Poetic Love


She fell in love with my words.
I couldn’t compete.

My stories, poetic flow,
and ability to ignite emotion in others
held her a captive to my craft.
My words are my catalyst;
the perfect muse to manipulate her mind,
make her fall in love, with me;
if she only knew of my intentions.

The way I can press ink to paper
made me worth something.
In her world,
she saw my beautiful
letters in-coherence,
stories of love,
and fictional tales
of our future beyond the page
before she spoke real words to me.

Poetry can help land a dream girl, a beautiful one too;
I’m different; most guys don’t write.
And she’ll adore me for my talent,
until she realizes, my ink speaks of non-fiction,
and I’m more than an emotion-soaked white blue-lined page
on the inside.

Her Aesthetic 

Credit: Faustine Badrichani

I crave her,
her imperfect past,
and makeup-covered scars.

I crave her stories of being
lonely and afraid,
under cold tear-stained covers.

I crave her bottled-up emotions
and unspoken words,
from her dark red quivering lips.

Come to me flawed
I’ll swallow your pain,
divulge in your being, with you.

And, before you’re mine,
I hope you reciprocate the favor.
I’m like you; I’m flawed, too.





Credit: Jason Hochman

Written here, on this page,
I speak in a soliloquy.

Share my words,
keep them under covers, or shout them aloud.
Promise me, you’ll hold these words near,
in the darkest of nights.

Sleep with them,
love them,
personify them;
speak back in whispers,
ignore them altogether
or curse them in response.

Read or tossed aside, my spoken thoughts
are shared, exposed to the world,
never kept in (my) mind.



Press My Lips


I write better in ink,
words are dangerous.

Some words burn deep, others
speak of love in whimsical ways.

Air pushed through lips, softly,
can speak the harshest of curses
or the most beautiful of melodies
in rhyming lyric
and coherent thought.

As for me, I’ll drench my emotions into letters,
press my lips firmly against yours, and
refrain from dangerous, spoken words.


Under the Moonlight


Dance with me,
spill your
darkest secrets.

Grab me by the hand, intertwine our fingers, whisper in my ear empty your soul, and tell me every one of your flaws.

Hold onto your sweet-nothings, your perfect smile crystal-blue eyes; I don’t want them.

Expose yourself, inside, I need to know.

I promise your secrets
are safe with me, here
in the dark, dancing under the moonlight



Credit: Giuseppe Cristiano


Never would I dumb down my words,
take off their clothing,
add double-layered context, hidden messages,
and poetic flow on top of their naked beauty.

Love, flowers and smiles
are fiction, readers enjoy them.
Blood, pain and desire
is non-fiction, readers shy away.

So go ahead, criticize me
for my pure emotions and opinions;
honestly, I don’t mind.

I write reckless.
I edit nothing.
I am uncensored, raw, me



Instead of words
authors should let their tears
drip onto a page and tell their story.

Authors should cut their wrists,
bleed out their insides,
and show readers their unfiltered,
honest, human response.

Tears and blood
are the true emotions behind
stories of:

fictional love,
fictional loss,
fictional desire.

Authors, keep your words.
They are nothing more
than a muse for emotion.

Show me some blood,
cry me your tears,
show me the truth,

so I know your story is real
and not a work of mere fiction

An Old Kite


wrapping in and out
of fingers, held tightly by hand.

The same hand
held by past lovers
and all the others.

Each breeze, current, flow by the ocean side
point a new direction, new journey to go.

A kite inevitably follows.
A kite is paper-thin.
A kite isn’t meant to last.

As a breeze turns to storm,
the kite slips from hand,
out to the ocean
into the hand of another.

Another lover,
another new held hand,
an old kite



Guitar Strings


Together, we can give voice to the voiceless,
sew a broken soul, and tell
stories in  minutes.

We’re missing a heart, but we
have fingers and a voice.
Not artificially, no,
the words aren’t our own nor
will they ever be, but
strum us together
or apart
and let us
tell unwritten stories
through the melody of music