Let me take a page out of the book that gave you every look you passed me when I went about my life the way that I was taught

If you had only gone as far as lit my cigarette and smiled I would have given up the world for you and your trials

When you find your rhythm let me know, but I feel that you were never searching for truths not in your bestseller book

I’m sitting here still waiting for a turn to speak, but you’ve stuffed your ears with amnesia of history; it makes you free

I’m here looking at the sky; it’s my way to feel free for a bit of time, and it doesn’t hurt anyone, unlike yours

We were never in line, and it’s all fine, until you cup my mouth with all the force you gained from never having to think twice

Now let me take a lie out of your book and make it choke on all the tears that could have drowned your pages and made you realize

Shy and soft-spoken though I might be, there are ways to talk without speaking a single word and it’s worth a thousand photographs

Like trying to read a book
Without opening the cover
I need your help now
To turn the pages
And guide me through.

We often forget,
Despite our best intentions,
What goes on behind closed doors.
Lacking in appreciation for those who deal with it
Everyday.
That it is only occasionally that
We, the observers,
Must open those doors, but a crack,
And take a stolen glance at what we
Would rather believe is impossibly unnatural.

So here I am to thank you
For being the exact person that I
Needed you to be.
Perfectly timed and orchestrated,
As if it were meant to happen;
That you should come along
Not simply to be another observer. Instead,
A fateful gatekeeper
Whom, by chance, held the key
To the closed doors of my heart.

Between those two pages
of an abandoned book,
over my messed up table.
a moment is kept,
pious and complete.

A memoir of
younghood and innocence,
and emotions of being worthy,
with you.
It is safe within those pages.

A long journey
Since then, but
all passed, in a moment.
while we stayed awake.

May be some day,
it would be opened
to see and cherish.
what we had,
and what could have been hold.

Four hours is a funny thing.
In four hours,
I can earn 48 dollars,
or I can shower and make breakfast
while flipping through the pages
of old books
and sipping my bitter coffee.
Four hours...
I suppose some could
save a life or maybe the world
in four hours.
But I cannot.

I can make 48 dollars,
or I can stare at the ceiling
and maybe think big thoughts
and not do much of anything
in four hours.

I feel so useless in my own life when the memories of us come flooding in.

The uncontrollable hunger I feel inside me can’t be fed by the distance I have laid between us.

Hiding years of sadness, to the point of madness. With the hope that the memories will one day just be memories.

But instead they are turning into a haunting dream that will not go away. Your laughter has become the demon that turns my body cold.

The sign that I will once again have a sleepless night when the waves of you come rushing in. Washing me with a grief I cannot explain.

Like little scenes playing on a loop in my head; Your smile makes my tummy ache. And your charming catchphrases bring back old times, when you were mine.

I have developed a craving for the pain your dreams bring me. Covered in tattoo memories, my heart stings with anticipation. The sleepless nights are becoming a part of me, like a sickness I don’t want to cure.

Once again spellbound in your presence, my mind has somehow mastered.

The dreams are becoming so life like, that when I wake I can still feel your touch, your voice drifting away in the background.

The confusion that covers me looks a lot like shame.

It has been many summers since I’ve seen you, but somehow my self-conscious had found a way to keep you with me. Forever, without my permission.

In reality, I know I don’t want you anymore and I’m quite happy with my life.

Maybe it’s the way we left things that is bothering me? I could have handled that a bit better I suppose. I never intended to break your heart.

Don’t worry, my punishment is a lot worse than the deed.

You are now just a memory that has been anchored by a forgotten love; I no longer wish to have.

As another sleepless night awaits me.

(From my book, The Words I Never Said)

a book focusing on the ill-controlled tempers behind the human connection.
you, begs the questions "why are you" "how are you" and "what do you" based off the cynical analysis of the life of a teenage girl (me)
the intent of these pages is to show the frayed wiring of the connections in life. my hope is by writing this book some engineer will come fix these wires.
news flash, no one has.