If

If I could only express what your words mean to me. What they strike inside me. How vivid they are and what they invoke. The things that I have endured, things i have heard, things that have bruised me physically and emotionally. It's hard to pretend that I can take these words you speak and dreams you share so freely with me and think of you as just a friend. It's cold and heartless to say we are just friends. Friends don't exchange such ideas, lovers do. Romeo and Juliet swirled on words and ideas and attraction that had not been realized. I am a fool, an old school fool that hangs on words more so than anything else. My heart melts at in their presence and to their sound; they are the most delicious foreplay to the more tantalizing sex ever to have been had. You control me; I cannot find it in me to tell you this. My heart and it's rhythm is as unique as the spelling of the word itself. I wish I had a space on your arm next to your sisters. Truth elixor makes me so. I shake my head, in ever which way trying so hard to think other thoughts. I've fallen. The bottom is stone cold and hard, there is a reality that pertains to it. I can feel it's chill through my bones as i sit there and wait like the hopeless damsel for her prince. Even though i have never been the one to wait, the one to open up, the one to feel more. I know I keep so much to myself, in my own panic room. Waiting to meet that one I can open the flood gates to and share the skeletons in my closet, the one that won't run, the one that will long to stay against all means. The one that will crave all that i have to give with no hidden agenda, no "let's play it by ear". A certainty that runs so deep in his veins that he knows there is nothing else on earth that would ever pull him away. I can't hope for anything less than a fairytale. A best friend that literally needs my presence to breath and visa versa: until we die, until our gray hair cover our bones. This is no joke, this is my life and it is all so short when we step back and take a look at it. i don't intend on wasting anymore years on men and their empty words. It will never happen again.

Love is such a life line for me that who so ever gets to share it with me needs to realize that they can kill me with the slightest of reckless behavior. It's my heart you hold in my hand, like your sisters' and your mother's. You have seen them break and rupture beyond repair, you know the darkness that sits there for a women like us. You know the truth. Tread carefully.

13

In Sikhism, the number 13 is considered a special number since 13 is tera in Punjabi, which also means "yours" (as in, "I am yours, O Lord"). The legend goes that when Guru Nanak Dev was taking stock of items as part of his employment with a village merchant, he counted from 1 to 13 (in Punjabi) as one does normally; and thereafter he would just repeat "tera", since all items were God's creation. The merchant confronted Guru Nanak about this, but found everything to be in order after the inventory was checked. April 13 also usually turns out to be Vaisakhi every year, which is the Sikh New Year and the major Sikh Holiday.

The number 13 brings the test, the suffering and the death. It symbolizes the death to the matter or to oneself and the birth to the spirit: the passage on a higher level of existence.

For the cabalist, the number 13 is the meaning of the Snake, the dragon, Satan and the murderer. But it is also for Christians the representative number of the Virgin Mary, she whose mission is to crush the head of Satan.

If we represent 12 under the form of the Zodiac, 13=12+1 is the number of the eternal return. The 13th hour is also the first, just like the 25th or the 37th.

We find often the number thirteen associated with the Blessed Virgin Mary. Her Assumption occurred a Friday 13, in August, at 3 o'clock of the evening, according to visions of Mary Agreda. However, according to revelations of Mary Jane Even in 1994, the Virgin would have died on August 13 and would have resuscitated two days later, that is to say on August 15 to be then received Body and Soul in the Sky. Also, the first and the last appearance of the Virgin Mary in Fatima occurred respectively on May 13 and on October 13, 1917 and it is on July 13, 1917 that the children of Fatima had their vision of the Hell, showing thus that the thirteen is also closely in relation to the suffering and to the death. Still today, in the end of time, the Virgin appears to some seers and clairvoyant only the 13 of each month. The 13th day of the month in the Christendom would be thus particularly dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Moreover several received particular messages tend to show it as it is the case of following messages. In one of messages given to a privileged soul of Quebec, Our-Lord recommended that the 13 of each month is in the honor of his Mother and established in each family. In another message given by the Virgin Mary to Sister Lucy of Fatima the 1st May 1987 for the celebration of the 70th anniversary of the day when she appeared her to Fatima on May 13, 1917, She asked her to celebrate the 13 of each month by songs and the praises in spirit of repair and of expiation. Remind also that it is on May 13, 1981 that occurred the attack of the Pope John-Paul II, in the Saint-Peter place. What saved him from the death, it is that he turned the head to look an engraving of Our-Lady of Fatima at the same moment where the ball of the gunner passed. The France, devoted to Mary since Louis XIII, celebrated her by processions.

No Fool

Say my name, say my name
If no one is around you, say "baby I love you"
If you ain't runnin' game
Say my name, say my name
You actin' kinda shady
Ain't callin me baby
Why the sudden change?

Missing

I can't help but think about the magical conversations. Each one played in my head a dozen times, rewind and fast forward, trying to visualize every word. An alternate universe. Is that all i have created? is there a tangible reality at the end of the rope? Will he one day sit me in that chair on his lap after cooking me dinner? Will he reach into the ocean water to pull out a shell with a ring in it? Hopes and dreams and the remnants of pain are sewn over my heart in patches. Each patch sewn to it with words, if they were to unravel like thread my heart might fall through my chest and land at my feet like a wet towel. I fail to understand how physically changed I've become because of his words, how effected. Fear that something this strong can take hold and mold me like clay in my makers hands. Is he strong enough to weather the storms of my soul, will he take all i build and kick it over with one blow? Like a best friend turned bully that stomps through your perfect sand castle. With one blow; it's that easy isn't it? To break a heart. That missing goodnight or a slight different energy over the phone. A quicker goodbye than usual. A longer silence between seconds. Insecurities start crawling out of the ground like ants turning my mind grey and withdrawn. Yes, i am aware of reality, perhaps that's why i feel everything so intensely. Perhaps that's why each word and gesture means that much more to me than to the next person. I know how rare it all is.

I am a rock, I am an Island.

A New War Song

So a new chapter has begun. The tide has turned. It all makes sense. The wheel has started spinning in my head from a steep hill. It's that point in life where you just know what you have to do because the universe desires it of you. It's not up to me anymore but the external force that reaches within. it's grabbed a hold of my gift and love and existence and made it it's own. Molding and grooming me like a mentor for what is the new chapter in my life. This is my new war song.

Life is magical.

Is It Ever Gonna Be Enough?

When do they get their fill? When does perfection and love take over and strength? When will people stop making excuses for themselves? When will they stop leaving room for indulgence of temptation? When will they believe that truth exists and can be found if they find it in themselves first? Will we ever stop thinking the grass is greener on the other side of the fence? When will men be certain of their character and leave Never land? When?

Fading Into You

Self

I know I cannot make you feel. I know that while you find me attractive you will get your fill and have pointless unemotional sex with some semi attractive girl with no self realization. I know... maybe I don't, does it matter if I think of it? If I haven't the ability to trust in my blood? It's been striped of me. Raped out of my veins. No longer in operation; out of order. Fear fills me at times; trust seems like such a one way street. My approach now has changed; no longer will I stay, or fight like some college girl without a clue. I just leave and evaporate from existence one day never to be seen again. My mind keeps stroking endless revisions like some choose your own ending elementary school book...over and over. One analytical compromise after another. Will it end? Will it ever end? It's exhausting running these mental laps.

Stop.

Surrender

It just doesn't matter anymore. All that is inside of me pants underneath my skin and pushes through. My spirit longs to be free, to fly, and leave these petty scenarios of stupidity behind. Everything in my existence is like a bad rash. If there is a glimmer of hope, I know that it might not last forever. I dream of my beloved one, I dream of forever, i dream of my heart having a home...I dream. I dream. I dream. I dream. I too want to sleep another 300 years. I want to wake to a surreal breath of happiness. I don't want to give others hope that there is a carbon copy of me out there waiting for them when they are ready for something more convenient. Those are the words of death;

" you give me hope that there is someone else out there like you. you give me hope that i can love again. "

I am not your hope. I don't want to hope anymore. I want certainty. I want a clear existence. I want the truth. I want it all. To finally be able to live a life that I had always dreamed of, or at least a close shot to what i would have had if i could have made better choices in life. I'm sick of dreaming. more of this and I would rather never dream again and sleep until this life bored of me. Licking my wounds and fighting my battles is now exhausting... too complicated for words, a rash that has crept under my skin like an eternal fungus.

Mercy... mercy. Let me feel the sun on my skin.

...Taste My Home

The scent of rosemary lamb lifts through the air like native spirits, its intoxicating and nostalgic; the right amount of passion and comfort to stimulate both thoughts of the mother and the lover. You see I know who you are. I know what you desire most of all, I can smell your pulse as you smell mine. I know that you dream of crows in flight, waves of my body and long warm nights in my arms. Our souls met a long time ago amongst the stars, before we were plucked down from the galaxy and sent down to walk this earth. We were put here to search for each other, first scattered and forced to fight and claw through blood, sweat and tears so that we might understand how inseparable we really are once reunited. I know of the intoxication you search for. That dizzying spell that drugs us like the best lilac wine. I know that the scent on my skin will make you salivate. You'll be paralyzed with one touch of my lips, as will I of yours. I know you are rendered powerless by the thought of my silken tongue wrapping around every inch of your core existence. It moves through you like an ocean current. I can see your thoughts at night; thoughts of oral fixation on our spirits intertwined by delicious words, lips drenched with our wet liquor and milken delicacies of our own production. These spells make you reach for yourself so that you might sweetly release. I can hear you dream of the moment when you taste your home on my canvas, I can feel you claim it as yours. I desire you to conquer it, to eat of it daily and have it nurture your body, your manhood, and your existence. Once your find me, touch me and taste me for the first time since our heavenly departure, you will instantly figure that separation for the second time is not an option. We will die without the other from the physical torture of our flesh being ripped in two. It can never be. All the pain, the struggle was all a mental military drill in preparation for the recognition of our earthly form. We didn't remember what we looked like in the heavens, we didn't know which form we would assume here, but we can sense our presence from thousands of miles away. We know we are close, closer than ever before. I know you will find me. I know you will fight so that you will never have to fight to love again. Your river will merge into my great ocean and together will let life swim within us until we are ready to take to the crow covered skies and return to where we came from.

Color Came From the Crow

Not many see the colors in thee
That all make the one
While white is pure
and blue is deep
Black my soul has won

The blind see darkness when there's none
The light will show the truth
The crow has stolen all that's bright
and drank of rainbow's youth

So as she flies o'er head
Her dark wings stretch and grow
The one thing we should take from this
Is that color came from the crow

Possible?

Is it possible that there are men out there that can feel like this? That can shred the soul to tears out of love, longing...
Do these words they feel last forever or is it just an out pour of emotions in a beautiful moment, an orgasm, later to come down from the climax and sink into a mundane reality; that no love is perfect and all love requires sacrifice.

He will only play it when he falls in love with the girl he has been searching for his whole life. He has it all planned out; cook her dinner and show her that he can take care of her, nourish her, in all forms. Then he will take her small hand in his and sit her down on top of him in a chair, her legs on either side of his. While she straddles his body he'll hold her face with his stare for the duration of this song.

"then I would kiss her and tell her I love her with all my heart"

Words to his best friend that knows all there is of each centimeter of his body and soul. Each time after they make love, they listen again together and melt, one into the other, remembering the moment of simple and grand gesture, of truth. His beloved one.

Window

I opened the window and hints of early summer night pushed through my room. The breeze carried you on it. There it whispered images of you sleeping half way around the world; peaceful and content, even if for a few hours. The same breeze that skimmed your hair, your skin, your lips came and kissed mine.
Good morning.

Our Bounce

It's a rhythm we have found in the galaxy above our heads
Two, me and you
The spliced seconds that are ours to share, honest and bare
Secret super nova, I want to walk through your four percent
Venture where no ship has sailed in your dark waters
In 3d I slip my hands through your mind like a surgeon and take hold
They can have the 96 of your book, I want what no one else has had
If you open the door, I will close it behind me, float silently through
Observe and watch, listen, know, hold it in under my ribs
I'll read the volumes on your shelves and place them back so gently
Release you from the dark and lick your wounds with my lilac tongue
Inhale and smell your heart, your fear, your milky way
Would you orbit my world in the raw and step down from the stars
Drive into my tainted sea and find your way home to my constellation
Pull apart grime that resides in my depths and melt into my fortress
Move to my rhythm, feel my pulse run through your lips, rise and fall on my waves
From ocean to sky, merge between the two worlds of waters and heavens
Pulled together, magnetically, naturally, like the ocean and moon
Soon, soon, soon
Like two children meeting for the first time; stop, stare into my eyes, hold my digital hand and surrender to eternity
Forever