People assume
That little kids can't be clever
I mean they're just kids right
But if you really listen
They can give great ideas
People assume
Being outside is boring
But if you really listen
It can tell you stories that you've never heard
People assume
That the shy girl has nothing to say
But if you really listen
She can brighten your whole day
Why can't people just listen?

Like Icarus, we fly
too close to the sun
or too close to the sea.

The highs and the lows
The good and the bad
There is no in between.

Life is a game,
A game of extremes.
And we don't know how to win.

But you know what they say:
What goes up,
*must come down.

You're a hardcover novel I can't seem to put down with charming tea stains on your pages, endearing creased corners and torn edges I look upon fondly but I can't open you far enough to break the bind of your spine. I’ll keep trying though as I soak in and inhale every toxically flawless inky letter you are composed of, scribbling quotes from your chapters onto my wrists so I feel like I always have you with me until I know your story inside and outside, forwards and backwards, by heart. You have and immensely lovely and irresistible sleeve around you and a fascinatingly stirring summary for your description on the back but I’m more interested in what’s inside. It’s an incomplete tale though so I hope I get the chance to rewrite the rougher parts like the heartbreaking paragraphs of your past and maybe I’ll get to be a co-author for typing out your happy ending.

Please repost if you have ever experienced or are experiencing the budding beginnings of puppy love
Please comment! I love to read any thoughts you have on my poetry or poetry itself as an art! :)

What's it like to be liked?
To be the one who causes that jolt
In the chest of the one who sees them and likes them?
What's it like to be liked by someone who doesn't just like you because they found out you liked them and they wanted a girlfriend?
Because I have liked so, so many boys
Felt that rush if adrenaline when they walk by
Gotten nervous when they speak to me or meet my gaze
But I have never
Ever
Been on the other side of that
Never even been asked to dance more than one time
And it has been nearly two years since then
And he was basically ordered to ask me to dance
I don't dance
But what I'd give to be asked...
What I'd give to be liked...
What's it like to be liked?

Repost if you are lonely. Makes me feel less alone to know someone else Is too. Or if you have never been liked. Or if you just really like the repost button.
Please comment! I love to read any thoughts you have on my poetry or poetry itself as an art! :)

.....and in between
the listening...
silence...

not strained
....but commfortable
an acknowledgement....
of a knowing love

.....and in between
the knowing...
years of ... learning
...to listen...

for the quiet times...
of knowing ....love

silence....profound
love.....aeonian.

Only 160 characters allowed.
It's a shame.
That limit restricts my emotions so much.
I can only type I miss you 20 times.
ImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouIm­issyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImi­ssyouImissyouImissyouImissyouImissyou
But even if I could write it an infinite number if times
It wouldn't be enough

Repost if you miss someone badly. Or if you just really like the repost button.
Please comment! I love to read any thoughts you have on my poetry or poetry itself as an art! :)

My mother once told me
To watch my weight.

Now, all I do is watch my weight.
Eat too little, work out too much.

All because of three little words,
*watch your weight

If life is an experiment,
where are the variables?
Are they evident?

People come and people go,
places change, people age,
And you adapt as you grow.

Feelings vary through the years,
there’s love, there’s loss,
there’s joy, and tears.

The conditions change, from time to time,
Different settings, journeys new,
no set paradigm.

And the subjects shift,
in the focus of life,
some a curse, some a gift.

Some say happiness comes from within,
but I name it the dependent variable,
changing to reflect life’s every whim.

But there’s one thing I seem to miss:
If life’s an experiment,
where’s the constant in all of this?

Is the constant life, breathing, living?

Is the constant you, existing, here?
Is the constant love, growing, giving?

Is the constant intangible?
Is it time, or place?
What is the unchanging variable?

What does humanity all somehow share?
What connects us to each other,
and throughout our lives is always there?