Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art more cold and more desolate
Icicles **** springs bountiful bouquet
While winter delivers life a foul fate

Sometimes only by fluke warmth will wave by
And often melts the bitter cold away
And every snowflake that falls will melt; die
Either now or sometime far it will lay

But your never ending frost shall not fade
Nor ever lose the stone heart in your chest
Nor shall your ignorant soul accept aid
When your bigot mind never sees what’s best

So long as winter is harsh and clear to see
This will remind of the coldness in thee

"The first time I saw her...
Everything in my head went quiet.
All the tics, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.
When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments.
Even in bed, I’m thinking:
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips..
Or the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek.
I knew I had to talk to her.
I asked her out six times in thirty seconds.
She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.
On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or ******* talking to her...
But she loved it.
She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday.
She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.
When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times.
I’d always watch her mouth when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked
when she talked;
when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.
At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off.
She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her.
Some mornings I’d start kissing her goodbye but she’d just leave cause I was
just making her late for work...
When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking...
When she said she loved me her mouth was a straight line.
She told me that I was taking up too much of her time.
Last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place.
She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but...
How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touched her?
Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t.
I can’t – I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her.
Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.
I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars...
And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.
I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel..
How she turns shower knobs like she's opening a safe.
How she blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out…
Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.
I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once — he doesn’t care if it’s perfect!
I want her back so bad...
I leave the door unlocked.
I leave the lights on."
Neil Hilborn

Behold my eye
See what I see
Age is lovely
According to me

Wrinkles like road maps of where i've been
Crow’s feet of joy
And frown lines of sorrow

Spots of warm summers
Long past
Stuck on my face
From the ancient sun
That sets in the West

My voice
Past its time
Telling stories of my prime
When my beauty was clear to see
And people didn't have pity on me

Now that I'm old
And hunched and grey
Look beyond my face
Where my true beauty lay

You made her a walking heartache by leaving, leaving without a goodbye, leaving her with nothing but your fingerprints smudged n her heart like stained glass doors. You see, if you dusted her heart for fingerprints, you'd only find yours, but I guess you haven't came back around to finish your spring cleaning, now I have weeds growing around my ribcage, blooming thorns instead of roses, I'm all torn and worn, I guess that's what happens when you care for people a little too much, you get so interested in their story, but they only read the title of yours, leaving you to turn into a dust ball of Death's-head Hawkmoths, showing no yellow, orange, and red hue colors, just the color of death. And if you had bothered to come back after destroying me, you would find flies eating away at my rotting heart after leaving me for the dead. My story has been destroyed, and now my heart is rotting like a dead body thats been buried for too long. Every part of me has turned to dust after you walked away leaving me in the debris of the tornado that was you. All you leave is destruction in your path, not leaving anything as it was. You destroyed me and then you left, you didn't bother trying to fix me even after everything you caused. My heart broke and I died again and again, after you I was walking around dead with a stone cold heart. You made her into debris, not by your car, but by your words. She takes walks beneath the stars, and has too many long talks with the streetlights, they talk about you a lot, but mostly how you were a pig, never treating her the way she should've been, the way she could've been. She changed moods with every season, but you never really noticed, and it wasn't changes for the better, you see you made her weak and brittle, and you tossed her around like she was a sack of old bones, so nothing seemed to matter, you didn't care. You're a fool, didn't you see the way her eyes would light up when she's look at you?¿ or was that the ground?¿ she always knew her hazel colored eyes best. You never saw the way she smiled whenever she saw you, nor did you see how quickly it disappeared when no one was around. You never called her beautiful when she didn't have make up on, was it because you were scared that once that thought popped into your mind you knew you were ******* from that very second?¿ or did you just really not believe?¿ Because everyone else who saw her would have told her how beautiful she really was, and anyone she loved would love her just as much, but not you, yet she still loved you with all her heart. Maybe she thought the more love she gave, the less you would be scared of commitment, because thats why you never stay in one place for too long isn't it?¿ why you never finish a book, why you never unpack your bags?¿ You were so scared of commitment you left the one person who was trying to help and you broke her and made her scared to love.

She jots down her feelings into that black journal with the red rose on the faded cover and the spine made out of red yarn to keep it held together. She writes about a boy, and how he has one green eye and one blue. I guess you could say he was a beautiful human being to her. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. She never experienced any touchy touchy feely feely crap, but he had the veiniest arms and it's as if he had the roots of a tree clinging to him. She wanted those hands, those send, around her body. She wanted to kiss his lips to see if he tasted like a hurricane or a tornado, or simply even a raindrop. When you're around her hands get all clammy, her palms are soaked, as if she's holding the ocean in her hands, this is what sweaty palms of nervous love is. She wrote about how his eye was as blue as the ocean she was drowning in after he had gone and how the other was as green as the leaves on the tree she fell from when she first met him. She wrote about how that was the same tree whose roots clung to his arms and when she fell she lost her roots. His lips that she oh so dearly wanted to kiss were as red as the rose whose thorns pricked her heart and made it bleed and hurt every single time it beat. And his blond hair looked to be as yellow as the sun that she could find even on the cloudiest days, where the clouds were thick and the rain pouring but she found shelter being held in his arms. She loved counting the freckles on his face that were as numerous as the night stars. She fell in love with every single detail about him, yet she never saw the way he looked at her. She could paint a perfect picture of him just by memory, making sure every perfect detail was included, but she didn't see herself as beautiful as the boy with the blue eye and the green eye did. She's scared of him though, no matter how beautiful he may be, no matter how much he reminds her of the sun, or the roots of trees clinging to him like cobwebs clinging to her un-kisses okays. She wonders, what if she keeps quiet, what if she won't destroy you, but she's really hoping she doesn't destroy you with her smile, she doesn't want you to look for a way out when you haven't even made your way in. She finds her dad in silverware, as it clatters and falls to the floor, especially knives, dressed in memories, they stab her in the back like he stabbed her mom, he's why she's so scared, her Father up and left without reasoning, she's scared to put her trust in you like she did him. But, she'll find you in scalding water, as she's washing years of giving up off her history book hands... You're that abandoned building with a Danger sign hammered to a white chipped paint door, she's taking a chance and she's going to judge you for what's inside, and hopefully no halloween masks are covering up your heart, making you someone you're not. She's scared of what she will find inside but also knows she can't turn back when she find out. No matter what wires are broken and how unstable the building is she'll take her chances knowing that she very well can die in there but that would be better than dying before exploring the heart of her lover. She takes her adventure to learn more about this mysterious boy to find what lies behind his eyes hoping to glimpse into his heart and soul so she can jot down her discoveries in that journal. So she can see the truth in why those eyes are two different colors and why he never gets too close to anyone that loves him. He's just as scared as going in that abandoned building to find what lies within as she is, but he's even more wary of what he does ready to fled at the first sight of danger, at the first fallen wire he's ready to run but she keeps going trying to dig deeper into the mystery while he just doesn't want to be hurt by the girl with the brown eyes.

I don't quite know how I'd describe the taste of your lips, but for now I'll go with the rim of an old porcelain teacup, or soft rain from a bruised sky, or kerosene, you're about to set my tongue on fire with the taste of your love. You're an uprooted tree from a ghost-town-like night, filled with screaming tornado sirens and broken windshields from gulf sized hail. You could carry me quite far, you were damp new leaves weathering from Fall's best storm, and I destroyed you just as completely. With you, I like to forget boundaries, I like to let you dance on my fingers, and let my mouth hang ajar when you punch my jugular, stealing the breath I breathe. You always reach for my hands like they need rescue, they are safe in my pockets, safe by being still, not black and blue knuckle shaking fighting fists. I find you in scalding water, as I wash the past off of my history book hands, my Father has an anger building up in his throat, he knows about our love, the love we never say out loud, the love we don't want anyone to mourn for, he wants to preach a different kind of sermon, a sermon mouthed with cracked sidewalk-like hands, a broken heart, grease stained jeans with worn knees, tired eyes, and an unshaved beard, and chapped lips and a tasteful tongue ready to throw swear words at me like rotten tomatoes, but I can only hear the time bomb in his voice-tone. My teeth are doors, but they only welcome certain types of people in, people like you. You're that abandoned building with a Danger sign hammered to a white chipped painted door, and I'm so happy I judged you for what's inside. Before you, I never experienced any touchy touchy feely feely crap, but you have the veiniest arms, like the roots of a tree cling to you. My hands get all clammy, my palms get soaked, as if I'm holding the ocean in my hands, this is what sweaty palms of nervous love is. I find you in muddy rain puddles, I feel like I'm splashing around in the color of your eyes. I find you on my fingertips, the scent of your favorite food, French fries, lingers in between my fingers. Do I burn your skin with my furnace-like touch? Are my finger tipped fingerprints really trails of left behind scars from a burning match? You make me want to scratch at walls, these walls around me don't feel like home, I'm chipping away wallpaper in hopes I'm chipping my way through your chest, I'm searching for your heart. I've done a lot of thinking, you taste like rusty spigot water, but I can't stop drinking you, it's like I'm living in a drought and you're my only source of water supply. All the words you speak have a certain echo, and echo that lacks reverberation. Your words taste like you learned the hard way. I'm going to hold your hand so long you start to question what's wrong with me, I'm going to stare into your eyes for a long period of time and you're going to nervously smile and say you have to use the restroom. I want to love you so hard the sky explodes into pink and orange jealousy. Autumn is beautiful, much like our love, (the leaves change color), like our cheeks when we blush pink, (then gathered into piles), like you and I picked up each other's broken shattered vase-like hearts, (and then burned), like our love burns more and more passionately day by day.
(k.m.m)

O child of the sun,
Don't you notice the radiance,
The radiance you give others to smile,
The light they find in the dark,
Was because of you?

Your glow is contagious,
Your laugh remains in our memory,
Light touches our hearts,
Makes us forget about mistakes,
But what about you?

O child of the sun,
Where is your radiance?
Where is your smile, your love?
You touch the heart of others,
Lighting their world, darkening yours.

You know the taste of oblivion,
The price of forgetting,
The pain of loving,
Yet not feeling loved.
You know the feeling of fading away.

O child of the sun,
You hesitate before firing your bow,
Afraid to take a life.
Your hesitation has cost you a dear friend,
How do you live on?

Your music touches your soul,
The only feeling you have left.
You control the notes,
And form them from your soul.
But who listens, besides you?

O child of the sun,
Your heart was stolen by ice,
Covered and frozen...
When the fire touches it,
It burns more than it should.

Your friends see you as an ally,
But you always feel alone.
Life always seems hollow yet brimmed with light,
You feel like your friends take you for granted,
Because they don't know who you truly are,

Until you're gone.

The worst thing about this kind of sadness
is not being able to eat or move or
write
and you can't just snap out of it
or maybe you just don't want to
because you're sort of getting used to it
and you don't know who you would be
without it

Never let an illness define who you are
otherwise when the pills start working
you'll end up with an empty body
a shell without a soul
and no words to describe
what you've been through

As I blew out the candles on my birthday cake
I wished for happiness
five years in a row
and I was sure it never came true
until I looked at pictures I didn't remember taking
and at poems I didn't remember writing
and realized I could've been happy all along
if only I hadn't focused that much on my sadness

Sad salty water trickles down your face,
it plops down on the ground, and your head droops down.
Your heart is slowing down, you feel blue.
You feel as if you were in a world of sadness,
alone in the world.
It would have trees without leaves,
and the ground as cold as Antarctica.
Breathing slowly, soundlessly,
as the wind goes whistling by.