She took it all off,
and I pulled her close,
let my hands roam.
“The more I see of you, the more I like you,
can it be like that?” I said.
And it’s not the love she wanted
but she nodded, “yes” she said.
And it broke my heart to know,
she’d give in that easy.
1 It’s the little words,
that you forget to say,
and the time I don’t take,
to try and make it better.
It’s the disappointment,
I can read through the lines.
And the silence,
that’s so painfully loud.
I’m sorry I’m not,
as good as I once was.
2 We say every little thing,
with a smile, and
dance around the tension.
But if I take care,
not to come on too strong,
will you promise,
to stand a little closer?
I spit out words one after the other,
scribble on my hand because I have no paper.
Am I not what I am made of? I am words.
My intestines are long scrunched up sentences,
my eyes are shiny round periods,
my mouth is a powerful message I use to speak truths and tales,
my hair is a wild mass of essays my teachers gave me B’s on,
my torso is the body of a term paper I struggled with to perfect,
my arms are strong examples I use to illustrate stories,
my legs are tanned and lean from the hours I spend running from writer’s block,
my feet are tired but useful commas waiting to be put to use,
my lungs are quotes from long-dead writers that breathe inspiration into my life,
my brain is a vast source of every word and every phrase that have made up my life,
my soul is a speech people have yet to appreciate,
my heart is a beating poem full of wishes and hopes,
so full of love it’s bursting.
I am words.
I am complicated genes strung together to form something unique.
I am complicated letters strung together to form something beautiful.
I am a language you could never understand.
“It gets better” you said,
about something so innocent.
But it never did.
Lie number one,
but who’s keeping track.
You lied about bigger things.
You point to the night sky,
and try to teach me about stars,
but all I can do is stare,
at their reflection in your eyes,
because that view is better,
than any constellation you can show me.
What does it matter if they wrote you the sweetest poem,
or sang you the prettiest song?
What does it matter if they promised you a love,
or a future in the years to come?
What does it matter if you spend nights in their bed,
if you only have to leave in the morning?
The songs get overplayed, the poem gets burned,
and the promises, well they probably broke the minute you tried to touch them.
You didn’t kiss me with pity,
you kissed me with hunger.
Like you would regret it if you didn’t.
The best thing I’ve ever seen was
the gratification on your face
when your lips finally left mine.
A close second was your smile,
when I pulled you in for more.
Never ending story,
we have so much to tell,
not enough time together.
My pen runs out of ink,
I’m still on the first chapter,
not enough paper.
And if our minds fail us,
we’ll accept it.
We’re always surrounded,
by the good magic,
we brought into this world.
Breathe it in,
and remember.
