July 2012
Im kinda excited to get my journal back. There might be cute little messages waiting for me in there. Not hoping so much though.
Pupils the size of the moon
As dark as this black hole sucking every memory of us into a box filled with hysterics, drawn portraits of sea monsters, nonsense scribbles, pterodactyl feelings
Wanderlust is what we are
Black coffee, feeling mighty old
Mixed with cream and sugar to make us more juvenile
Burrowed face into majestic manes
Uneven breaths, heavy heart, warm hands
Sighing keep them coming
Knowing nothing, outside is nothing but
Time.
“The first time we said, “Hello,”
it felt as though pterodactyls were flapping their wings against the corridors of my stomach.
it felt as though pterodactyls were flapping their wings against the corridors of my stomach.
That day, Cupid didn’t have an arrow large enough to hold a love this size,
so he hi-jacked a plane and flew it into my chest.
You.
You make me want to jump off the highest building in the city
just to prove that I am invincible with you next to me.
I’m saying like, don’t text me or instant message me;
trust it’s important that I hear your voice today—
it’s crucial that we speak today.
And if I was to say that I really, really wanted to get to know you,
it would just be an understatement:
Me, I want to pour your thoughts into a wine glass
and sip them slow with a straw like I’m on vacation;
I want to light candles and bathe for hours in secrets that you’ve just never had the courage
to say out loud—
I’m ready.
I’m ready to grab onto your dreams and jump in a pool head first just to see if
hope still floats—I want to float next to you.
I’m talking like, ten feet above cumulus clouds
so no one can ever rain on our parade.
As is the only card game we both we both understand is Spades—
yo, let’s play
and if I win, you have to let me fall in love with you.
But if I win, all you have to do is let me fall in love with you.
See, if I could,
if I could,
I would sing you a song.
If I could,
I would write you a poem.
If I could,
I would sample your smile and then let my heartbeat do the bassline:
we would create the greatest love song of all time whenever we stand next to each other.
Love, I was the only one made for you,
and you can be “At Last” by Etta James
and I will be the “Ooh child” whenever you’re in pain
or you can be candy coated drops of rain
although it never rains in Southern California.
And we could be music,
so when my friends ask if you’re my girlfriend,
I’ll say, “No,
she is my musician,
and me,
I guess you can say I’m her favorite song.”
She has purchased real estate in my state of unconsciousness:
she lives in my thoughts,
and she visits my dreams,
so I see her at night and then I see her again during the day
and whether or not she physically passes my way,
the day we met begins to play
and rewind in my mind at least one time every thirty minutes;
that’s like forty-eight times a day;
that’s like 336 times a week,
and she makes me weak in my knees
and I can hardly speak,
like that old school song by SWV.
As I stand here like a deer caught in the headlights of her beauty,
as she dances in my ideas
and before she sleeps,
it’s like she wraps herself in my memories
and she serenades my soul with sweet melodies of her voice.
She was the first girl to make my palms moist just by walking into the room.
And even though her beauty consumes me,
I sit back wondering whether or not I should actually pursue it.
I know what you’re thinking:
that I’m just some love-sick fool
but tell me what would you do if you saw the most beautiful flower in the whole world?
I mean, even if you don’t like flowers,
but if you just saw this one flower that just took your breath away,
a flower so beautiful that even the hardest of thugs would stop and say,
“Ay yo, that flower’s kinda nice.”
I mean a flower so beautiful that a mere glance doesn’t suffice
because it entices you to get closer.
Now, what would you do?
Would you pick the flower
or would you leave it there so that somebody else can see it too.
