Sorry for the long pause on tumblr. But a lot of writings are sure to come very soon.
To all of those who want to “Fuck”,
Do you even realize what that is?
What you’re making it out to be?
Sex is a beautiful thing made from love.
"Fucking" is using another’s numb body to feel good.
It’s a way to “score”,
It’s an act of lust, not feeling,
For cold people whose affection has fled them long go.
Making love, however, is gradual.
It rises after years of holding hands,
And gathering each other’s heart pieces,
Promising to never let them shatter on the floor.
For those who are inundated with so much love for another,
The flame melting them as one,
Will never burn out.
It’s delegate, a big deal to those who care.
And you call it “fucking”.
If only I’d have known
That was going to be the very last time your big eyes made me shine,
That was going to be the last time I called your name,
I would have reflected that light to the stars,
And hugged you tightly as your identity left my lips.
She’s like fire under water.
She’s like hope in the rain.
She’s like sunshine in the storm,
And a vacation from the pain.
"Get some sleep. I mean it."
And then I made the mistake of picking up a pen and paper.
Worries flying in the wind
to a place a care not know.
The light filters through the clouds in a
golden beam that shines right down on me,
daring to let go of the chains at my sides.
The air speaks smoothly to my skin,
The slight current on the creek
making music with the rocks and water.
I kiss you lightly
As if you are as delicate as the flowers at my feet,
Peeking through the stones and mud.
Above, robins praise nature.
Below, I praise God.
This is so special
that I can tell it’s going to be
one of those memories locked inside my heart.
But that’s later.
The smells of blooming color and
the childish love are now.
I am at peace.