Reality Sets in.

Does your heart panic knowing that I am going very far from you?
Does it beat faster and faster as the miles grow between us?
Does it feel a little lonelier as it sinks in that it may be a long time before you see me again?

But I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do next...
The idea if you seems like a hill too steep for me to climb,
an unimaginable fantasy.
because you have the whole world spread out beneath your feet
and I could be just another puddle you stomp over as you walk across the street.
But I can't sleep at night because your eyes are the last eyes I see pierce the fogginess.
And I can see myself doing this over and over again for you.
Driving to Estonia, just to kiss your face, have lunch with your family on a lazy Sunday afternoon and laugh about your odd fondness for country music.
And maybe am I just so desperate that any person with kindness in their heart
and a nice ass
looks like a walking target,
with wedding bands and church bells stapled to them like a hazy fever.
I know you don't want that kind of commitment when you signed our friendship contract,
so that's why I don't know what to do now.
Because suddenly I've started writing sappy
love poetry with you in mind and
I have these silly fantasies of you and I together,
and I wish them into reality with all my heart and soul while I drift into dreams populated with your face.
You are everywhere in my mind.
And once again I'm doing nothing important while I wait for a dream to come true.

But reality sinks in the morning I wake,
and I realize the odds of you feeling the same way are about one in a million
and I just  feel like a fool the rest of the day.

Concrete

If all my love
could be captured in a mason jar
and displayed on a windowsill,
you would realize that it's
glowing and pulsing
fading in and out.
Like a heartbeat.

It's not that I claimed you as mine,
it's that I wish I had the guts to.
A whisper no one else could say,
a dream no one else could think,
a song that no one else knows.
Someone that only I could have.

And I just wait here day after day,
writing poems I pretend to be deep,
when all they scream is that
I just wish someone would claim me like that too.

Maybe it would be like hot breath
pushing on the back of your neck,
or it could be the greatest hug
you've ever felt wrap around you.

You are so cool,
full of something I just can't get,
and good at whatever you do.
I wish I knew what it meant to be something.
And every time you win a battle,
it's like glass in my heart.
Especially because I feel like vapor
and you are like concrete.
I just can't break you,
but you can stop me at everything.

I'm not creative,
I only write poems to try to be like another
person who is solid,
I only play music to be like another wall,
I only cook fancy food to be like another,
concrete.

And everyday I feel like my eyes
are being opened,
and even if that's supposed to be
a good thing it's still numbing to realize
you've been blind all this time,
And like a slap on the face
you see reality in it's blinding glory.
Instantly smaller,
the light overwhelms you.
I hate finding out I was wrong.
When you only want to be right
the first time.
Starting over is just another mile back
mile marker 62.

So there you go,
finally an explicit line never written before:

I want you to be mine.

And I want you to stop talking to him.

And I want you to be cooler than you are.

The case

She may be invisible to your eyes
but to mine, I see her
and how she loathes her body like a curse
and prays every night to shed all
that fat that prevents her from wearing
a pair of skinny jeans.

Moon scar

I will carry with me always,
that crescent shaped cut on my foot
and I will remember what it felt like
to feel lighter than dust
and float through the air.
When it turns into a scar
I will kiss it goodnight
like a scene from a bad movie.
And I will see your face when I close my eyes,
and my heart will shake
and my skin will prickle
as I feel a finger move up and down my spine.
And I can't help myself when I let a smile slip out
or a laugh burst from my rusty lungs
when you strut across my mind
like you own the joint.
Every thought of you is a souvenir
I package up and ship home to
be there
when I get back from a long day.