S.A.R.A.H.

She makes me feel alive.
Like her presence force-fed me magnets
So my blood would thrum with electric currents when she passes by.
I’m an electron to her nucleus
I need to be around her.
But even magnetic fields paired with gravity
Can’t explain why I’m so attracted.

But I could.
Her footsteps make floorboards jump for joy
Like concrete foundations were trampolines for adolescent fantasies.
She makes me wish I were a better person.
Makes me think I know what God is like.
On the inside.
Like my skeleton was a crucifix
And my goosebumps were rosary beads
So I laugh when they say that love is blind.
Because if that’s the case, then my heart is a seeing eye dog
And my poems are prayers in Braille
Just to make it as easy as possible
For my sonar heartbeat to find yours.

I’m looking…for S.A.R.A.H.
Someone As Real As Her.

She’s a near death experience every time I look into her eyes.
Split second flashbacks of grainy home movies.
From first date, to wedding day,
To when our grandchildren graduate.
Projected onto the ceilings of cumulonimbus clouds
So they could never rain on our parade.
You could lead the marching band
Trumpets announcing your arrival
And the drums beat to a pace my heart set years ago
You conduct them with the sway of your stride
Like your hips were a metronome
So I could keep time and hold forever in my arms
While seconds slip away between the hands of my clock.
Time’s ticking.

But I’m still looking for S.A.R.A.H.

IWantedToWriteALovePoem

I want to write the most amazing love poem. A love poem I could never dare dream of one-upping no matter how many times I replayed Super Mario Bros. or wrote to Santa asking for redo’s and cheat codes for creativity.

I want to make Christmas lists for secret Santa’s and cards for Cupid just so that I would get an opportunity to tell you the following things.
I want to understand you deeper than anyone else ever has.
I want to get lost in the maze inside of your fingerprints, or in the forest of filaments that is your hair shining like tungsten in light bulbs. I want my fingertips to tap dance a love poem in Morse code on the most sensitive part of your torso, to make your knees quiver like archer’s ammo and caress your skin to read your goosebumps like Braille and send electrical charges down the wires in your spinal cord.

I want seconds with you to feel like minutes, and minutes to feel like days, and days to feel like years because monthsaries are stupid….and I don’t understand why you’d even want to celebrate one.
Maybe because you can’t keep a relationship for even a year.
But believe me when I say I would work to keep you by my side until hell freezes over, or dinosaurs come back to life, or the zombie apocalypse happens, or robots take over, or aliens invade or…

You just don’t love me anymore.

But even then, I’d still toil like construction workers building a new foundation.
Because I don’t want to hold you in my arms…

I want to hide you on an island with me. Or a cryogenic chamber so that I could have you forever. The most delicate yet beautiful creature frozen in time like roses dipped in liquid nitrogen, playing hide and seek with the passing of time and the wilting of whispers of forever’s and murmurs of always.

I want to write a love poem about slipping that fluffy slipper on your foot at the stroke of midnight, because glass heels look uncomfortable. I want to Marty McFly to the exact second you were born and yell “DIBS!” to your parents for your hand in marriage for my infatuated and totally in love 25 year-old self. I want to play connect-the-dots with the stars and find an image of you.

I want you to be my inspiration, my muse. When I slave over my words to build a masterpiece like Egyptian slaves building pyramids, you can force me to keep going with simple flicks of your lashes…that frame your eyes like edges on a Scrabble piece worth one point but placed on a triple word square its worth gets multiplied from simple beginnings with so much potential.

I want to be so comfortable with you that I could tell you anything and everything.
Like how my arms are jealous of the way your blanket gets to stay wrapped around you every night. Or how my shoulders envy how your pillow gently holds your head while you dream about something other than me. Or how my compliments are jealous of the oxygen in your lungs, the way you accept it so gratefully and then it settles so close to your heart.

And I could tell there’s something wrong as soon as you say, “It’s nothing.” Because your problems are like tongues the way they remain hidden behind your smile, only being revealed if someone pays enough attention to look closely. Or when they’re forced out of your mouth by necessity like a gag reflex. Then I would type my apologies and words of comfort on tablets of vitamins and Tylenol hoping they would make you feel better.

I want to write a list of everything I want and see how you react to it, then maybe I would read it on stage, or read it to you in private, or just send it to you with a "Sincerely yours," but really I just want you to get the message.
I want to tell you all of this…but I can’t. So I wrote it in a love poem.

ComplimentsAndACompleteLackThereof

I've since stopped giving girls compliments.

Because no matter what I tell you, you never believe me. Like you’ve been conditioned to think that I would make this shit up when I don’t really believe it. But I do.
And I don’t say these things to get in your pants. That’s far from my plans, like the Millennium Falcon landing in that asteroid with that giant worm that almost swallowed them whole. It’s not something I want to happen. But I digress.
See, you think you’re just okay or anything less than. But I think you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and I just wish that you could see yourself through my eyes. Because to me, you’re cuter than Siberian husky puppies playing a game of tag with baby giant panda bears.
Think of an 80 year old married couple holding hands in the park like they were right out of the last scene of The Notebook. Or actions from A Walk To Remember, but with me doing all of them to you, to the specifications of your own bucket list. And yes that includes naming a star after you, because I will totally do that for you.
From a baby’s first words amid incoherent noises and babble to words crafted by poets that can make entire audiences go “Awwwww.”
You’re cuter than that.
Imagine chubby children running in playgrounds with dimpled, clenched fists and a toothless smile so full of joy that it could make you wish you were a parent already.
You’re cuter than all of that.
Now think of the most adorable thing that’s ever existed.
Yep. You’re still cuter.
See, you’re the reason that I wish I wasn’t a poet, but an artist. Because words can’t come close to describing how you look to me. But I can’t paint, sculpt or draw…
So I’m stuck here wishing that I could speak every language in the world. Just so that I could tell you how beautiful you are everyday in a different dialect. Hoping that it would convince you that you are much more than just okay because the entire world has their own way of calling you beautiful. And the bonus is that I would never sound cliche.
But then again, I’ve already stopped giving girls compliments.

PrettyYoungThing

I always wanted a girl just like you...

Such a P.Y.T....a pretty, young thing.

I want to love you

You pretty, young thing.

You need some lovin'

Some tender love and care.

And I'll take you there...

Beyond the clouds, beyond the skies

past the stars and to another galaxy.

Intertwining with an image of you

a split second after passing me.

Past constellations I'm thinking

that you could have been a part of.

In place of stars and comets

in galaxies neither of us have heard of

But you are past pretty

with a small hint of beyond beautiful.

Writing poetry is what I'm induced to do

Until the time I'm introduced to you.

I want to love you

You pretty, young thing.

You need some lovin'

Some tender love and care.

And I'll take you there...

IWishIHadSuperPowers

Everyday I wish I had superpowers.
Seeing everything that goes wrong around me, I keep dreaming I could do something about it even if it’s something tiny like what Jasper does in Twilight. But it never comes true.
So every year, I’m stuck hoping that something goes awfully right in the next 365 days of the year that would lead to some sort of accident…just so I get super powers. Last year, as I was writing my New Year’s Resolutions I even put in “Gain the superpower to control time through some freak accident involving a giant hourglass filled with dangerous chemicals being used to be tested on animals, which broke and spilled all over me because I broke in, in order to stop animal abuse.” And that is a direct quote, posted January 7, 2009 on Facebook.

But unfortunately for me, I can’t find any companies that fill those requirements. And I’m not sure what radioactive waste would actually do to me, or if they even have any. So for now, I’ll just leave that type of thing to the writers of comic books and the developers of video games because a few days ago, I found my own superpower.

Now I know it’s nothing awesome like being able to fly, teleport, or having super human strength. But this is one thing that I was born to do, just as much as Jon and Kate’s eight kids were made so that they could have a TV show.
My super power is the ability to love you more than any other person can and I didn’t need Captain America’s Super Soldier Serum or Wolverine’s Weapon X program to do it.
And I'm fine with that. And I get superpowers just being close to you, so what’s there to complain about?
You do to me, the opposite of what kryptonite does to Clark Kent.
Your touch does to me what it does to a Wonder Twin, and when you hug me, I feel like I’m enveloped in Tony Starks’ armor. Your words build me up like a robot…I’m Astro Boy and I have machine guns…in my butt?

If I had millions and millions of dollars, I would spend it all on you. Because you are my Batcave, the shelter I seek away from prying eyes and foes seeking to do me in. You are every gadget Batman could ever afford, because with you, I can do anything. You're the reason I'm getting somewhere like my Batmobile, with the way you motivate and inspire me to do better. You act as my Bat-signal, bringing me back to reality from whatever I'm doing. Just like a utility belt, you're always there for me when I need you and unlike Batman's utility belt, you always stay the same no matter what the situation and I like it that way. But you're the opposite of a Batarang, because you're something I could never throw away...and who knows if you'd come back or not.

Now I’m daydreaming into the future wishing I could put a ring on your finger…like the power ring the Green Lantern has. That way I would know you were always safe because c’mon…nobody’s going to mess with the Green Lantern.

And if you were ever hurt, or if there was a tear rolling down your left cheek…I would Hulk out on the inside. If I could, I would turn into Rogue just so I could siphon all the hurt from you into myself so that you could be nothing less than happy.
You make me wish I was Mr. Fantastic, not because he has Jessica Alba, but just so that each time you would call me, I would feel like I’m doing something right…Hey, I’m fantastic aren’t I?

You see, without you I’m Daredevil without the superhuman senses, I’m Galactus if he lost his appetite, I’m Cyclops without eyes, I’m the Human Torch if he was stuck on the sun, I'm the Joker before he was Heath Ledger, I’m Lex Luthor if he was broke, I’m Deadpool the way they played him in the end of the Wolverine movie...basically, I would suck.

So I continue to use my one superpower…and this is only the first issue.

TheGeneral'sMills

She brightens up my day from morning to midnight..

The perfect parabola that makes my mind ignite..

But we're much more simple than complex arithmetic..

No calculus and vectors, just the time when Cupid hit..

I guess he was on his last route and running low on ammo..

Because that joto shot me with a bullet not an arrow..

Looked up and saw the smoke drifting from the barrel..

Then I started hearing N'Sync Christmas carols..

As I poured myself a bunch of cereal into my bowl..

I start thinking about how she makes me feel whole..

Reading the back of the box as my heart inflates..

Like Frosted Flakes, she makes me feel GRRRRREAAAT..

She always cheers me up and she's good for my heart..

It all comes full circle from the end, to the start..

It's all clear to see, like flavour in Cinnamon Toast Crunch..

She's a knockout like a Mike Tyson punch..

With the innocence of a kid, she has her Trix..

I know she's not half, but she's still the perfect mix..

Wheaties-worthy because she won over my emotions..

Another poem!? That's what you call devotion..

Always after her, like she has my Lucky Charms..

My Cap'n Crunch in person and I've just been disarmed..

Putting U and I together like Alpha Bits..

'Cos we're not together like "disguise" misprints..

She makes me sing out loud like Frosted Mini-Wheats ads..

She has me buzzing like a Honeycombs fad..

There's more to her than simply what meets the eye..

Like Reese's Puffs. I guess I'm just a sweet guy..

Suffering from one hella bad sweet tooth..

That carried over from my youth, now I feel uncouth..

For revealing all of this about myself..

I guess I'll just put these boxes back on the shelf..

ICanBe

If you're sick of the lies

I can be your doctor...

Show you what should be

and treat you proper...

If you're sick of all this bullshit

I can be your medicine...

There to change everything

with something you've never seen...

If you're feeling trapped

I can be your escape...

All you have to do is

say yes to a date...

If you're feeling lost

I can be your map...

There to turn the complex

into simple math...

If you're drifting away

I can be your rock...

Actually, I can be a mountain

with my very own dock...

If you're in need of anything

I can be everything...

And in due time

we could actually be something.

AllIWant

I don't want to be your fairy tale Prince Charming come to life...I don't want to be the one that puts the glass slipper on your foot.

I want to be real.

I don't want to hide behind sentences that I can't say to you in normal conversation.

I want to be honest.

I don't want to sing you a song, rap a verse to you, or read you some ancient sonnet written by John Donne.

I want to talk to you.

I don't want to complicate anything between us by writing words and making up confusing ideas that confess my undying love for you.

I want it to be simple.

Contrary to popular belief, all I want to do is hold your hand. I don't want to marry you, I don't want to live to be a hundred years old by your side and I'm not looking for the chance to have sex...hell, I don't even want to go on a date with you. I just want to hold your hand.

All I want to do is hold your hand while I gaze into your eyes, caressing your hair with my right hand. While my left palm begins to sweat from being in constant contact with yours. Exchanging body heat...symbolizing the connection we're sharing. And there's nothing complex about it.

There's no words being exchanged, or any thinking involved, nor does there have to be. It's just right. And that's all I want.

TheSweetTalk

See you walking on the side walk, give a little wink..

Then I can start the sweet talk, here's what I think..

You're a rare type of honey. Sweet and all-natural..

Goes great with everything, formal or casual..

Bottle shaped body, like Mrs. Butterworth..

Baby cakes, you should be on the Food Network..

For desserts...or with my arm around..

Lonely and confused, I was lost and found..

I can only write down what I'm dying to say..

Like candy-gram notes on Valentine's Day..

You are my sweet heart, you make me see stars..

Hearts, stars and horseshoes, you're my Lucky Charm..

My Buttercup, stare deep into your eyes..

See hints of sugar, spice...and everything nice..

Honeybunch, you're my oat clusters with granola..

The perfect morning sight, we can go and do yoga..

Some Tai Chi, or some Taekwondo..

This whole poem is just to let you know..

This is my sweet talk...

Heads turn as I work the sweet talk..

It feels so right yet it's so wrong..

But I still work the sweet talk..

So I can ask you just one question..

In which bakery were you invented?

Because I just might have to ask for the recipe..

Is it in Tennessee? Because you're the only ten I see..

Where can they get a cutie pie like you just right..

In Willy Wonka's factory? I might need an invite..

Make friends with a couple of oompa loompas..

So they can lead me to you then it's all super..

See...I have a bonafide sweet tooth..

I need you in my life and that's the real truth..

You're soothing, like hot chocolate in winter..

Like pink lemonade in summer, now that's a real winner..

A pinch more of you and I'll end up with a cavity..

But that's incomparable to the future you could have with me..