the world can suck my dick.

i don't care if no one reads my blog posts, or their eyes ever partake in the reading of my poetry or deep, ridiculous thoughts.

all i care about it someday hopefully writing something that will help to better one persons life.
my close friends say that i should write a book. compile all of my work into one meaningful mess of bound pages and sell it to the world. but the more and more i reread my words the more and more i want to change every word, on every page. how the emotion that i was feeling at the time that i wrote those things are now different and i think to myself that i should change it to reflect my new, "profound" look on life...at that moment in time. my minds spins in so many different circles and i think so many different, fucked up thoughts, that the harder i try to express them, the more the idea changes. i honestly think i'm completely full of shit.

so i will continue to post my shitty poetry on this god forsaken blog, because the more my own thoughts drive me insane, the more i want you bitches to roll your eyes and think i'm fucking crazy, or stupid, or full of ridiculous things. suffer with me. it'll be our secret.

i keep telling myself to just walk away.
but 99% of the time i can't find my shoes.
and all of my socks have holes.


....
....

strategically placed words. throughout the page.
all describing you.
ever so intricately molded and arranged to articulate and describe you perfectly to the world.
the depth in your eyes.
the richness in your smile.
the gentle in your touch.
you are thrown all over this page in such a beautiful way.
so beautiful i wish i could show you to the world.

how many times i've just wanted to melt into your arms.
into you.
completely.
how many times i've wanted to tell you that i love the feeling of our bodies pressed into one another.
how you feel like home to me.
how many times i've wanted to wake up next to you, in the early morning,
lean over and kiss you so.
tell you all of the things i long to say.
how many times will my heart just not allow me to say any of these thing to you?
why do i always just pretend to watch you sleep?

...

...

owned.
bound to the devil by a few meaningless words.
imprisoned.
in my own mind, amongst my own demons.

fear.

of his red eyes that burn through my flesh.

shackled.
no longer to your heart, or your bed, but to this emptiness you've left behind.
bound.
to you through every unfulfilled promise every whispered into the dark over the phone during erotic conversations.

wanting.
to let go of every last flame that i have yet been able to smother.
broken.

my heart, the day it realized you were never going to make me yours.

i miss him

i miss his face. his familiar smell. his oh so sweet taste.
the brush of his hand across my face when he thought i was sleeping.
the feeling of his eyes on me, for no particular reason.
his moccasins at the front door.
the almost 3 hour drive of excitement.
walks on the beach. the feel of the ocean on my face and his arms wrapped around me.
his gentle caress, but strong, calloused hands.
his left arm being more tan than his right...and his sunglasses tan.
the shake in his voice when he told me he loved me, for the first time.
his drunken strip shows.
his "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am"
his chivalry.
his laugh, as he picked straw out of my hair.
the jokes. the long talks. the walks in the pasture.
watching the sunset on his golden skin.
the sound of the roosters crowing, and the empty warm sheets next to me on those early mornings.
the roar of the tractor.
the long nights in the stable.
his unconventional ways.
his voice.

let's love now. because soon enough we'll be over.

i wrote this for you because...

last night i fell asleep with your face on the backs of my eyelids.
this morning i woke up to your words echoed from my dreams.
sometimes i can feel you thinking of me.
of the way my body aches for you when i haven't felt yours for long periods of time.
you send the most pleasurable shutters through my belly and deep, deeper down.
i can't help but think there is a reason we met.
the feelings that rage through me, when i talk to you, are new to me.
something inside of me tells me that the fuck you's are just a facade.
that my i love you's couldn't be real.
all of this is something you pretend to go along with for fear of breaking my soul.
your demons really aren't all that different from mine.

your words

Your words;
More powerful than your solid body pressed firmly into hers.
More potent than your tongue invading her pretty mouth...than your fingers laced together, firmly gripping her throat, denying her from refilling her starving, empty lungs.
Stronger than your sickening sweet lips she tastes, in the middle of the night, awoken from another nightmare.
More steel willed than your stone cold eyes, gazing straight through her.
Put her to bed on her crippling, lonely mornings.
Turn her into hot lava, trying to melt away the layers of ice forming around her frozen, untouched heart...keeping her warm until it reforms after her haunted release.
Seep into soft pillows that cradle her hectic mind, as if trying to hold her, but never too close, so she's left wanting more
Never make any promises to rid her of, or comfort, her pain.
Your words;
Although never exact, are fierce.
Touch her soul in places she so valiantly hides from the world.
She fights them like the bravest soldier protecting a failing country, falling in war.
Weigh heavy on her heart on the darkest of nights and even darker days she can no longer feel you.
Leave her mind on high alert, over analyzing every one spit in her direction...her short arms flail frantically, trying to catch them with tiny hands, grasping onto ones that get stuck to her greedy, sticky fingers.
Her addiction.
She feinds for them; their hidden meanings...piecing them together into phrases and sentences...paragraphs even, but they fail to repeat that initial euphoric high she, oh so desperately, desires.
Their potency send her body into fits of traumatic, hateful rage, then a delicious wonton lust.
Leave her craving another hit.
To her, they're clear as day.
To the world, meaningless chaos. She recognizes your face in every character, every misread, bent and broken, fucked up piece of you.... dully shining back up at her.
She avoids growing further attached to the word prints and poems you've casually left imprinted on her soul.
She purposefully blinded herself from the ones that you ever so intricately wove traces of her into.

b.