“I wonder what it’s like to love you.” You say as we’re lying in my bed.

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, “I don’t think anybody ever has.”

And you give me a pitiful smile, the kind you always give when I
say something so negative about myself.

I guess I’m glad I’ve come to think of it as ‘commitment’ rather than ‘pity’.

I’ve let myself drown in you. I let myself become lost in your lifeless eyes

and I’m filled with regrets but I don’t regret a thing. Maybe I Regret Breathing.

You’ll let my ghost linger, just for awhile longer. You’ll let me be real to you.

And as I feel the smoothness of you silk black hair in my hands, I wonder

if I’ve ever really loved you or if I just loved how in love we could have been. The agony of loving you won't let me die.

We will shatter into a thousand thousand pieces of brilliant, beautiful light
in a millennia they will find shards of us
Glittering amongst stars
And they will know us by name
Each and every fragment
We will be constellations that heroes are born under
We will herald a new age
Where the shining of the dawn
Is the last true miracle

Blurry finds a place to close her eyes.
Head swells up with a demons lies.
Drowsy stops when the evil dies.
Body loosens up and begins its rise.

Is it only the size that matters?
Is it the length or width?
Is it beauty that flatters?
Or is that misconception and myth?

Is it the amount of money?
Is it ones own height?
Is it vanilla or honey?
Complexion that's dark or light?

Is it the skinnier or the fatter?
Is it the size of her chest?
Do these things really matter?
Do they measure love best?

this little poem mine
sadly, died upon the vine,

tho watered and sun'd,
tended and tendered,
to and from your neglect,
it sadly surrendered,

from which there is
no respite or surviving

three or four sprouts tall,
grounded, now homeward bounded,
from dust to dust,
earth to ash,
this little poem ******,
to the dustbin condemned,
my sweetest, petitest, little trash,,

never to be read again.*

0ggdiddy Nash

I am not a landfill for
Insecurities
I am not the void to repair
Damaged masculinity
Yes, I am a woman
Comfortable with my sexuality
But, aren't I supposed to decide
When i want that kind of intimacy?
Everyone's got their demons
I'm always the dirt beneath their shoes
As the climb from the pit
I want to be more
I want to be whole
I want to be strong enough
To stop it when I say no
**** is a four letter word
I wish I didn't feel it in my bones
When the one I loved hushed my cries,
I said no

1202

The Frost was never seen—
If met, too rapid passed,
Or in too unsubstantial Team—
The Flowers notice first

A Stranger hovering round
A Symptom of alarm
In Villages remotely set
But search effaces him

Till some retrieveless Night
Our Vigilance at waste
The Garden gets the only shot
That never could be traced.

Unproved is much we know—
Unknown the worst we fear—
Of Strangers is the Earth the Inn
Of Secrets is the Air—

To analyze perhaps
A Philip would prefer
But Labor vaster than myself
I find it to infer.