11.02.17

At least I mean what I say when I write.
You don’t write; you speak.
You speak rather eloquently,
But what does that mean
Since you don’t seem to mean what
You say?
I hold onto your words
That aren’t on pages
Until my pen makes each one eternal that night.
I linger and rest in the eloquence,
But we both know I shouldn’t.
For I am someone who likes words,
And you just talk so damn well.
Maybe you’re afraid you can’t interpolate your words on paper.
However, you can do that with the ones you’ve spoken;
I shouldn’t have been surprised when you did.

-After all, your spoken words were written by me.

10.04.17

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

 

 

9.11.17

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.
Those eyes:
still mine,
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.
-Yesterday

3.01.17

Love isn’t destructive.
We, the ones who fall short of Love, are.
Don’t blame the most beautiful thing that has ever existed;
blame the ones who speak of Love with altered denotation and declare it as truth.
You declare your twisted view of Love as truth.
Your words have convinced you that Love is as imperfect as we are:
that Love is responsible for all of your suffering.
If only you were entirely ostracized from Love,
Then you would see that we don’t have anything without it.

-You’re hurting because you loved, not because of love.