bibliophilei’ve dog-eared far too many pages in my life story--there are just some chapters that Idon’t need to reread.
tug of warits a far fetched gameof tug of war and instead offraying rope and square knotswe’ve pulled ourselves apartby the seams and we’re using thefabrics of our own cosmicexistences to wage battleswithin our fiberglass chests aswe march to the tune ofour own heartbeats clashing.
birds of a featherthey say birds of a feather flock togetherand I guess you could saythat we nest within thecatacomb confines ofeach other’s skulls,where we pick and prodand build memorieslike they are the cornerstonesof our own tower of Babel,towering higher and highereach piece sways precariouslyin the whirlwind that we create withthe steadfast fluttering ofour restless wings as weengulf ourselves in icarus’s domainand then in the blink of an eyeit all comes tumbling downin a flurry of flashes and soundsas our words spill forthin poetic geysers and the towersthat once stood tall withinthe well-kept chaos thatis our conscious laysbeneath our weary feetas we pull each other from the dusty rubble,smiles adorn our aching cheek bonesand effervescent laughterbubbles from our birdcage ribsbecause we realize the raritythat is our congregation oftwo wild eyed minds as we question ridiculous querieslike my taste in ice cream and yourodd discontent with roses. &
take my breath awayyour calloused fingerswrap around the delicate frameof my paper maché lungsand you squeezeuntil my breathesb u r s tfrom my withering lipslike firecrackersin mid-july.explosive fits offlailing limbs cometo a stuttering halt asyour wiry grip inches furtherup my trachea--you couldn’t just stopat my cresting clavicles andpull poetry out of theirporcelain exterior,no you wantedto see me gasping,clawing at my throat andhissing at the icy palms of winterthat trap me as my ribscatch fire and the last tracesof preciousair trickle from myweary mouth;you stole theonly thing I had leftto take.
2am poetry (you're always the subject line)I wish that you were still here by my sideinstead of nestled in between the lines of my 2am poetrybecause you deserve a better home than thatyour name sits fervently on my lipsbecause I hope that with a whisper of those 5 little lettersthat I can pull you from within the inscriptions on mytree trunk ribs like a magicianpulling a rabbit from his silken hat.I want to feel your words breathing down my neckand your hands pressed against my quivering spineas I stand at the edge of indecision--you made me fear the fight rather than the falland now I'm addicted to thethe feeling of your wind beneath my wings.we were an odd couple of misfits but we fit together:you as the harmony and I the melody of a song no one else heard;too many times I spent playing our soundtrack on repeatas I danced across my room spinning &&humming in the cold shadows of my lonely nights.I wish that you were still here by my sideinstead of nestled in between the lines of my 2am poetrybecause I dese
verbatimthey say opposites attract and I guess they’re rightbecause I was attracted to you since the day we metwith those wild green eyes and your alluring words that mademe feel more comfortable in my own skin thanI have ever I felt in twenty years of existence,you were a foreign taste to me that I began to craveso insatiably that my angel became my devil’s advocateand suddenly troubled waters turned into stormy seasand all I remember arethe long days and hard nightsthat were clouded with loud voices andscreaminglots and lots of screamingand tears so many tearsthat i’m surprised i hadany to sparebut in the cacophony of clashing words and late night movie dateswe sparkedwe ignitedwe burnedyou were the fire to my gasoline and it becameimpossible to wash your ashes from my skinyou were painted on me;it was our own Mona Lisa except she was frowning,frowning because one of your hands was around my waistand the other was pointed towards the skyyou
toxic tulipsdelicate and ravishingyou kissed my soul rawuntil it was bleeding into youropen palms.dangerously addicting,you tasted like poison—the voice inside my head wasscreaming and pitchingbut I still drank you ‘tilthe last drop.