I'm In Love With You

I see your smile on the boy next to me.
Your eyes glitter across the hall.
Your lips on mine when my head's asleep.
Your gentle touch catching me as I fall.
My heart runs free through the park at day.
My love, the chain, around my neck.
My memories dances with the said, unsaid.
You hold power to change smiles to tears and back.
What am I to do,
when I'm still in love,
with the one I've grown apart?
What can I do,
when I'm deeply in love,
with the one who broke my heart?

The Smell of Her Locks

I brush her gold luscious locks and dry them

roughly with the towel. As my fingers run

through her silk, I get whiffs of the shampoo

she uses. Rose has always been my

favorite flower.

I carefully pull her fringe back behind those

dainty ears and twirl the ends of it between

my pulsing thumb and long index before setting

them down nicely at the side of her face.

Her lips still wet from her shower.

“Make sure my hair is neat for my guest.” Don’t

worry Missy, my hands know how to make you

glow. I braid her mane into two rows, intertwining

her threads tightly. A little pain is interesting. She

may command me, but I hold the power.

In an hour’s time, she will stand naked in front

of the banker’s son and he shall see the glorious

curls I am so familiar with. From the other room,

I will tear into those blond screams with

savage hunger. Just one more hour.

Thinking of you

Checking my phone again,
again. Still no notifications.
Checking my phone again.

Open up Facebook on my browser and
I see no reds on the top right.
Close it. Time to do work. Open up
Microsoft. Type in the header of my essay.
Open up Facebook on my browser.

Do you think of me as much as I do of you?
Of course not. You are amazing, but so is she.
She is kind and caring and broken just for you.
You love her and I... I think of you.

Your hands are magic; the way they move -
dynamic. The music you produce, the music
you command, you capture the heart of
songs and songbirds alike, your voice
resonates the world and makes it
pause

for a minum.
You sang for me once. The keys engraved in my soul.
I still feel the trills and they bring me gliss.
I can't believe it.
I don't believe it.
I cannot believe it.

You are like a work of art; so abstract.
Your heart beats to the rhythm of a dance.
Your alluring eyes amazes me every time -
seamlessly symmetrical like periodic alliteration in a poem.
Your smile, your comforting smile,
bends like the smirk of a quaver rest.
Your clef, sexy as always, tugs on
the bold hard strings of my stave.
Sharps and flats everywhere.

But you are hers and I am not yours.
Those lips belong to her.
Those hugs belong to her.
You belong to her and I am behind the
lens of this happy moment captured indefinitely.

Let me check Facebook one more time.
Do you think of me as much as I do of you?
Of course not. Your dream is her.

My eyes saw your tears

I think I may have said too much.
My lips spat crimson red from his arm.
As though miming in a glass box,
His silent cries resonated in my head
Tear by tear by tear by… I fell down.
Guys. Hard, but fragile;
Armored, but not impermeable;
Resolute, but huMAN.
May be it was the unreachable badge,
Or the key at hand.
But I felt my tongue slice through you.

Preying

i could feel the heat behind me shooting down
as my bald head reflected light like the stars.
my eyes, as sharp as my beak, scoured
as i hovered above what was once alive.
stubbornly refusing to remove myself,
i smiled when i saw, from the corner,
new meat.

For you, me and another

It’s funny how I say I’m immune
When my heart beats out of fear
And my mind goes completely bonkers
When you step any feet near.
I can feel my legs shaking
And my hairs standing on ends
But yet "none, no feelings for you"
Even I can't comprehend.

Speechless, when staring in your eyes
So I try to look away.
Cause I know if they stayed glued onto,
An arrow of terror will shoot into me and a dagger
Not far, in another's heart, lay.

Missing the feeling of hating love

I have always been skeptical about many things.
Skeptical of this, skeptical of that,
yet until now, I still do not know what skeptical really means.

Recall the endeavors behind my moon;
every struggle so fancifully dined,
cocktails of poison so carefully concocted.
But I survived.

I survived by making myself survive.
The power all in my hands
to crush everything in my way-
(who am I kidding?)

I was never in favor.
Of jealousy and envy andof pure dislike.
But I knew I was the middle class,
I was adroit.
And the cherry on the sundae,
was the love of young boys' hearts
Devoured!
Leaving only the branched skeleton.

Similarly now, but
I am on the other side.
Never liked love still,
Never loved one.
Full of envy and jealousy,
still disliked, yet as clever as a mad cow eating mead.
Self pity is ambivalent.

The pleasure of seeing a young boy's heart served
never appeared recent,
till here.
Why don’t I love one?
Why does it not skip a beat for any?
Conscience,
never thought I had it,
dug its way out of grounds to me.
Can’t slap a heart off the platter and smear it with feetsweat anymore.

I am no longer up there on the throne.
Just a lonely peasant,
feeling sad to say no
to a farmer's boy.