Tell me about the comet that destroyed you:
the one you swore was a shooting star
until it came crashing, hauling towards
the inner workings of your castle:
towards your mind.
Tell me about the days you laughed at
the otters and they laughed right back at you.
Tell me about the months that seemed like minutes
because that’s how hard you loved her.
Not because I’m asking-
but because you want me to know you
as much as I want to know you.
-I have comets, otters, and minutes too.
We learn and endure
Expose and secure
What we want to be known yet silenced.
We invite and allure
No behavior demure
But pretend we are coy and quiet.
Can you not speak,
Will I not seek
Something that makes sense in the end?
With no intention to defend
nor to amend
Maybe it won’t make sense in the
“It sucks loving someone.”
“No, it sucks when the person you love doesn’t love you the way you want to be loved. Loving someone, however,…is everything.”
I remember little from when I was little.
You watched me grow.
You sure remember more about me than I do.
You tell me stories about myself and I listen intently,
discovering new things each time.
With every silly catch phrase and habit I once had,
I was me.
I was as me as I am now.
So I hear that I was shy and sweet.
I went through a stage where I referred to everything in the past
as “yesterday” even if it took place a few hours prior.
I ate pasta every day,
I didn’t share my feelings much,
And I had the biggest eyes:
eyes that took over most of my face.
still bigger than they should be,
but they once saw the world in a much different way:
a way I will never remember,
but you always will.
Wishing on stars may be harmless until your wishes come true and you give thanks to the stars instead of the One who created them.
-where does your hope lie?
Is it worth all the anguish-
worth all the trials,
worth every maybe
before ‘nother denial,
worth every sadness
and worth all the waiting-
Is it worth the confusions, silence and wishing?
Because one day I won’t be missing
When her thorns pierced his flesh, he forgot he held a rose.
How many are content with the pain that they expose?