Letters to Dandelion

by Xve

Allow me something … Say anything … or am I nothing?

  When I have you in my arms,

  is when my life truly begins.

  It’s when joy lifts its head,

  and my heart loudly sings.

  It’s no secret that I am madly

  in love with you.

  And things are wonderful,

  when you’re lying next to me.

  But, when you’re gone, and

  I haven’t seen you in a while,

  that’s when I cry sometimes.

  Because, wondering, is not so

  wonderful, and the reality of

  my arms being so empty, says to me,

  that I’m just lying to myself.

  It’s sometimes too much to bear.

  My mind goes into hyperactive,

  and my thoughts race in a fury

  of concerns.

  Where are you?

  Are you hurt?

  Are you worse?

  I’ve heard every word you tell me,

  and I understand truly where you

  are. I do.

  But, the one thing that is universally

  true about life is – things always change.

  And nothing stays the same forever.

  I have cast my feelings and my hopes

  into the wind for you.

  I have raised my voice in prayer to

  love you, to hold you, to keep you,

  to ask for your safety and to request

  your peace of mind.

  I have written out my emotions based

  on the millions of seconds in a day

  that I think about you and long for

  you.

  And I believe in you.

  Because I love you.

  Funny, the title of this seems to ask

  for so many things.

  It sounds demanding, doesn’t it?

  But, that’s the irony of poetry.

  It can be like two extremes,

  much like how you and I are

  as two people.

  Dandelion – I am deeply in love

  with you.

  So, I won’t ask you for anything,

  because I’ve heard what you’ve said,

  and I know I am not - a nothing.

  And as I reach out to you,

  wanting one day to find your

  precious little hand waiting for mine.

  I hope and believe, that someday

  things will change.

  Someday, my love with shine through

  into your beautiful eyes, and into your

  undefeatable heart.

  Someday, you can trust me enough,

  and feel total liberty to allow me to

  provide for you and your boys.

  Someday, you may completely

  love me. Somedays feel far away.

  I just don’t know…

  So many things,

  and it’s not a good place.

  Stepping on a set of wings,

  It’ll be so long before I see

  again your face.

  Feel my endorphins rise in

  hunger for your luscious body,

  as it dances sexily in place.

  I believe you care for me,

  but just on the surface.

  While I rage in my heart,

  to hold you all day.

  My tears will trace a line to

  wherever a land.

  My arms are not long enough

  to reach you, but my words are

  felt to me - to root, then bloom,

  then die.

  I just don’t know, if I will ever

  see you again. Tomorrow is promised

  to no one, and have a safe trip can

  spell anyone’s end.

  I just don’t know if I will touch you

  again. And what a loss to the museum

  of senses that tragedy will be.

  I just don’t know if I will hear your

  voice again, or your laugh, so I may

  as well go deaf.

  I don’t know if I will feel your love

  again, or if I ever felt it, so let’s be

  real.

  Nothing in life is ever wasted. And

  there’s no point to even writing a poem.

  But, it seems more that all things are

  carefully planned in this spray of mist

  so fine, interwoven and grand.

  As I said before, we are tiny droplets of

  water, falling to the floor, and meeting,

  bumping, rubbing up against one another

  before we eventually dry out and

  disappear.

  I was destined to have met you. We both

  agreed about this in some other form and

  some other reality.

  We intersected on the blueprint of life,

  and what a fucking large print that was.

  It was planned that I would love you,

  chemically, physically, mentally, emotionally,

  who knows, maybe we snuck out, away from

  choir practice when we were once Angels in

  heaven to do our thing.

  Yet, with all that surety, of watching the lines

  of our lives draw together, and feeling the

  passion I have in making love to you.

  The plans in my head, the grand designs to

  a life we could live, and a love we can have,

  I just don’t know if you’ll ever be mine.

  So, I wonder who will love you again.

  Who will be lucky enough to re-win

  your heart. Because all things are scripted,

  and nothing remains the same.

  I just don’t know, how I will live,

  after I don’t know where you are.

  The only thing I do know is,

  right now, I’m in love with you.

  For all my words, I can’t describe how

  I will miss you, maybe, as if my guts

  were scooped out with an ice cream

  scoop.

  I know I will cry for you,

  and I will hurt for you.

  and I will never stop loving

  you.

  Mack Truck

  · There’s just no point in asking …

  · Reckoning

  · She don’t care

  · I have nothing to offer her –

  · Separation is to death …

  · Pursuing …

  · Pinch the Wall

  · A long night of letting go

  · Swing Batter

  · Love Dies like a Child

  · What do you do … (but feel the pain.)

  · Dandelion

  There’s just no point in asking ...

  No matter what is going on,

  you are caught up in the moment

  of getting.

  And though I am doing all I can

  to be correcting, my words fall

  like fine China into the grinder

  of your foolishness.

  As you reach for running gears

  and shredding shears, I try like

  a silly boy to employ measures

  of safety, security, love and care.

  I always say, the way is not easy,

  so why try to find that lost way?

  Your heart is bent on foolishness,

  and sold on emptiness, you attach

  your concerns to wickedness and

  are enthralled in deceptiveness.

  It is just my guess, that God must

  love you too, to shadow you from

  inevitable doom.

  But, what am I to do, seeing the

  true you, in an array of emotions,

  desires, a fire in my heart to have

  you like no other, even though

  many before me had already come.

  I am pathetic and stupid, more over

  so because I keep placing my heart

 
in the road, and falling in the trap to

  have it close on it and bust like a blood

  filled water balloon.

  No trouble, no worries about me,

  I’m the punchy clown doll of life

  who always seems to stand back

  up after a decent thrashing.

  As I write these words, from my heart,

  you are already bleeding, and I can

  already see a brand new start that’s not

  so fleeting..

  But a start to what?

  As, all women are completely lost, just

  like you.

  So, that start is a world of travel

  away. And there’s just no point in

  asking for directions to nowhere.

  Reckoning

  As I clipped my finger nail,

  at 4:30 in traffic,

  little did I know,

  by 5:30,

  my heart would be bleeding,

  from to someone whom I would

  be speaking,

  as she mercilessly cut

  my heart of flesh

  out of my chest,

  with words, I duress,

  because I shared with her a

  silly notion, that her Sister,

  I was deeply in love with.

  I got the usual, I was called

  a sick stalker,

  and a pervert

  and a loser.

  I was told I was so co dependant

  and a fool,

  and I didn’t know her as a person,

  and as the well inside, felt the

  tide begin to rise to cry,

  I apologized for interrupting

  and simply asked,

  What harm have I done?

  To anyone.

  By being willing to be tool,

  by having some sort of human hope,

  by saying something that

  there is such a world full

  of worse to someone to say.

  For being able to want to

  envision a future with a person,

  of reach out for happiness and love,

  in being proud to claim the other

  as each our very own.

  Why in this world, in this air ocean

  of taint and black, that has become

  the human psyche of cause and

  affect towards one another, why

  is it so outlaw, so criminal, to

  say you love someone,

  and dare to hope for it to be

  returned?

  Funny, I have been told, that

  you are not in love, when the

  other doesn’t ratify the contract,

  or reflect the favor or sign the

  deed of.

  But, when two people meet,

  no matter how, and one has

  the feelings and the heart,

  to open the window to the

  soul and share that secret,

  standing there, exposed,

  hoping for acceptance,

  asking to be forgiven

  of their shortcomings ,

  eyes closed because of

  fear of rejection,

  quivering and shaking

  due to fears of the past,

  must the final blow be –

  to be ridiculed?

  and mocked,

  and scorned,

  and insulted,

  must the final action be

  to ask forgiveness

  from having any feelings

  at all?

  Must being in love, always

  feel like being hit by a truck?

  with spiked tires, and a belly

  of flames under the transmission?

  Yeah, I now, these are my ever

  stupid comparisons.

  And, I know, no one is listening.

  She don’t care

  To her, I’m just a working stiff,

  a lament,

  a fool.

  Maybe she’s seen things happen

  and on a grandeur scale,

  that’s why my just words fail,

  and she doesn’t care.

  No matter how hard I try to

  impress, she’s got bigger and

  better fighting for her dress,

  of which, I may only get to

  hold when it comes flying

  off of her.

  So, what am I doing? A yipping

  puppy, clamoring at her feet,

  as big horny dogs sniff around

  for play.

  She don’t care about me,

  She don’t see me,

  She don’t need me.

  As she swims the ocean without

  a paddle or land in sight.

  Even if I sweat blood,

  it would be a laugh,

  had a stroke? A bigger joke,

  or fell of the signature of the

  universe into the silent abyss

  of blackness.

  She don’t give a fuck,

  shades of her house are

  drawn,

  and to her, so am I, just a wire

  frame of hollow existence

  and pointless rhetoric speak.

  You expected me somewhere to

  say Geek?

  You so typical, a moral

  mother fucking reader.

  No wonder why I’m the

  writer, and you’re out

  to dinner.

  Funny, she don’t care,

  she’s probably sitting

  right next to you.

  I have nothing to offer her –

  So she has nothing to say.

  I have nothing to give her,

  So she has nothing to gain.

  I have no ladder to elevate her,

  No rope to pick her up.

  So, in her mind, with me,

  she would only seem to drop.

  So, there is no conversation, only

  hard silence and an ice cold look.

  Yet, little does she know –

  Just what she overlooks.

  For I may be nothing now,

  A hopeful, a worker, a drone.

  I may be small at this time.

  A dreamer, a gambler, no home.

  But she is the key,

  the key to my success, the spark

  to my change of fire.

  Her loving eyes,

  Her kisses at night would drive me to go sky-higher.

  Her smiles would forge the sharpest sword,

  for within me to slay the world.

  Her hugs, her love would ignite my heart,

  to bond me to her more.

  But, deception comes at a high price, with

  a grave cost as it isolates and separates, as

  it drastically creates, these lop sided views

  of independence and indifference and feeling

  of self-worth written on blank checks of

  nothingness.

  Our separate worlds, stay separate.

  So, I look at her, and realize in my heart,

  that I’m sitting here, willing to do my part.

  Separation is to Death …

  As Death is to a separation.

  Like all Mathematical equations,

  an answer is never the variable,

  but the outcome.

  Missing someone –

  Never seeing them again –

  hurts just as much,

  as if they had died.

  It means a private,

  one seat funeral in

  your mind, and only

  your tears, with no

  one with you to cry.

  No one to console,

  or hug you, or tell

  you the catch phrase,

  that everything will

  be alright.

  Things are never alright

  though.

  And a separation hurts

  just like a death.

  Your
memories always

  calling for that person,

  of laughing with that person,

  and still loving that person,

  But all in the wind, and

  just an illustrated illusion

  of opaque visions.

  For your arms will never

  relay to your brain that you

  can feel their warmth,

  You ears will only replay

  the scratchy recordings of

  their voices,

  In laughter,

  In conversations,

  in learning moments

  of growth and despair.

  Your lips kiss cold air –

  And your heart, will never

  synch in rhythm to their

  own beat as it permeates

  through the flesh of their

  chest in a moment of purely

  loving them.

  Apparitional –

  Ghostly –

  Vanished –

  Gone –

  Dead.

  And the whole part of it is –

  You feel every inch of it too.

  Pursuing …

  A relationship with a girl who doesn’t like you --,