I liked your voice
When it was yours
I liked your body
When it was full
I liked your lips
Before we started talking.

We let it harrow up our hearts
And shred them to pieces,
And we speak from the mangled shards
We have left,
After we've feverishly tried to piece
All the parts together.
We don't understand how we feel,
So we let the anger say how it feels instead.

Long ago I promised myself
That anger is a childish emotion,
That scribbles written in haste
And fists drenched in the color red
Could never solve the perplexity
Of real emotions.
We dig compassion into the ground
With shovels of fear.
But if we were to take a moment
To unearth it from its resting place,
Under our wrinkled brows
And white knuckles,
Maybe we would see that we don't feel anger,
We feel passion.

He is a Fire,
Burning so warm,
That each struggling passerby
Cannot help but rush to his
Glowing embers in refuge

I am harrowing my fear
And feeding my courage,
So I might be a spark of His fire,
Living in His warmth,
Adding to the shelter that may save somebody.

Love was never a success
Tattered with devastating loss,
But rather a loss
Bathing in thousands of
Glittery little successes

My soul ached
For his skin and bones
And all the beating somethings in between-
That nothing,
Perhaps not even time,
Could revoke the hormone-driven,
Empty-souled desire I had
For every participle of his being
To deluge me through my core
And past every withering remain
Of sanity or stability
I so feebly clung to.

They say there's only two emotions:
Love and fear,
So believe me when I say
Love can be so afraid.