It was one of those mornings
where you peer out your bottom floor window,
and look up at the raindrops freshly fallen.

You feel broken,
and yet rushed with an unexplainable emotion.
but you know it’s a good one simply with a bad aftertaste.

You see people everyday, no, you stare at them.
You wish for relationships you once had.
Others you wish you could hold,
and those you could never give up.

Have you ever heard the saying about faking a smile?
It’s an understatement.
It’s not sadness, or anger really, just pain.

It doesn't start out as pain, it just evolves, over time.
The madness results in Emotionally caused Physical pain.
The pain doesn't hurt, it just...sits.

This emotion that we've nicknamed pain, rushes through the body,
Arms numbs, legs shaking, eyes holding back, everything.
It’s all caused from sight, with a drop of longing.

You see this person everyday.
You long for the same people every single day.
And your body just longs for them.

It’s not as lustful as it sounds.
You just possess an attraction to these people.
An attraction that even the most specific and descriptive of words could not describe.

You sit there and you are bound by society’s lock on intermingling.
You are bound by the mock and disgust of others.
You are bound by that person of which you desire.
You are bound simply by yourself.

All this.
All of this Emotion, if you will, was bound in that little drop that clings to the window.
That was but a drop of what I feel every single day.

You can’t imagine
but don't let me sound as if I am exaggerating.
For I am not.

I have felt wonderful things.
Things I am not sure most of you have felt.
Though I wish you could.

I wish I could place my hand on your chest
I wish that all of that energy, that emotion, would flow into you and then back into me.
I could look into your eyes, and I would know, that you know, how I feel.

You could understand everything.
You could sympathise.
but the fact of the matter is, you simply can’t.

I do not believe you have felt what I have felt too, no.
Different version and variations, yes.
But this feeling of impossibility, I know you have not felt.

You are common rebel,
this is not bad, no not at all,
you have more opportunities to release this emotion than I ever will.

And i envy you. All of you. Every Last one.

You look away from the rain drops.
You go back to living.
You go back to hiding.
You go back to solitude.

Yeah, it was just one of those mornings I guess.

Sometimes late at night when I can't sleep, which is more often than I can, I daydream about princes and flowers, shiny things and comfort. I over complicate things that have simple explanations, and brush off things that need my utmost attention. I think about rain and snow that I never see, and dream about dust blowing at my face and the feeling of concrete sun burning my feet at noon. I think about all the moments of the day I forget about, like walking to class and shading my eyes from the sky, and I remember how beautiful it is. And I wonder why I lay awake in my bed thinking about princes and flowers and shiny things when I have the sun at my back, the grass between my toes and the world at my fingertips.

Sticky hands-
the price of touching delicious things.

And no matter how I handle you...
from the spout, with a mitt, upside down,
you get all over my mind
you sneak your way into thoughts that
haven't even come close to you.

And for each drop of soap
an ounce of appetite comes to tip the scale.

A sticky heart.
That's the price of touching delicious things.

I gave up on astrology
when you gave up on me.

       these stars will never align

doomed to a quickened heart
when every other year
you tell me I'm
beautiful.

you're a devastating black hole
I've wary watched the effortless pull of
galaxies into your guile
invisible webs gilded with your smile

infinite universal promises of nothing.

having fallen sick with the brush of your hand
(careless earth-shattering connection)
    
          he loves me... he loves me not
                 he loves me.... he loves me not

"your old friend"- how dare you?
at the origin- ever aliens!
you never obeyed the customs
when every look was all a kiss
and every touch a secret question

"we never were just friends," I muse-
fleeing on my gondola down the milky way
casting over my shoulder your cordial invitations to love you
from this millennium onward, you've changed the font but kept the paper
into the nebulous reality you've tried to gather
I don't. I won't. I would not rather.

let daisies decide.
leave me alone.

I've been here for 20 years
And this world is still so hard to understand
I've come to realize though
That I will never ever understand
Because not everything has answers
I've beaten myself up trying to figure it all out
But when the answer simply isn't there
I've learned to nod my head and walk away
Creating a new mind set
To get as much experience as possible
Without any understanding
Because I don't think anyone understands
So live without reason
Act without understanding
And smile not knowing why

Do you even know what I would say
If every word became a flower?
My dear I'd have a rosebush to give to you.
Roses of every color.
Red for the I love yous
Yellow for the jokes, even the ones that were only funny because you said them.
Especially those ones.
Pink for all the honesty we shared:
About our future,
What we wanted,
What we thought.
White, though, for the perfect moments when we lay side-by-side
And told each other things no one else ever knew.
And learned things about ourselves we never imagined were possible.
Every feeling would sit safely in the leaves:
Our hands touched,
Our eyes met,
Our hearts beat together for the first time.
The flowers would be worth the thorns...
The tears.
Their beauty worth the pain.
And I promise our roses will never die.

It felt to wrong to listen to those songs with you last night.
We’ve both changed so much.
But I feel that I’ve shrunk
rather than grown.

When we first met I loved people
and hated myself.
Now those feelings have inverted
and I live in a constant state of bitter narcissism.

I miss the poems I used to write you
The ones that rhymed and were ignorant to pain
Written in neat handwriting
a parallel to how I saw the world.

And I still love you
I just don’t understand
how the same love can still exist
between two different people.

And it breaks my heart
that the boy who
made me avocado and peanut butter sandwiches
and took me on a picnic in his backyard
doesn’t exist anymore.

Just like I’m sure that
it breaks your heart
when you remember the girl
who would ride bikes to the park with you
after school on Tuesday afternoons.

I'm not sure if I'd rather
live in that world of innocent love,
or move our hearts forward
into an unknown territory
filled with the possibility of separation.

Words are calculated,
    see past them to the truth they veil.
Every person is an ever-expanding formula:
  the product of a combination of variables
  determined by environment, attitudes,
  interactions, anything; pronounced by
  motives -- Ambition, or the lack there of.
Hear what is said and observe action
                                           to decipher truth:
If you want to understand someone
or something, have NO expectations.

And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run,
A mist retreating from the morning sun,
A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream.
Its length? A minute’s pause, a moment’s thought.
And Happiness? A bubble on the stream,
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.

And what is Hope? The puffing gale of morn,
That of its charms divests the dewy lawn,
And robs each flow’ret of its gem—and dies;
A cobweb, hiding disappointment’s thorn,
Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise.

And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound?
That dark mysterious name of horrid sound?
A long and lingering sleep the weary crave.
And Peace? Where can its happiness abound?
Nowhere at all, save heaven and the grave.

Then what is Life? When stripped of its disguise,
A thing to be desired it cannot be;
Since everything that meets our foolish eyes
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.
’Tis but a trial all must undergo,
To teach unthankful mortals how to prize
That happiness vain man’s denied to know,
Until he’s called to claim it in the skies.

I feel like a blurry photo; black & white
Unclear, yet beautiful
On a quiet street.
Shiny with rain    
Leaves scattered allover
reflection of streetlamps stinging my eyes
light sprayed though my vision
filtered by tears
magnifying the lights.
leaves blow, headlights string,
taking all hope along...
It's almost comforting how alone I feel.