Missed those blues

Oh dear how I've missed your blues,
how my musics make much more sense
when casted to the background of
When I think of you

Oh dear how I've missed your blues,
how my fingers just can't be satisfied,
as I've erased many stanza in attempts
to capture you

Oh dear how I've missed your blues,
how I've been quite foolish, culminating
now in your gracious allowance for me
to take you out

Oh dear how I've missed your blues,
how your subtle cues enrapture me
and I find myself becoming lost in
your smile

Oh dear how I've missed your blues,
how out of desperation I turned around
and kissed you on the steps of your campus
making that night stand out from the others

Flabbergasted

My dear, you appear to be broken

but it's the rarest case as the look

on your face would say it's just your

body, and not at all your mind or soul

But why, I ponder?

When yonder sits this face

emulating sunshine rays while

to most these would seem troubling,

dark days indeed.

Why would you speak with hope in

your voice? When a more sensible choice

would be to shut inside oneself?

As a cynic, a poet I've come to

believe I know it all concerning people

and life, as well as the strife accompanying

these things. But you are a girl, you're just this

beautiful girl and already you know more of

life's tricky hands than I hope I ever might.

What business have I? To layabout

inside, to sneer and make snide remarks to

others and God when you can't feel your toes?

How do you smile? Plainly speak and smile all

the while knowing numbing pains others can't

begin to comprehend.

I want to be angry for you, yet you don't seem angry.

I want to care for you, but you've gotten along well

enough without me so far.

I want to know you, I want to fit you in a stanza, but

I can't seem to understand you.

January 2010-I will win this time

2007

The new year brought with it

angst and music

long nighttime drives

and memories sorely abused

to fit my skewed reality

Under that street light I confessed

how blessed I felt to know her

and how I wanted to do so much more

yet she said little and left me

with nothing more than a smile and

an invite to keep living in my own head

How upset I was when I got that letter

2008

started great if not much the same

but my spiel was cut into by texts

(not mine) flittering into her phone

little did I know of what steady hands

I dug my grave with

A month of waiting and what I was

presented with after such perseverance was

nothing more than angry words exchanged

over a candy filled cabinet

This time I was left breaking cupboards.

2009

Had two great weeks.

Week one pertained to

Slightly awkward talks over coffee

as well as laughter as we playfully mocked

each other, we had such fun.

Week two was even better,

an hour long destination

didn't deter us from what was to come

and the drive back was insightful if not remarkable

I left her on her doorstep as the tension finally broke

through our fingers

Then unsaid words spoke volumes of what

I turned a deaf ear to.

Then she and him tried picking

up their broken pieces.

Chimes and novels accompanied my inward collapse.

2010

and once again I'm writing lines

shoving them under the noses

of people too polite to look away

But maybe this time I'll have less

to write about

Which, honestly, would be a bit of relief

Twisty, New Concepts

I'm not so sure if I know you anymore.

Your like a relative at a reunion,

feeling familiar but more foreign than

another language, I can speak of you feigning

fluency, gaining nothing as I give new meanings

to lying through my teeth.

Ironic much that speaking lies may get me

to the truth of you quicker than those who

think they know you, but to call shenanigans on faith

leaves the argument blank and everybody moves

on to lighter subjects, lest they have to wrap their

minds around twisty, new concepts.

Might "new" be a false term as there's always

been an alternative? I was tempted into this in

the first place, you were just a byproduct, and by product

I mean a bonus produced from the reason I went to your

house the first time, and the proceeding months after that.

How sad it is when I may find more comfort in sitting

against a stiff drink rather than your arms. The drink,

you see, has the courtesy to warm me. Why is it these are

the spirits that lift me nowadays?

An oldie, but a good oldie

That night

What we had that night...

The snow fell as if stars were

gently falling to rest on your eyebrows.

I took your hand in mine on that bridge

My fingers were numb and couldn't feel but

were happy just because they embraced yours in the cold.

We both sniffled in the cold

and smiled at the irony that we wouldn't

dream of being anywhere else, if not together.

Not may words were said, as if I could speak,

my tongue tied itself in knots when

my eyes saw the moonlight reflected in yours.

What master planner planted mistletoe above us?

I would've thanked them had my lips

not been busied with tradition.

What I would give to go back to when

we slow danced on that bridge as the snow fell around us,

when we had each other that night.

Sack of a bag

I'm a flawed, sad, sack of a bag

full of mistakes of which I've made

towards and concerning you, your being

like's being away from me in a current fashion,

currently I'm fashioning a way to correct these

trespasses.

So just wait on me a while.

Too soon, too late I never got this right

so I write too swoon too bait the heart which

was taken by others, brothers and strangers wooed

you better, and I never thought that could happen but

here I am and you are there with him, I missed my chance

again.

So waiting here seems futile.

An Invitation though quite possibly a calling out

Would like to extend to you an invite to show

though it's not likely no it's not likely you'll know

this is a make or break moment, this is a take or

fake instance, and if you don't show I'll walk

I swear to you I'll walk and if you're around you'll

watch me close the door in your face

I tire of defending this magic bean theory, this

thin as paper proffer, this completely empty offer

on a whim I'll win this sick sort of game for simply guessing

correct, filling in the right option on a multiple choice

test and getting lucky, luckier than the rest who

simply enjoyed themselves without your burden

There are simply too many arguments against you

when concerning a quarrel concerning you in which I

find it hard to argue your case, all I ask is in case I'm

wrong let me know and I'll continue to be a stooge,

no more than a droning clone put to your use as you

see fit to please yourself, as I'm hardly pleased myself

about how this is going down

My door is open to you, I merely ask you step your

foot in so I know I'm putting my time to good use

rather than masturbating in an open window, so that

with some form of confidence I can confide in this hardly

dense world over which you preside and I can fall into a

peaceful sleep with knowledge that I haven't wasted these

past few years