II.

I've wrote a thousand words about you inside my head that never made it to paper.
I have all these words coiled tightly around my tongue,
words I never let out their cage.
I bite into my own flesh to fight the release of speeches with too much meaning,
but very little comprehension.
Every complex sentence that I would pin to the inside of your eardrums
would go searching for something in you to care.
Missed opportunities cupped inside your hands,
occupying the space where I should be.
You feel like a secret that I've held onto since before I could speak.
So I kept you tucked away behind my sternum,
snuggled next to my heart, selfishly.
And I bit my tongue in mixed company,
in fear that everybody could see through my flesh
and find you and every word I've hid about you.
My heart is drunk with an idea that could never be.
You intoxicate me.
You're a comfort I've always had, just misplaced.
I want to show you every emotion for you I've kept wrapped around my ribs,
caged behind distant memories.
Times I've feuded with myself to hold my composure
and keep my hands to myself
when my finger tips are begging to know
how many scars you have
and memorize the lines God etched into the palms of your hands.
Times I wished I could be fluent in your body language
so that we didn't have to tear a moment apart with words neither of us understood.
But instead,
we exchanged sandpaper love songs
that scratched at us until we bled
and avoided the conversation neither of us had the courage to have.
So we let questions build up inside our stomachs for the butterflies to feed on.
Everything I know is borrowed, broken or blind,
including you,
a dangerous mixture of all three.
But what I’ve seen of beautiful in the past
now feels merely implied compared to you.

I.

If I’m human, how does the world drift me around without my consent?
Who gives the permission to my peers to use me like tools as they neglect to cherish me? 
I always forgive but its a task to forget. It’s consistently the same thing. 
I watch friends and enticed flames grow roots around my ribcage and bait me into showing them how to open locked doors with no obvious space for a key. 
I let them inside, 
times after I promised no one else would tread within the temple or gaze upon my weaknesses. 
And I tend to put my hope in the wrong seeds and they never grow to be the kind of dream I want them to be. 
I need them to be flowers. 
I worry that I’ll always be the lover and never the loved. 
Cuz everyone’s heart is looking for a throne room 
but they always oblige my chest temporarily until some other pedestal is divinely delivered that seems to hold them better but is less of a challenge to get on. 
So one after another, 
I become the change that needs to be made to in order to achieve perfection and I am unapologetically discarded. 
And I pluck the dry weeds, that never sprouted floral buds, from the space beneath my collarbones. With one blade I buzz, 
“You love me” 
and whisper 
“You love me not” with the next. 
What excuse is there for all the failed gardens that tried to flourish in the fence of my bones? 
There’s rainy days, 
my eyes puffed up the size of heavy gray clouds. 
I keep the sun hidden in the creases of my smile just to share in moderation. 
But nothing grows with me. 
Only apart.

Love Songs

Everything I had only seen in dreams

had manifested itself right in front of me

and I touched it.

I dug my fingertips into his flesh like I was caressing piano keys,

hoping to leave my fingerprints embedded in his soul.

I used my nail to carve my name into his lungs,

praying that with every breath he took in,

he unconsciously sang my name

and when he exhaled,

a love story bellowed from somewhere deep within.

Somewhere that had always been inside him

but was begging to be awaken,

so that he could thrive the way God meant him to.

He gave me goose bumps.

And they rose up like braille all across my skin

and wrote a lyric to an undeniable melody.

Like Shakespeare and Sade had collaborated

to write the world’s most enticing love ballad

and they used my heartbeat like an 808.

Together, we could be music.

And my heart would be crooned by

the vibrations in his voice.

His lips would know the words to songs he’s never even heard of

because every verse reminds him of our love.

My eyelashes would be acoustic guitar strings

and when I blinked,

our tune would softly echo in the space around us,

growing louder with time

until the sound was unbearable

and he was incapable of ignoring that

I’m standing right in front of him !

Hollowed,

insides pulsating,

hands shaking,

waiting,

always waiting.

We could harmonize.

A pleasing combination of two being drawn together as one

and I could sample every missing beat of my heart from his

and I would share my breath with him.

I could stop hiding behind metaphors

and lopsided soliloquies backed by

wounded symphonies.

I’d leave lyrics on his lips every time we kissed

because these words

are stapled like a secret to the back of my throat

pleading to said,

no longer wanting to be wait to be heard

and accepted.

And when our voices grew tired of singing,

we could love each other instrumentally,

vocals removed,

bodies speaking on our behalf,

stripping every layer down

until we are raw, uncut versions of ourselves.

Love and Other Drugs

and i leave you with this.
i hope these words travel like smoke from my lips
and replace the air in your lungs
so that when i'm not in a
hand-holding,
tongue-wrestling,
skin-caressing distance,
you can hear some of these lines
every time you breathe out.

and maybe you'll need me then
like i need you now.

so excuse me if i seem a little anxious.
its just...
i want so badly to be naked with you.
i want us to leave every stitch of our clothes on
and pull back our souls layer by layer
until we know every story that accompanies every scar.

and when we're done catching up on old mistakes,
i want to let all of my inhibitions go
and learn the description of your veins
as they go racing to your heart.
so thoroughly that i could,
describe them to a blind man
who's never known the feeling
of being lost in someone's eyes,
day dreaming of love making on cloud nine.
high.

and all my dreams and
drug-like acid trips are the color of your complexion.
nothing else.
just your skin,
filling every canvas of my thoughts.

good thing i think you're the most beautiful thing God ever made.

and i don't mind seeing your face etched on the inner surface of my eyelids,
picturing you wearing my thighs like earmuffs
in world gone cold,
you're the one that makes me feel warm,
like i have the sun perched inside my rib cage
keeping it safe for any future rainy days,
so when you need a sunrise,
i can stitch you one
just for you to place your prayers on.

i would do that for you
because well,
i love you.

and i hate that i have to sum up the way
my palms sweat
and my stomach still crowds with butterflies
even after all this time of
melting into your kisses
and needing your hugs while i'm sleeping
into these three little words
that wouldn't even have a definitive meaning
without your existence.
but baby,
these three little words
are all i have.

Storms.

Thunder shook me from my sleep.
And I reached out for you
only to wrap my hand around
emptiness and disappointment.
I squeezed my pillow
and thought of you and our storms.
And now this trip down memory lane
got me uneasily walking through our late nights.
This rain outside would be perfect for some lovemaking;
moans escaping in between the raindrops.
I squirm at the thought of times when we've been one;
finding your way into the heavens between my thighs.
I've made the storm jealous;
becoming drenched with all this reminiscing.
It'd be better if you were here to feel this storm with me;
the storm in me.
The heavens throb for your touch;
and I squeeze tighter tryna keep the flood waters in.
Outside my window;
thunder beckons again
and I can almost feel you pounding in me
as if you're tryna outdo Mother Nature.
Lightning flashes
and I look up into the night sky to see your face.
I bite my lip with frustration.
I want your lips against mines;
drowning amongst the clouds.
You dive into me.
Then quiet my pleas
with long overdue kisses
and I taste my angels that have found home near my knees.
The heavens can't keep the moisture from flowing out the gates.
Oh; it's amazing how
your body quakes into mines;
sending shakes up my spine.
I dig my nails into your skin;
clawing at your flesh;
tearing apart your sins.
Downpour outside picks up speed;
and you change pace to keep up;
personal storms trickling down my thighs.
Deep breaths.
Sweet moans.
Long sighs.
I toss and turn under the weight of your memory
and cuddle with the Iloveyou's of our past.
Storm still frantic in my heavens;
hell erupts outside my window
and the room smells of satisfaction
and reeks of your absence.

Whoooo. I turned myself on when I wrote this lmao. I mean I was already a little turned on anyways...lls tis how I thought of it.

Pretty Girls.

Girls, I ask em do they smoke?
Ask em what do they know?
Ask em can we go? Pretty girls..
Sunshine in the air, perfume everywhere
Girls are everywhere

The pretty girls be the ones with the darkest secrets...

Flawless;

the sweetest smiles are the ones hidin the most pain.

Puttin on happy-go lucky charades

but hidin teary eyes behind black tinted shades.

Mascara runnin deep into her veins.

She's not as happy as she claims.

Loneliness swallows her in rooms full of her closest friends.

Their hugs are empty.

And her trust in them waivers constantly.

The distance between them grows with each passing day.

Whatever; 

she don't want them anyways...

Too busy in her emotional built up brick walls

where no light shines in.

There's no windows; 

no doors.

Only mirrors covering every inch of the ceilings, walls and floors.

Admire your style and your physique

So all day;

she picks apart and critiques

what others call her "beauty".

Not seeing how they could see anything pretty in

an empty shell of what used to be herself.

She wages war on what's left...

She tears herself apart; 

skin first. 

As if she's tryna claw her way out of herself;

reassurin she can still feel herself.

Rips and cuts away at everything she doesn't like about 

the "pretty girl" screaming in the mirror.

And then she goes numb.

Protection from the "love".

She drowns herself in shot after shot

of anything that can be poured.

As the room fills with smoke

from blunt after blunt;

cloudin up want after want.

And when the smoke clears;

her fears

are still cluttered on mirrored floor

staring back at her;

tauntin her.

Always hidin right beneath her clothes.

She gazes into intact mirrors

but sees a broken reflection.

Sunrise.

She pulls together all the shattered pieces of herself.

Puzzles up a "pretty girl".

Hides the monsters under the bed.

Pushes the skeletons back in the closet.

And smiles.

Before she steps outside her solitude

flauntin that pretty girl attitude.

Girls, I ask em do they smoke?
Ask em what do they know?
Ask em can we go? Pretty girls..
Sunshine in the air, perfume everywhere
Girls are everywhere

'Cause Love is Like Playing with Fire...

I'm his. He's mine. That's it.


Cute; right ?

That's how it should be. And if it's not -- re-evaluation is definitely in order. His fingers should fit neatly in between yours; perfectly. And when you squeeze his hand; he should squeeze back. A light squeeze tells you : I'm here. You're safe. And you always will be as long as I'm here. If you have to fight for their hand; maybe you should just let them be free...in their mind; a glove is probably safer than the protection of anything you and your hands could ever give them.

Ugh; I feel repetitive but uhh; let me tell you something about love. It will ALWAYS be bigger than you. It's out of your control. You can't help who you love. And similarly; you can't help who loves you.

I'm watching a fire burn from afar.
Uncontrollably.
It's already destroyed many-a-things
that has fallen into its path.
I don't want you to die in this fire.
Maybe let it singe parts of you
so you know not to dive into
wild fires that don't care if you get burned.
You'll have 3rd degrees that go deep
and the fire will continue to grow larger
as if it lives and breathes.
It won't change for you.
It won't die down for you.
It won't let you tame it;
rename it
and it damn sure won't let you claim it.
I want to save you.
But you're not mines to save.
So I watch from a distance
as you stand in the path of fire;
awaiting what you think is a beautiful rage.
I don't want this to ruin you
but lovin you obviously doesn't equal a rescue.

I know a lot more than I should. I wish I was still naive and unaware. That's foolish; right ? Oh well. I just randomly wrote that poem. That was the whole reason for the post I guess. *Shrugs* As my buddy said; I'm havin one of those days...

Because that’s what people do. They leap, and hope to God they can fly, because otherwise, you just drop like a rock, wondering the whole way down, why in the hell did I jump? But here I am, falling, and the only one that makes me feel like I can fly, is you.

 -Hitch.