krazilykafawx415

Please don't leave me     I know I don't deserve the rusty        old         jetpack     that allows me to hold your hand. I know that the shine of your eyes,        the fire in your heart     were never meant for unfantastic eyes,        never meant for me. I know,     But I don't mind if you don't. Please forgive the dirt on my nose. I beg you forgive my chewed nails, my     crooked smile, my        sweaty palms, Because if you don't mind,     I don't mind.        And if we don't mind,             then they won't mind And we can walk the clouds -     me with my jetpack,        and you with your wings.

Love lost forces Heart into retreat Deep into darkest caverns Hollow spaces wherein Love once pulsed Cold at its mouth, begging Her hither Cannot coax my flighty bird to the surface Come, o Heart, find me here Shall I wretch open mine veins and bleed thee to? Will the currents of my empty blood flush thee out? O Heart, search out your complement Whole again, and we shall breathe Air to red the blood, air to fill the spaces Air to bring us warm into its embraces

Puppy love is… Taking the long way from point A to point B And hoping that if I do I might happen to see You…and your brand new sneakers And it's always being late for my second period class Because I hang around the lockers just waiting for you to ask Me…to carry your books And it's praying you'll call me crying in the middle of the night Because I heard you and your boyfriend had gotten in a fight At school…you threw milk

Flat on our backs, feet rooted in sand, Our toes hold fast to each grain Like it was the last day of summer. I hold your hand in much the same way. Afraid that if I were to loosen my grip, All things would fall away. I trace the lines of your palms, Roads we would have driven together. Mapped out across your cheek, neck, stomach, The adventures of two untimely lovers. I'll be the cartographer of your curves, your hips; Memorization, here, is key. We know the words before they're spoken The infinite communications between you and I All translated from the depths of your eyes To the missed beats of my heart.

You can't ever look at her for more than a moment, always afraid that she'll somehow know. She'll know that you're trying to commit every inch of her to memory, which would be a generally silly assumption for anyone to make. You're known to be a bit scatter-brained, a bit directionless, never quite able to find your keys, your wallet, your motivation. But here, the assumption would be fair, because when it comes to her, your memory is steadfast. Nothing about her – her lips, her eyes, her smile, her blush – nothing escapes your sculptor's eye; you trace every curve and blemish as if to later will them into cool, smooth mar

I remember when you were That Girl. I remember. You were That Strong Girl. That Fast Girl. That Beat-The-Boys-In-A-Race, Know-The-Real-Rules-To-Knockout Girl. You were That Share-Your-Ball-With-Me-At-Recess-When-No-One-Else-Would Girl. You were That Smile-At-Me-Over-Everyone's-Heads-Because-We-Were-The-Tallest-Ones-In-The-Class Girl. Do you remember, girl? But then, you weren't That Girl. No. Somewhere in the time you were That Girl, you became My Girl. You were My Strong Girl, My Fast Girl. My Beat-The-Boys, Know-The-Rules, Share-Your-Ball, Smile-Because-We're-Different-But-Different-Together Girl. You were My Hazel-Eyes, Blond-H

As first kisses go, ours wasn't memorable. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I forgot my own name. Fireworks didn't explode around us when she kissed me, but I did feel my knees give out as I forgot my legs. My breath didn't come in gasps and moans. I just couldn't breathe. Her lips were not soft and sweet. They were like fire. She didn't hold me close and cradle my body next to hers. Instead, she crushed me to her and squeezed as she kissed the life out of me. She never swore undying love and service to me. On the contrary, she promised to claim and own me physically and mentally till we could feel each other move within the other's soul.

I stand on a stage of brick and snow and academia Blinded by the stage lighting, by the pressure of expectation Reminiscing of my amphitheater, my oceanic audience I miss my home. I miss her. I want: to slide into the warm arms of my mother (she wears a coat of fog stitched together with rainbows;  the soft smell of poverty and hope and sourdough  already ground into the fabric of her urban cloth) to wrap myself in her patchwork arms to feel her cold cement lips against my cheek as she pulls me into her bosom,                chest thumping with my same pulse                soul vibrating with the same hum, purr, beat of we