I don't want this to sound like a love poem

This is not a poem about boy meets girl

And happily ever after

This is a poem about boy meets girl

And it's teeth and nails

Angry fighting

Comments aimed at the jugular

Because how dare he say that

And how dare she do this

This is a poem about

A girl so angry and anxious and hurt that she couldn't give anyone a chance

And a boy so depressed and scared that he'd jump on any bandwagon to fit in

This is a poem about them calming and remeeting

And hey maybe he isn't so bad

This is a poem about

Maybe we can be friends

This is a poem about

Now he has to go

This is a poem about

Quick phone calls

Always texting

Jokes sent rapid fire

Staying up late

Getting up early

Hating time differences

This is a poem about

Texts sent during class

Phone calls in passing

Skypes at least once a week

This is a poem about love

The love of siblings

Born with no genetics in common

The love of a friend so close they know every stupid thing each other does

The love of not holding your tongue

The love of a relationship advice

The love of deep secrets

This is a poem about

Coming out to one another

This is a poem about

Summers when he comes home

This is a poem about

Doing shit we hate that the other loves

This is a poem about

Dealing with each others annoying brothers

This is a poem about

Crying together the day he has to go back

Him walking her home

Lingering in front of the yard

Her not wanting to go inside

Him not wanting to walk back to the car

Waiting to take him to the airport

This is a love poem

Just not the kind we usually think of

There once was a girl capable of great dreams. She brought her worlds to life by art and craft. Where she saw opportunity, another saw a wasteland.

Over the course of her life, the girl managed to trun her house into a fairytale dream. Her father wished she could turn to practical past-times like studying. She did in fact study a lot, just not the practicalities her father wished for.

The girl had many skills her father was unaware of. Skills he also considered useless. These skills consisted of drawing, crafting, writing/storytelling, cooking, gardening, sculpting, woodwork, and blogging.

These skills are very useful for her if she ever wants to make a business. Her storytelling ability when combined with drawing, can help her market herself. The only problem is how she views her skills. With enough bravery, storytelling can be turned into speech.

By luck, she found a mother figure she lacked, a figure that would challenge her to grow up. She faced her fears of not being enough. The only person she compared herself to was herself. Those around her noticed the speed of her improvement. In a fit of fear, one even attempted to undermine her confidence, but her mentor had done her job. Arcadia became somone her younger self never knew she would look up to.

Arcadia healed the world hurt by the very people that was supposed to protect them. In her silence, no one ever saw her ascent until her new world was opened to the public.

Just as she had done in her youth, Arcadia created a fantasy with technology never seen before. She combined nature and technology to create buildings capable of healing themselves. Every resource was recycled in ways kids could have fun interacting with it. There is no fear of breaking something because it's merely an opportunity to make soemthing new. A failure is the best opportunity to play again. In her city, the darkness within us is a guide to the wrong doings of the past. It is the best guide to tranforming into the best we can be. We never have control of our surroundings, only what we choose to do in that moment. Arcadia chose to believe in her world of magic. In doing so, she allowed the world to join her.

Swaying to words that I don't totally understand, I am floating in a haze of marijuana and your gritty voice. Breakups, painting your nails, the lonely famous life... Your honesty is a lullaby to my anxious, snobbish thoughts of having so much knowledge and not knowing how to say it. My body can't dance like my nerves can, firing to the beat of "Caro". Your genre SWAT team kicked down a door into the male psyche I had never seen before, and you spearheaded the operation with purple nail polish and triangle sunglasses. Me miran raro pero a nada yo le paro. The child in me deems you my superhero.

The world is in a buzz because of you recognizing Alexa, but you had me way before then when you told me you knew how much you worth and you were rich. Rich for being yourself, painting your nails in a stubbornly machismo world. When you told me everyone looked at you funny, but you never stopped being you. When you'd let the man behind the expensive shades and pointy teeth and famous friends shine through. I spent years trying to unleash the little beast within me in the way that you did. I would never say that I was successful in doing so, though people like what I make. Yet, on or off of the ground, I can easily say that when the little beast inside seeps through my pores, she's always singing one of your songs, and that's something to be proud of because she stopped singing a long long time ago.

A treasure of gold,

trust I have in she,

is boundless to hold,

confused on how the world does not see,

that Jess is a fire, in darkest nights cold.

The most beautiful thing one could ever behold.

A treasure of gold.

A friend of mine of years fourteen,

just minus months of eight

Losing that time with a real true treasure,

Is a guilt that will never abate.

She is a treasure of Gold.

My very life I will gladly place within her hands to hold.

She brought me back from brinks of death.

She is my treasure that I will protect to my last dying breath.

Simply,

A treasure of gold.

The reflective rainbows of a diamond can not compare.

Lord, the smile he wears steals hearts I swear.

His arms wrap around me like a protective shield.

A safe place in the middle of the battlefield.

Please don’t evaporate.

Please don’t go.

My love for you will only grow.

Don’t be the reason I put a knife to my chest.

You’re the reason I’m so love-obsessed.

i am selfish by nature.

my horns are hard to hide

and my wings don’t fit right

under the tarp of my skin.

i walk with an uneven stride

and my is tail long and thin,

flicking side to side in a pendalic swing.

you’d think me a sin.

but should you look beside me

you’d find the strangest sight.

a glowing smile filled with such light,

and a heart tucked away from warm delight.

she is a blessing, and always set aside

by her “friends”, used and abused -

but still, she lets them in.

my own evil is nothing compared to them.

so i stalk beside her, my angelic friend.

spitting glares and snide remarks

at her so-called “friends” who never end

their abuse of her bottomless mercy.

i hope that one day, she will drop to her knees

i hope to see when her feathered wings are freed.

oh i’d look to her, my grin as wicked as me.

and i’d say to her, “come. come with me.”

and maybe. maybe she'd escape her misery.

Whenever I am sad

Whenever I am mad

Whenever I want to crawl into a ball

my dog is there to comfort me

He looks at me with loving eyes

My sweet fur baby

He lets me hug him

He listens to me without judgement

Whenever I am sad

Whenever I am mad

When ever I want to crawl into a ball

I know am not alone

Because I've got my sweet doggo

I am unable to write in metaphors. Talk in rhyme. I am no Shakespeare. My simplicity is a crime. My pain is trivial unless my heart is wheezing sighs and pen is bleeding cries. My journey is inappreciable. I walk. They fly. My palate is an amateur. It confuses croquembouche with a creature. My eyes are more able than me. Brown as mahogany. Black as ebony. Green as emeralds. They see color in comparisons, I just see a tree. My ears cleverly detect a drop in beat and spike in chords. They pity me when I fall for a broad. My hands feel textures. Smooth as silk. Rough as roads. Hard as rocks. Then, why am I incapable to empathize with a flock? Rejected, I cried. I tried.

Later, I reflected. I accepted. I am un-hewn. You are refined. I accept your sandpaper, unless it meddles with my designs. I might be the square in your round hole. You are merely a body. I am the soul. I have a fire burning bright. Ready to take flight. You say I am simple, plain as day. I say I am potential to your hay. You write in metaphors and talk in rhyme but you are still inadequate and your language a mime. I am ready to be devoured. Yet, you can never consume me. Bring it on!!! I welcome criticism to my sublime.