As I pen this piece, I’ve everything to lose, I’ve much to gain.
Seems to me, lately, life’s not about being sure, but instead, life is about being who you are. And, most importantly, it’s about being certain of whom will be there for you when all seems like a heartless, desolate oblivion.
This is never ceasing gospel that prevents ghastly, ghostly, and lonesome regret.
Disdain remains in absentia. More or less kind and plain, I feel less lame, i feel less insane.
Taciturn and in pain, I reside at home from the holidays, writing to unwind with kind hearted warmth.
Still though, I feel so afraid.
Blissful and derelict
Hearts careen the city streets,
Oh young American love.
And its never-unravelling feats.
Me kissing tears off her face and her whispering angelic-apologetics
I teem with admiration and adoration for a woman
Whom admires everyone she meets.
Beyond yesterday’s world, today sparkles like glitter in the sense that it shall remain for quite some time.
Today’s wonder all too often undermined.
Life’s about the thoughts that stick, the things that make the clock happily tic’, and the poet’s shtick.
Alas! I miss playing her teeth like a xylophone!
Sure, she’s not my wife. But she’s indubitably an integral part of my 2017 life.
She has dirty blonde hair and pretty white teeth.
Her emerald ocean eyes glisten like the arboreal reef
And change into auroras when she experiences grief.
Hope my attitude won’t be proclaimed too long overdue.
There’s much to revere, much to laud, and many sins to exalt, for between me and you, solitude is more of a isolationist prison.
What of all the false starts? Are they merely an all too common tragedy of broken hearts?
Truth is, I am pretty new to relationships, which is pretty strange since I am rapidly approaching twenty-four.
Yet, I am not so stupid as to just walk away from the woman whom makes me spirits soar well above the star sphere into a tranquil place,
a rueful space that’s truly the nearest to salvation I’ve ever known;
This hyper-inspirational feeling of infinite grace is what I see when a smile, blesses her face.
Only so much can be healed from proclaiming, “I love you.”
At least, that’s what I used to think.
As my hair is twirled, all seems fine with my girl. She rewards direction and not frustration. She causes my fits of elation.
Present during my downfalls, when nothing but tears fall,
She clearly cares and rids the air of my despairs.
I don’t know what to think anymore;
However, I do know how to believe in love from before.
I believe it can be restored to a splendiferous state of fanciful glory.
That’s the beauty of life, isn’t it? That life’s willy-nilly glory can be revised and revisited until all that remains is a beautiful love story.
She’s the I love you to my breathe lines. She is the liberation and motivation of my free verse. She is the sun of my sweetest sonnets. She is the rhythm of my heart. She is the meter and rhyme in every line.
She is the reason I am making time to love my mind.
Our hair a mess, laying together undressed, cuddling for life, kissing away the pain. Her breasts pressed upon my chest. I really hope she cares more for me than the rest. Either she does or no man has ever been more of a fool.
Founded in our hearts and rarely-seething in our minds, I have faith in the grand design of the unknown future. Wherever it may lead, I will have learned a lesson.
And, that will always be enough for me.