned your hand This time you just burned the tips of your fingers Maybe next time you’ll figure out the stove is hot
Poetry
I want to believe someone who writes such beautiful poetry could never hurt me, or desert me. Can I be worthy of such sweetness without suffering? I’ve never really been seen, People rarely get what I mean, But you dissect so effortlessly, A power that enraptures me. I notice