30 March 2014

jealous


I hate to admit to being territorial, but I am. I'm embarrassingly insecure, and it's a problem. I get jealous, I lash out, and I write poetry then save it on my computer with swear-filled titles.

methods

I want to hang a picture of your laughter on the inside of my brain,
and preserve it.
I want to make my eyes into mirrors,
so that when you look at me, you could see what I do
and I want to travel to places in your mind
that I honestly have no right to.
I tear myself away from the depths of your eyes
because I am afraid of falling into them,
yet I can't help but keep returning to the edge,
dipping my toes,
testing the water.
I am so in love with you:
the simple way your hands grip your pencil;
the way your feet meet the pavement with every stride;
the color of your eyes in moonlight.
I long to press my lips to the dimples in your cheeks,
to give your fingers a home among mine,
to find all the different ways I can love you.

27 March 2014

gray

I don't know that I believe that
doubt
has a shadow
or that we can go beyond it.
Doubt seems more like a haze
a gray fog
like somewhere along the line
someone forgot to add in the silver lining.
It casts no darkness,
just blurs light
and obscures paths.
It makes me question if I have any before me.
Mine seems to have ended
miles ago,
on a summer night where I scrawled into my journal
help me
and everyone around me was blind.
Ever since I've been stumbling
blundering
along.
The sun is shining
because of a friend's words
because of a beautiful boy's smile
but still this
doubt.
And how does one protect oneself
from seemingly harmless vapor?

04 March 2014

yours

is a language I am dying to understand.
teach me how to conjugate the Latin of your smiles.

03 March 2014

mapmaking

Your body is a landscape
I am dying to explore.
Every mountain and valley
that creases your skin
is a natural wonder;
I hereby declare you a national park
to be preserved, treasured, and admired.
I want to catalogue
all the different ways and colors
your eyes can flash.
Let your voice flood my ears
like a river filled with spring-melted snow;
I will happily drown in the run-off of your words.
Allow me to memorize the shape of your jaw line,
press my lips to your skin
and blaze trails down your neck.
Can I climb the mountain of your mind?
The elevation makes me dizzy;
it's harder to breathe-
still, I want to climb higher.
Which elevation will give me the best view of you?
I will go to any lengths to find it;
I will spend forever trying to map it.
Let me be the cartographer of your soul.