I never thought I’d miss the touch of you this much! I look at a picture of your eyes as they smile fiercely and wish it was I you stared at so intensely! A seed cracks as roots take route in the slop resulted from an overturned bucket allowed to drop. In this midst of this glop allowed to plop idly down on top richly fertilized ground, somehow growth has failed, despite the intricate tunnels dispersed and tailed via nutrient surplus.

I can’t help but gush as I think of the way you hold your fingers across your lips saying hush! As if those eyes are all one needs to look beyond the stupid lies as we dance this dance of hypnotic distance between us. No matter how far we pull away and stretch the rope that bound us, it’s inevitable that it will snap! The gap resulting from the seed cracking grows greater as I try my best to hate her. But I’ve tasted her, felt her, and loved her before she was this precious queen. Back when I knew her as an ugly hell hound, decrepit and mean, with gnashing teeth she’d use down beneath for her pleasure as her tongue was a utensil she used to measure.

In the midst of my ignorance I chose not to please her, instead I sat back and teased her. With circular kisses across her hand and down her wrist, talking with an ignorant lisp, caught up in the magical wisp as one hand frisked while the other whisked the taste of the air created from that magical stare. Eyes half rolled backward, face flushed absurd, the smell of your sweat as I vetted your approach to swoon. Out and about on that gym set in the afternoon. Kissing you despite the gloom of the encompassing moon drawing our time to a close, like some blacken rose, which at one time arose from a seed, but such change I can only assume is how time goes! Who knows, maybe I’ll be blessed again with that look I stare upon now and defend it territorially like the animal I am. A stupid ram who met a scorpion and chose to avoid the sting, losing out on unknown gain. Instead I sit and stare at this pretty face with rich memories to keep me company. Knowing that for some reason a stupid kid who can’t begin to comprehend what’s spoken here has had those three words uttered to him by this pretty face I hold dear.

A picture leads to thoughts, thoughts lead to words, words to action. What a deadly contraption you are my little star who broke a scar. My Disney princess I confess, I loved you as a hot mess, how these words shall detest my tempted mind, as I’ve witnessed a nickle transformed into a dime, hence the reason for this rhyme.

There is something about the way she looks at me! I don’t know what love is nore do I understand the complex line bordering between love and lust. But everything about the way she looks at me suggests something more. Neither of us wants more, yet the complex power play entwined within our social dynamic dissipates at the first sign of affection. I take my hand and run it down the side of her face, gently stroking the back of her neck. I run it up through her hair, pull her in closer to me. She takes her arm and holds me close, her body warm, beads of sweat forming on my head, yet in fear of losing the fleeting moment I remain uncomfortable totally absorbed by the feeling. I hate the feeling yet love it. The recognition of it coming to an end, the final turn of a roller coaster approaching, the sinking feeling one comes to upon realizing they must return to a place of loneliness! These are the ideals I face upon the journey, so blinded by the future I can’t partake in the present. I try to forget such thought, try to push it out of my head, but I can’t. I’m my own worse enemy! I’m so afraid to lose control that I’m unwilling to put myself at the mercy of another. In the end that is what love is, it’s the ultimate vulnerability! Where some fantasize about strength I perceive weakness. Not that those in love are weak, I truly envy such people, it’s that those in love have opened themselves up to another target. Those they love must not be willing to abuse such a trait, must not be afraid to reciprocate, and more importantly not manipulate the other. What is it about love that makes it so sought after? Do we ever truly experience love? How do we know when we’re in love? What is it? Can I even feel it? Then again what is hate, can one truly feel hate? How can decisions be made based off perceptions we can’t logic through? Then again, the illogical is a characteristic of humanity to? These ideas plague me, because this is what the human experience is about. If I can’t describe the basis of what we are, if I can’t say for certain I’ve even experienced such core fundamental aspects of the human psyche, does that mean I’m not experiencing the human experience? I may not be a spiritual person but I have passion and I love deeply. Love and passion are all that it takes to change the world and I have the courage to stand on my own and face the unknown. Yet when I’m with you no challenge seems to great, no feat becomes to troublesome, and love becomes a reality. For when I hold you, whisper to you, get lost in the soothing contours of your face I just know. To live life without your touch in exchange for the greatest riches offered I would not do, for there is nothing that can distract my gaze long enough for me not to realize what I don’t have.

I gaze into your eyes, the world dies. I hold you near, emotion I fear. I want to kiss you again and again, till this fleeting moments end. I want to let go, be sucked in by your gentle undertow. I want to cry, can’t explain why. I don’t know how, But in the here, in the now, I want you by my side. For this is not a ride I’m going to continue to flee and hide. Your waves crashing high, tears rolling as I cry, crushed beneath your embracing tide. I fall, defy, logic against a wall, i try my best to lie, but I can’t fool myself as I try. Flying high crashing into the entwined ropes you tie. I can’t cast you aside. My time I continue to bide, why, cry, lie, tie, up my hope will fly or else all will die. I gaze into your eyes, the world dies. I hold you near, why do I fear?

There once was a bug, who lived under a mug. And down the hill from the bug who lived under the mug, lived a lonely bug under a rug. Some say the reason the bug under the rug was lonely was because he didn’t have another bug to hug. Others said it was because his heart was incapable of feeling a tug. Numerous stories twirl developing into a disruptive swirl eventually defining a moment through the neighborhood no one understood. Days, months, a lifetime past It all goes by very fast. Not one bug went to see about the bug under the rug. If he came up in conversation, a joke was easily the end result of such contemplation. Content with stories, each enveloped in their own worries. Never seeking out the rug bug, all were happy and snug, many very smug.

The mug bug, quite cool. How all the girl bugs would drool. Oh, was the mug bug cool. One day, out of the way Life happens, things change, and all you thought was right ends up being deranged. Friends leave, leaves fall, and down on your luck it’s hard to stand tall. The poor mug bug, once so cool, was as popular as a broken-rusty tool.

 Lonely, confused, no friends, no fame, this was not a state he wanted to remain. On an evening rather untamed; with misfortune seething under labored breathing, the mug bug fell. He began to yell, a life once so swell, had crashed and burned strait to hell. Many bugs walked by, distancing themselves from the mug bug as he cry. But one bug walked up and said hi. He asked, “Why is it that you cry?” The mug bug looked up, eye to eye, and replied… “I’m standing here looking at the sky, and all I can do is stand here and cry. I’m standing here looking at the air, and all I can do is stand here and stare. I’m staring here looking at the sky, How I wish I could grow wings and fly. Forever here, forever near, on this ground, forever earthly bound.” “You don’t understand, I had the whole world in my hand, and…”

 The bug who said hi interrupted with a harsh reply, “You can sit there and cry, you can sit there and moan! But until you try, Until you change your tone! This wallowing in doubt, will only lead you to more drought! As a matter of fact, life is nothing more than some tragic act. If I offer you nothing more, these ideas I hope you explore… If unhealthy pleasure is what you aim to tackle, expect to end up in a bug zapper’s crackle. If pain is your muse, expect to lose. If your chosen feat is complete defeat, assume that monstrous game an easy beast to tame. But; if prosperity is your wish, know that that is a slippery dish. For in order to obtain and tame that beast, to avoid the agonies of defeat, diligence, ambition, and drive. These are the ideals one must strive. The only limitations are those we place on ourself, for how else should we judge another bugs wealth? If it means anything; I once was a rug bug, just like you. But now I live up there in a position favored by few. I live under a fallen bug’s mug, and oh so many other bugs wish they were me. But what they don’t see, is that I’m the same old me when they use to walk bye, all slick with a smiling lie. Each ignoring me, finding glee as they would poke and poke with joke after joke. With this lesson you are taught that your worth isn’t what you have, what you had, or what u got, it’s all about what you can, will, and wish to do. For untapped potential is how you escape a trap of glue.” The mug bug agreed, recognizing the strangers words as true. What happened after that, you ask? The mug bug lived, fulfilling countless task. Doing things he never thought he would, doing things he didn’t have faith he could.