don'tcha know

love poems have the
tendency
to make me love
ideologies
to make me live
in fantasy

i shouldn't write so many love poems
don'tcha know.

this rhymes in french, pt 1

tu pourrais
utiliser
un dictionnaire
pour rechercher

les mots ici
tu comprends pas
mais j'espere que
tu l'ferais pas

one day i want
to write tres belle
in English and
in French as well

steel and dogs and air balloons

(for Taylor)

it's like your chest is swelling
swelling
swelling
swelling
swelling
like it's filling up with air
and you're flying over
houses and
guard dogs
the people look but you don't care

it's like your heart is melting
melting
melting
melting
melting
you're like steel beneath the flame
and you're pouring over
mouldings and
heartstrings
you want the world to know her name

oh how you
wish that you
could just forget it all
go back to the beginning
but you can't settle down on the ground where you used to be
you can't recongeal to the form that you used to be
you're cooling in this moulding that you do not like at all
and you're hurtling uncomfortably from the sky

dessert

someday i want to be beautiful -
you know, beautiful like i used to think i was.
someday i want to deserve you -
you know, like only a beautiful girl could.

silence

he stands in the other room, feet shoulder-width apart, gazing out the window
we call him - thanks you, grampa! merry christmas! - but he does not turn
we say he cannot hear us, but i think he does not want to hear
he does not want to break the silence of the sorrow in his heart

twinkle

a million tiny beacons of light in the darkness
a million tiny promises of warmth in bitter cold
a million tiny flickers of life in the stillness
each twinkle a reflection of the Love that leads us home

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/12/year-kenny-loggins-ruined-christmas.html

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

scary?

you know, i think the scariest thing about this
is i'll never stop loving you long as i live

the hole in my heart that keeps swelling and swelling
it's not fading away at the rate this is going

it might dull to a throbbing, a love like a brother's
might calm to a thumping, a love like a mother's

but beating, you know, it will never stop beating

don't say

when i ask you a question, don't say you don't know.
don't say you don't know what you know anymore.

don't tell me this God thing is not your forté.
while you sit and you question, you're falling away.

you KNOW all the answers. you KNOW what is true.
please, harness your thoughts, love.



he's jealous for you.

didactic&

if you don't take the words
and force them out
squeeze them and
crush them and
make them
you'll never be a writer.

if you don't love the words
and tease them out
know them and
want them and
feel them
you'll never be a writer.

if you need the words
to write you out
to see you
and mold you
and be you
guess what?

you're a writer.

sen.ior.i.can'tdothisanymore

why do they lock us in here, anyway?
these long, white hallways
with smooth, white floors
and high, white walls
they lock us in here.

i'm stuck searching and searching
confined in this hell
for something i lost...
what was it?
motivation?
ambition?
intention?
i can't remember...


i didn't study for this.

simple

with my heart in my hand
[ like a loaded gun ]
i won't give it away
[ 'till you fight for it ]
with my soul on my sleeve
[ like a hand grenade ]
i won't give it up
[ 'till you win it ]

about the roses

dear Grammy,
I bought a yellow dress
a beautiful yellow dress for my junior prom
I wanted to tell you about the roses
the yellow roses
like the ones we laid on your grave

dear Grammy,
my corsage was yellow roses
they matched my dress that I wished you could see
I wanted to tell you about the roses
the yellow roses
like the ones we laid on your grave

dear Grammy,
I can't stop thinking about those roses
each time that I see them they remind me of you
I wanted to tell you about the roses
the yellow roses
like the ones we laid on your grave


[I miss you]

faithful

a bruised reed You will not break
and a smoldering wick You will not snuff out
but a fractured bone You will re-splinter
to set it straight to mend again
a broken heart You'll tear to pieces
to save the soul of Your precious child

subjective

poems are great.
they're just so subjective.
you can't ask me questions.
and i go on my way.

poems are great.
they keep people guessing.
they can't tell what you're saying.
but the words sounded nice.

poems are great.
you write some emotions.
you say that you feel them.
and so, now, you do.

poems are great.
they blind you. they trick you.
they're the best way i know of.
to lie to myself.