What Do You Do When Poetry Isn’t Enough?
Where Do You Go When Your Brain Won’t Let You Leave That Space?
No One Likes To Lose.
Not In Battle.
Not In Life.
And Not In Love.
Fuck These Words.
And Fuck The Feelings That These Words Forge.
Even Dipping Your Toe Into The Shark-Infested-Bitter&Cold-NeverEnding Ocean Of Indifference Called Love Is Enough To Set You On A Course For The Ever After.
But All That Doesn’t Matter In The End.
Nothing Matters In The End.
Or The Beginning.
And They Don’t Prepare Us For The Middle Because All We Know Is The Beginning And The End.
The Middle Will Drive You Insane And Kill You.
I Hate The Middle.
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Please Stop Reading This.
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I Want To Write You Like I Mean It, So I Can’t Afford Getting A Mental Block When I Think To Paint You. I Know It Won’t Be Hard To Conjure Up The Colors, Knowing With You, It’ll Always Be Something Vivid. With Ease I Brush My Easel Against Life’s Canvas Of Love And It Begins To Fill Up With The Most Vibrant Words Known To (Wo)Man. A Mosaic Of Young Love Filled In By Capsules Of Time We Spent Figuring Out How We Completed Each Other. It Was A Simple Game Of Risk And Reward With No Formalities Holding Us Back, Just The Foundation Of Something Bigger Than Us, Binding Your Words To Mine Until We Became Each Other’s Sentences.
I Want To Write You Like I Mean It, And Read You When We’re Older, Saving One Last Dance For Me, You, And Nostalgia, Equipped With The Fresh Smell Of Youth And All The Promise That The Future Held. Winter Came With Snow Angels, Ice Skating, And The Security Of Our Union, As Visible As The Breath From Our Mouths And The Words On Our Tongue. Spring Came With Budding Flowers, Warmer Weather, And The Progression Of A Bond More In Tact Now Than At Any Point During Our Wildest Dreams. Summer Came With Long Days & Longer Nights, Music Blasting Throughout The Speakers Of A City, And The Connection Of One Hand To Another For No Other Reason Than To Feel What It’s Like To Truly Be Alive. Autumn Came With The Changing Of The Leaves, The Smell Of Fresh Coffee Brewing, And The Constant Of A Love Tested By Forces Greater Than Nature With An Appreciation For Poetry And The Rhythm We Continue To Generate With Our Words.
There’s No Going Back Once The Words Touch The Page. Even If Someone Tried To Come Along And Erase All That We Had Written, Our Bond Would Still Be Too Strong For Any One Man’s Envy. I Want To Write You In The Same Way That I Feel You: Multihued, Passionate, And With The Belief That Everything Is Everything. At The End Of The Day, That’s All That We Want; The Feeling That No Matter What We Believe, We Know That What We’re Seeking Is Attainable And What We Dream About Can Morph Into A Reality That We’re Comfortable With. I Want The Words To Translate The Way That Unspoken Emotion Does When I Look At You While Your Mind Is Drifting. The Kind Of Look That Assures Me That For Right Here And Right Now, We Are The Only Two Who Can Fill The Voids That Were Left Vacant By Experiences That We Have Yet To Discover.
I Want The Words To Match The Mood Of The World; A Reflection Of Your Womanhood And The Beauty That Emanates From That Strength. They Say That The Best Women Leave Something To Be Desired, And In This Way You Succeed. But The Best Women Also Don’t Listen To Conventional And Arbitrary Measurements Of Womanhood, And As It Is, The Truest And Freest Nature Of Your Being, You’ve Somehow Managed To Fit That Mold Without Conforming Your Shape. I’d Like To Write You In Between The Goosebumps I Get When I Think About Our First Time And The Ink It Took To Make These Words Possible.
I’d Like To Write You If It’s OK.
I’d Like To..
It Was Written.
She’s Laughing With Another Guy
And Playing With Another Heart
Placing High Stakes, Making Hearts Ache.
She’s Loved In Seven Languages.
Jewel Box Life, Diamond Nights, And Ruby Lights.
High In The Sky.
Heaven Help Her, When She Falls.
