It feels as though a million years have gone.
A friend, a trend, has been abandoned yet,
It was not mine, the choice to carry on.
Fragile like hairs are we; Love the barrette.
.
Although it roars like lions in a cage,
And sores have built upon my tired feet;
In novels slow, I’m ripe to turn the page,
And foreword in our story i do fleet.
.
I’ve prayed you safe, for smiles in your cheeks.
A stray, a waif, comparable i feel.
Togetherness: olive branch in our beaks.
Once leather mess; once fatted calf as veal.
.
But haste! Remove the million years within,
For in these days new millions will begin.

I am intrigued by what our bodies do.

My heart begins to pump it’s way to red.

As if we have invented something new.

A rush of large proportions in your bed.

.

Would you have thought that this is how it starts?

Our hands hold on and bodies take their lead.

And soon it trickles down into our hearts

A pungent venom I begin to bleed.

.

This changes everything I said I was,

But that does not mean what I’ve done is lied.

How frequently my shield does come because

It must protect me from the tears I’ve cried.

.

You’re not the one who comes to bid me fear

Unless, of course, i choose to let you steer.

Scientifically and logically it is the absence of color, but in all things artistic it is all the colors. It’s in me. It is the mixture of everything in the final picture. It is the makeup of the big picture.

It is a vacancy… or a lack there of.

Do not tell me you love me.

I have made it clear what I love and what I dislike and you are stepping all over those boundaries, switching my heart from hot to cold and back to hot again and this is unhealthy and this makes me want to pick up the weight of this situation and drop it on your heart so hard that it squishes out all the bad and you finally realize how much love I give to you and how I deserve a better man. One that i know you’re capable of being.

If you loved me than you would be that person.

So, do not tell me you love me… and if you do, than you need to raise your standards of what you think love is.

Mother, May I

Change your words

And speak them softly to the birds;

Misinterpret what I’ve heard

Because, she must love her own?

.

Mother, May You

Look with eyes

Uncovered by a thick disguise;

Nor, spying me for paradise,

For, mine is not your own?

.

Mother, May We

come to cast

our differences into the past;

Though, conflicts now are much more vast,

Each seems to be her own?

.

Mother, May They

Look to me

And commentate slants silently;

For this is yet my active plea,

That together, be our own?

And I will turn.

And you will lead.

And we will dance

With every breath a struggle,

Because lungs get into trouble when hearts are busy.

Hands reach for something strong when hearts are dizzy.

And the world it spins as bodies turn.

And the breath, it goes, as the love, it burns.

And I realize that it is simply not my turn to fall,

Yet i’ve taken the call.

And that’s when I saw it.

June was in your eyes.

She was happier than I was,

So I understood why

You felt she would be better

Than hanging around today,

Maybe sitting,

Watching a show.

She had so much passion

And was so excited

For something

I felt

Was gone

If I

Was gone.

The last boy I dated

He had more than one June ,

And I saw it in him,

And I knew this would mean a lot of things.

I broke up with him

Because of it.

He was hurt,

Because he lost his June that day as well.

I was always sure

That he was

Stronger than I saw him

After that day.

I’ve seen him lately.

He’s grown muscles

And I sense his heart

Has got those muscles too.

But he doesn’t look

Me in the eye.

Which makes me

Skeptical

And makes me

Feel like my granddad.

He was always so grumpy,

I’ve always assumed

Most granddads are.

But I don’t want to

Be grumpy.

I’d rather see June

Quite honestly.

She used to scare me,

Because I thought

She might take my life;

But I

Have come to realize

That we have

A lot in common,

Which makes

Me want to fix

The things I see

In myself

That I don’t see in June.

You were right.

She will be better.

Honestly, do i have a good reason why i don’t do anything i tell myself i am going to do? If anyone would know the answer to that question it should be me, but even i struggle to believe that i have complete control over myself. I am effected by so many little things. Is that what makes me myself? Or am i only myself when i choose to let go of everyone else and be alone and purely effected by only the things i create, but then am i just generic? Mass produced objects have no sentimental value when first created. They gain it after going through meaningful situations with people. As humans are we the mass produced object? Or do we begin with sentimental value and lose it along the way when we are effected by every little tiny thing around us that makes us upset or scared? 

Should i try to be pure, or should i try to be honest?

So there are a million little men living in my head

And each one has his place on the inside of my skull.

I’m not knowledged in the knowing of why

They chose my head to crawl into and inhabit;

But every time it gets cold,

Or warm,

Or tense,

Or tired,

Or hyper,

In almost all situations of life,

El Capitan of the little men shouts “Push”

And like the drummer of a dragon boat

Everyone listens and pushes their little hands against my skull.

You say “little hands can’t possibly hurt that badly”,

But I say “there’s power in numbers”.

You stole my last piece of gum

I wouldn’t be angry if it weren’t for the fact

That I told you my package was empty,

And you still looked through my knapsack

And stole my gum regardless.

Now it really is empty.

But I’m not going to throw it away,

Because I need something to remind me

That you might do this again.