I always try to do good on to others,
even if it hurts me.
But not if it kills me.
Because if it ever reaches that point,
I'd rather end your misery than mine
-it's the kind thing to do.

I'm not super model beautiful.
I am beautiful
In my own unique way
But I'm not something that anybody
would want to gaze at all day.
Maybe to somebody.
Maybe to my mother-
But they say I look just like her
So in my mind,
Through her eyes,
That would be irrelevant.
But who defines beauty anyway?
Some of the ugliest things hide behind
and lurk within things that shine.
To the Definer of beauty:
Who's eyes are more attractive?
Yours, or mine?

I close my eyes,
and find myself gazing directly into yours.
Waves of sensation crash over the reservoir;
Coursing rapid through the rivers of my valley,
Yearning to erase the borders of your shore.
I close my eyes,
And envision your sailboat gliding effortlessly and free along my bodies of water
Rocking to and fro against pulsating waves.

Your skin
Feeling like silk or satin against my skin.
The melody of our inspiration
Rising and falling in harmony.
The fluttering of hearts at the speed of light,
But who's heart is beating faster?
Faster.
Lights on.
I am an open book
Exorcising freedom of expression
as you turn my pages.
Studying my chapters;
Racing to the ******.
Racing.
Our hearts are racing.
Pacing.
Chasing the finish line.
-Epilogue-
In dedication to you, for writing this story.
Your face tells a story.
Aching muscles seeking sweet relief;
relieving the weight of the world.
Earthquakes-
Tell a story.
Earthquake:
1. A natural phenomenon, a sudden and violent shaking of the ground sometimes causing great destruction as a result of movements within the earths crust; a sudden release of energy caused by the release of stress accumulated along geological faults or by volcanic activity.
2. A great convulsion or upheaval.
Earthquakes-
They make history.

Sprawled out across the bed sheets,
Basking in the **** under the street
lights.
There is no moon in the city.
There are no stars to wish upon;
Instead wishes are made upon the
flashing lights of shooting jets.
My fingers are jets.
A private direct first class flight,
Traveling non stop to the
flourishing oasis
at the runway of my thighs.

We don't see each other often. Often times its after months on end.
And we don't know each other like we used to...
but when we're together, we're still together. And we love each other like tomorrow is the last day on earth and probably we'll never see each other again.
Then tomorrow comes, and then tomorrow.
And then it seems like yesterday.
And that's history.

... and your name is tattooed somewhere among the walls of my heart, set in the most beautiful frame in the world.
Often times my blood clots for a second while passing by, taking just a moment to glance as my heart skips a beat;
and I smile, dust the glass, and continue flowing on.