old friend, crooked you now walk shaking you stand stuttering your every word beaten down how new and familiar burdens weigh on you how life tells on you residue of past fears show on you each line of every worry glued to your once familiar face easy it isn’t…

give me strength to hold on when others say to let go give me grace to try again when trying is discouraged give me insight to see a good future when nothing seems good give me joy when I can’t afford laughter give me peace when I cant afford happiness

what does it take to love you? prove to you, I’d be there for you supporting you how do I show you my strength would hold you up when you feel like giving up what can I say to you that’s void of ego but of true feelings what can I give to you correctly represent my dedication to you to fully commit I fully struggle so ask of me what I’m yet to give but only take of me what you really need for your love, your true love and your very best is what I seek and my all, my very all I’m willing to give.

how do I learn you? how do I love you? how do I believe in you? who do I have to be? how do you learn me? how do you love me? how do you believe in me? who do I have to be?

I look at you, you look back at me a reflection who I truly am shown back to me as this river flows and sun glows what life you’ve lived.

Love is for fools. the wiser you get, the less you feel to be wise is to be alone, but to be alive is to share your home to be wise is to parachute, but fools free-fall in love where the wise says my heart is mine to keep safe the fool says my heart is yours to break for the wise can win in all things but this Love is — the fools ultimate checkmate. So check your senses at the door let your impulses reign give up all your gain for the pleasure of heart pain Love is a foolish man’s sport and the wise fail where fools prevail.

I have always wondered the intricacies of being a good person. What does it entail? how do I become such? This has been the background of my reasonings, justifying actions based on where they fall on the good to bad ratio. …

walk towards me, my cherry as the wind blows, and passion grows, bring those hips in front of me mon cheri. When you talk a lot, you have less to write. And, boy, have I been talking a lot. It’s also true when you read less, you have less to…

If love were leaves, what color are its shade? red like blood? or clear like tears? from brutality love springs yet “soft” like tender, “heaven” like forever are words to describe its sensation cruel like deadly, fire like suffering are images that better explain its reality. Love is, until it isn’t. Love lives — here, there, anywhere, then love moves away, changing its address. Love imagines — what is, what this is. Love forgets — what was, what works. It feeds on your imagining. So, imagine your love, then love as you imagine. Even in its cruelty, yet find tender imaginations. Love doesn’t see, but it hears just fine. So, hear your love, then love as you hear. For love grows on your hearing, even in its suffering, yet profess forever love.