Your beauty transcends photographs.
The solar flares of days passed do not reveal your depth.
My desire to hold you crashes upon sandy beaches on dark days.
These words I can never say, such is the doom of the broken man.
Your beauty brings me to life.
You have to fight for happiness. It won’t just show up at your door. It won’t just beg or implore. You have to bulldoze your way to it. You have to walk through hell for it. Want it. Need it. Crave it like an angel craves for her heavenly father. Crave it like a the grass craves for rain. Crave it like a poet craves the pain. Fight for happiness.
This isn’t a poem or some witty short story. This is me saying point blank, don’t drink and drive. There’s no point. So many lives change in a flash. If you drink, at least be smart about it. Give a trustworthy friend your keys. Better yet, have someone else drive you completely. But whatever you do, after you drink, don’t get behind the wheel. A young woman died in my town tonight, just walking down the street. Don’t fuck peoples’ lives up over your mistakes. Rest in peace. May a bright afterlife find you.
All I want is you hand. I say this in the lightest demand. I crave your touch more than I crave the warmth of a friendly clutch. Give me your love and forget the rest. Put it in your graceful caress. Walk down this street with me. The street lights will go off and you’ll see. You’ll see that I’m not so ugly. I’m not so damaged. I’m not so insane. I’ll put aside the pain. You can love me in the dark. Because then, you can see me any way you like. Yes, we can do this in the night.
It is late now, and my mind is wandering. Alcohol has given way to past thoughts and harbored emotions. A girl I could love is satisfied being the tool of another’s sexual urges. My loneliness has reached a peak. Someone, save me from my lonesome days and unsatisfied nights. Someone rescue me from myself.
Little children never got to be big men and women. Little kids never got to share experiences of true pain and love other than what was handed to them by the cruel heavy and often times unfair hand of fate. We learn from these freak accidents, even though we shouldn’t really have to. I want to learn from holding your hand and telling you that my love for you could fill the deepest spring in the deepest crevice of the earth. From holding your soul close to mine and close to God in the heat of the day. From being with you.
I’m so stupid
I’m so tired
I’m so creepy
I’m so ugly
I’m so atrocious
I’m so ignored
I’m so pretentious
I’m so scared.
Whoever you are, I know you’re out there.
I can feel your breath shimmer effortlessly through the heated summer air.
Your beauty shines through to my soul alongside the early morning sunrise.
With the illumination of the moon, your elegance bids me goodnight.
At times, you, this unseen figure of my true heart’s desire, are my only consolation.
When loneliness gives way to dark thoughts and daydreams, I find that my mind rests on thoughts of you.
Rejection always finds me, in the forms of many women. But you are acceptance.
You are the light at the end of turmoil’s tunnel.
You are every smile that has ever broken up my bitter disposition.
My love for you is endless.
And I know that your love for me will only end with the death of forever.
Someday we will be as one, and I won’t ever remember heartbreak.
I will still know sadness.
But I will know love, with you.
And this makes it all worth it.
This makes all of it worth it.
Dear Anastasia by the waterside,
I’ve written this letter to give my thanks.
Thank you for the laughs when the world’s light gave way to shadows.
Thank you for the smiles, when my inner peace dissolved into battles.
I’ll never forget when you held my hand and told me of a different world.
A world where I was the me that I always wanted to be. A world where harsh words were only the melancholic calls of innocent children just learning their way. They wouldn’t try to leave scars with the stones they cast, they only wanted to play.
I’ll always remember when for you, I confessed my love. I was a pigeon, and you my dove.
I was the foulest of creatures, untamed by a shallow world.
You were a true work of art, beauty from the start.
I was an end, and forever shall be.
Anastasia, your kind words will always ring clearer than the holiest church bell.
Anastasia, your hand in mine made this winged creature soar.
Anastasia, I love you.
This isn’t goodbye.
This is thank you.
This is not a poem about love. In fact it’s the opposite. I hate love. I hate roses. I hate the way the beautiful girl in my art class possess. I hate the fact that her hand is one that I’ll never hold. I hate that I’ll regret her not loving me when I’m old. I hate the way she smiles sympathetically when I’m sad. I hate the way she forces her love upon me as if it were clad; clad upon my hands and my heart like a warm glove. There’s no such thing as love. There can’t be. It’s too perfect. Too safe. Too joyous. And like the girl in my art class, too beautiful. I’m afraid of beautiful things; of love, of hope. I’m afraid of love, I’m afraid of you. I hate love. But I love you.