Once upon a midnight dreary
If I Were a Star

It hurts when you realize
the people that you love
have changed, or perhaps
it’s you that has become
someone different, almost
a complete stranger to yourself.

But that is what happens in life,
things change, and you can either
dwell on the past, like staring at a
tattered photograph, tears welling up
in your distant eyes, wondering if you
could pin-point the exact moment things
began to change, when the person you
knew so well became a fading memory.
Or you can accept that your lives have
slowly drifted apart, and hold those moments
you shared close to your heart,
but the latter somehow seems so much
more difficult to fathom,
now doesn’t it?

I believe it is because as people we
struggle to accept change, only when
it is unwanted, of course.
It’s strange to image how one would
simply fall out of love, but we have all
felt that hurt, that twisting pain, the
growing blackness within our chest,
the one that cuts your breathing short,
and eliminates hunger, confides you to
those linen cotton monsters, wrapping
their selfish claws around your flesh.
We can’t image the thought of the one
we love the most, waking up and realizing
they have changed, and somehow they get up,
and walk away.

But I imagine people are like stars,
burning, shining together, perhaps
only for a short moment in time, but
that moment stays with us, longer than
we would like to admit.
And to be honest, if I were a star,
I shined my brightest with you.

This is What I Am

I am beautiful.
And trust me, so are you.
You might look at
this poem and think
"How can she say this,
she doesn’t know me.”
You’re right, I don’t,
but I wish I did, I hope that
we can speak all night until
the sun decides to show her
bright and radiant face,
just to give me a night where
I could get to know you
and all the quirky little things
that make you the unique and
magnificent you.

They called me weird, different,
names that people fear and run from.
But you know what I say to them…
Who wants to be normal anyways?
Aren’t the dreamers, the wishers,
the artists and free-thinkers the ones
who changed the world, who made
it a time worth living?

And yes, you can be beautiful
on the outside, but what I really
care about, what I look for in a
friend, companion, lover, is how
beautiful you are on the inside,
how your hopes and dreams
are wild and extravagant, and how
your heart is bigger than the rest
of your body, no matter what the size.

I want to blame society, for making
us fall victim to believing in one type
of beauty, an unattainable figure and size
that we torture ourselves over,
I admit that I too failed to achieve that image.

But I didn’t fail,
I found out who I am in the process,
I discovered how I’m different than the rest,
how my flaws, scars, and frizzy hair
make up the person that I am proud to be.

I am beautiful,
I won’t let anyone tell me other wise,
and I wish I could know you,
so I could tell you how beautiful you are too.

The Burning Lovers

Do you remember the night
that we laid on the warm wooden
porch with our bare backs on the
splintered planks and looked
up at the glowing sky?
The moon was playing her
childish games, sneaking and
peeking from behind the thick clouds,
the stars, those brilliantly bright stars,
burning and lighting the darkness
that felt so still and silent, an eerie
sense that made it seem as if
we were the only ones left in the world.

We laid still for hours,
blowing smoke rings and
taking warm sips from that
heavy handle of whiskey, we
realized how difficult it is to
drink while lying down and
giggled at our struggles and
mirrored addictions.
I felt the warmth of his mysterious
smile, those perfect ivory bones.

Our painted bodies lay there
naked and moist from the thick
summer fog, hanging almost as
low as the clouds that night, and
slowly, he inched his fingers towards
my hand, I could feel his anxious
touch lingering so close to mine.
Finally, his thick, colorful fingers
intertwined with mine, how strange
that they fit so perfectly, he tilted his
head towards mine and pointed
a finger to the silent night sky.

The stars, they glow for you,
and when those burning lovers
fizzle, dim, and disappear, just know
that I will always shine for you.

It’s Science

We were parallel lines
never intended to cross
paths, the centripetal forces
constantly thrusting us apart.
But we fought the laws of gravity,
laughed at the rules of physics,
and we collided,
what a spectacle we were.

We created a galaxy
of our own, lying there
with our backs nestled in
the prickly summer grass,
you pointed to the sky,
said it was a thick blanket
keeping our painted bodies
safe and warm.
We bathed in the milky glow
of the crescent moon, and
you pointed up towards the
brightest star, and named
it after me.

Maybe parallel lines are
never meant to meet for a reason,
I felt that fear deep within my bones.
But I pushed that thought out of
my clouded mind, focused on the
details in your eyes.

I know this growing sensation
deep within my chest will tear
us apart, but I will cherish these
moonlight moments while I wait
for the impending finality,
when our two black hearts finally
become one and implode.

One line poem

I miss the way you bring a sense of brightness into my life, please, pull me out of this darkness.

Mysterious Love

His passion was contagious
that infectious smile
which revealed ivory bones
moist with perfection.

He had these mysterious
mannerisms, unique
perspective on this chaotic
mess of reality that he
called his life.
He seized each bright moment,
stepped on cracks in the
sidewalks, and at night he
would take burning gulps
from the whiskey bottles
we would share over
conversations of old memories
of first kisses, and heartaches.

I drank his words as
he held my hands,
softly kissing my fingertips.
We were a sight to see,
the two of us, sitting there
drinking away the misery
in this world, focusing only
on the mystery and
beauty we found in each other.

Painted Dreams

I knew he had fallen asleep,
his head rested on my lap
and I ran my fingers through
his thick hair, it was
the color of pecan pie.
It brought me back to my
southern roots, to the kitchen
where my tiny feet could
be heard, sneaking and
stealing finger tips full of
whipped cream and
giggling behind my innocent curls.

His eyes were closed,
and I felt his breathing slow,
the timing was different,
he had escaped reality and
I wondered what beautiful
colors and images flickered
behind those twitching lids.

He was a simple boy,
sometimes living in his
own mind, dreaming in the
brightest of colors, pouring
his crimson ink on his tattered
black notebook he kept
close to his heart.
He was charming with his
wild hair, that coy smile
hiding his teeth as his
shy eyes danced around
my gaze, then retired to the floor.

I let him rest there a while,
but I couldn’t help but
wonder what he was dreaming of,
and softly I kissed his eyelids
wishing it was pictures of me
he painted in his sweet dreams.

The sun can’t warm the cold in my heart (Haiku)

These bright days, full of
sunlight on my bed, but why
are these sheets so cold?