Words Left Unsaid
My earliest recollection of you:
laughing, beaming, and bouncing on your lap.
Yes, I can still feel your warm kettle skin,
as my tiny hand held your two fingers.
I can still trac the crow's feet near your eyes,
and sense magic that followed your smile.
There's no limit to the things left unsaid,
in the three short years since your soul parted.
Two questions tend to grab my attention
when they accompany my thoughts of you.
One: did you miss me as the seasons changed?
Two: are you proud of who I have become?
No, I may not have known you very well,
but there will never be doubt in my mind
that a piece of the sun fell from the sky
and made a permanent home in your heart.
I Hate You
The last of the ammunition I could find in my arsenal,
and fire at you,
after my fortifications were left in ruins.
But what good did it do?
The dams failed me,
and before I could blink,
the hot tears began to stream
down my red, contorted face.
Of course it's not true.
As soon as I said it,
the motion picture of our history
reflected from your face.
I saw our fishing trips
our flirtation, and laughter at the bars,
our winding and pensive walks.
It was a good history,
written by the winners: us.
I'm still bound to you.
Mistreatment just sucks,
when you're on the receiving end.
Along for so long, I only knew how to be
a metropolis stuck
in a two-decade blackout,
burried underneath the bricks.
like and oncoming train,
you came at me roaring
and I came
decadence draped the cityscape.
Everything was always in motion,
the music never stopped playing,
the chandelier never stopped swinging,
so how could we?
Our love grew bigger.
Our morals, looser
Art Deco definded us–
impossible to emulate.
We flew higher than the Chrysler,
the ascent making me dizzy,
you, keeping me steady.
My one, my only
What could possibly go wrong,
investing everything I have,