What of a love unspoken?
A mutual feeling, both parties are too scared to name?
Can it live without a title?
Or will it cause pain if claimed?

What is a love unspoken?
Deep conversations in the dead of night,
The moonlight revealing the man under the bravado.

Something with slight glances,
And smiles,
His words are truth,
A reflection of him,

The best of him,
And his love,
Unspoken,

Where in this moment,
Love is enough for him to give,
And nothing even matters outside the world that we’ve created.

What of our love unspoken?
Are all your actions intentional to keep this sacred thing going?

Can it continue to bloom in secrecy when the world attempts to spoil it?

What of our love unspoken?

Will a title to this unknown love halt the growth of something beautiful?

Will it die as heartbreak, and named?

Left to the wind to rot in silence,
As we pretend that nothing happened with halfhearted, unimpressed glances?

What of this love unspoken?
Untitled but noticed
Simple yet wonderful
And to my knowledge
Final

I know that love is complicated,
But my heart speaks with honesty on this bond formed in secrecy,
It's truth when I say our hearts were destined one day to be,

What of a love unspoken?

his name is a jumble of triangles,
circles and squares
when she wrote it on the first page
of the notebook meant for
her
    
she looked at him
a tray of seasoned fries shared
some old song in the back
singing about love;
of course he would know
    
he would crack a joke
a brief smile meant for her
she wanted to understand it
but she laughed, she was
laughing with him
    
endlessly the sound
replayed, over and over again
before she slipped into bed
and dreamt of a world
they live happily ever after
    
shy & quiet, she was
and he was everything
but
    
again and again
she wanted to know
if he felt the same
so hurry &
don’t leave
hug her before you go

When you realize you’ll never seize the day,
Never have the right things to say,
Your judgments are always erroneous,
You’re not Hamlet, but Polonius.
Though you know that all things must end,
It doesn’t spur your torments to mend,
A dutiful advisor,
Who never gets wiser.
It must be so serene
Never having thought you might have been-
“Neither a borrower nor lender be”;
I say, yet fear both apply to me.
“To thine own self be true”;
ah! Long ago, I missed that cue-
And all do agree,
The audience doesn’t need, my soliloquy.
Under all this weight so crushing
And the envy to just feel nothing,
This act’s end, now I’m certain:
I’ll die off stage, behind a curtain.

We shared a pain,
                                   cracks spreading over both our porcelain faces.
                             If i told you,
            would the fissures begin to fade?
Would you feel loved?

                                                         ­                        (or would you hide away?)
                                                      Coul­d we talk at night?
                                     As the chasm we both feel begins to gape,
         as our hearts ache and the distractions fade?

(or would you hate me?)