I think you're just swell

August Third:

you can't decide
to turn your back
or to reach out.
So
goodbye.
I'm not the one to shirk desicions
of this nature.
You and I know me.
I love a challenge
but I'm not stupid.
I know a hopeless case
when it hopelessly sways in front of me.

I miss the ocean
really, I do.
Cups of coffee
reading books
writing.
Staring out and out forever

See you laying in the sun
and I can't beat around the bush.
You, good sir,
are a spoonfull of sugar.
There's no reason now to hide.
You're safe and I'm safe, and you're more than just
a dream in my head.
My fingertips brushed your skin briefly-
the most contact we've had thus far-
and rejoice at the feeling of the youness of you;
of the fact that they have not gone straight through you
like a ghost.
I cannot recall when I last felt this way.
I guess,
you'll just have to excuse me today,
because I can no longer beat around the bush good sir.

Come home
'cause nothing feels quite right
nothing feels the same
Nothing doesn't remind me of you.
What's left in this prairie town,
besides the memories?
Down by the river, you fell to the ground
and On the side street, I fell for you
because you lifted me
right off my feet, and I haven't stopped spinning yet.
so won't you come back to me?
Come, I'll make it home,
it'll be okay.
This prairie town misses your sweet face, and so do I.
Your sweet face, and large hands, and bent nose.

Knowing I am no longer the object
of his affection
[fixation]
makes the air a little cleaner.
My legs relax themselves into the mattress,
it's good to be new and freed.
To be young, with so many better and worse than him to come.
To be alone in this room, which messy though it is, is mine.
Is safe.
Never realized how solid these four walls could be.
How much I love the mess and the green.
I think I need a plant.

Knowing all this, I think I'll just get some sleep for now.
Maybe say a quiet thank you
to whomever or whatever is listening,
and then let the silence of
2am take me where I ought to be.

Goodnight.

have a great day

Thoughts up a tree

Upside down,
I find you most
compelling

as you stroke my nose
and call me
your little one.

And we take a tumble
into the
all forgiving grass

This weekend we are in love, and I'd have it no other way.

Later is for later.

Tonight I'll let you compell me.
Tonight
maybe I'll be upside down as well,

less this becomes
tomorrow, and nothing but
silent stillshots.

So catch me.
Catch me, I'm a wild child.
Catch me, I'm wildly yours.

Here Comes The Sun

And I say, it's alright.


What's going on with me? I know I haven't written in a long, long time.


I've been on a few dates with this guy, let's call him...... J.
I can't seem to wrap my head around him.
He's fun and romantic. He makes me laugh. He yells. He's serious. He has both feet on the ground. He holds doors open for me, pulls out chairs.
I like him.
You know that feeling, when you look at someone, and suddenly, you're inexplicably, completely elated?
Yeah. I get that from him.

Love? Love love love love love love love.
Love.
I don't understand that word right now.

Love does not come in a box.
There is no preconspetion.
No constrictions or confides to it.

Love isn't something you can ask for and recieve.
Love can't be given with rules.
Love can't be requested in a size five, canary yellow.

It's not that someone comes to you, with a box
and you open it;
Oh! It's exactly what I wanted!
Look, it highlights the colour of my eyes!

It's not that you can wear it a while, and then pack it up because it doesn't suit you any longer.
Pack it up, and put it back in it's box, and give it away again.
Or store it under your bed, waiting for a cold and rainy day when you need it again.

Love isn't like that.

But while I can tell you with some confidence what love is not,
I cannot tell you exactly what it is.





Though, I'm no longer fearless
I'm no longer reduced to
that shaking sniviling child you had me.
Let me see this clearly;
am I a novelty?
A wild flower that catches your eye,
you pluck and take with you,
until you reach where wild flowers grow rampent? And I am no longer special?
Or, until we reach the city,
where I seem odd and young and foolish and decidedly out of place.
My large hair, changing in your opinion only;
Wild and careless and untamed at first
now is messy and difficult.
It was always all those things.
So discet me, to my smallest parts
and try to know what you are in for.
But once you do, I'll become nothing but
my various bits and pieces.
An arm, a leg
absent minded, loud
a toenail,
sensitive.
What now?