to you,

i am nothing.

every memory

every laugh 

every smile

every tear

every mistake

every argument

every compliment

is nothing.

i could never compare

to weed

according to you.

i could never compare

to autism and down syndrome jokes

according to you.

my love for you

the fact that you're my best friend

the things you've help...

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I might make you laugh, but I might also make you cry,
I might give you answers or make you question why.
I can look so serious or sound really quite absurd
I am divine unseen pen pictures designed to be heard.
I will make comparisons to shine a light inside your heart
I’ll begin our stories with with an epilogue or end them near their start.
My language can be quite colourful, yes I have be...

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You are certainly not a metaphor,

But you may be sort of like a simile.

You are my rudder and sails on a turbulent sea.

You are like a force that guides and propels me.

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My hands are patterned by ambitions,

these lines on my skin are wishes,

palms marked like the sky after a shooting star

and shining when they interlace with your fingers,

your skin's wrinkles and crinkles.

The crevices of our skin do not match or meet

the way coloured paths on a map synchronise and intercross,

reaching destinations.

We are separate pieces of meat

but

...

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Using simile in poetry is like using a throw pillow or two,
     to set the mood of a bedroom. 
Too many pillows
     and the poem becomes a pain in the ass.
Literary devices serve to cement concepts in our brains
     because most of us have memories like a sieve.
Mixing the cement… um the metaphors is tricky
     tricky like a fox
          tricky like former U.S. Presidents whose name i...

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In the creases of a crumpled T-shirt,
the darkening orbit of an orange pasta stain,
the unhinged playfulness of bright and living eyes…
the golden curls like mazes of cornfields – no way out –
The type you just want to twist around your finger –
I noticed you.
In the unrestrained laughter,
I would recall each word that tumbled from your lips
And hang on them, swing from them,
like branche...

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We are not a metaphor. 

Although, we have met before

I was a shy girl with bright blue eyes and you were a brown haired boy who played guitar on the bus

We grew up and grew together, inseparable

Unaware of what to call what we were, what we had

This was back when childhood was innocent and we still weren't sure how to kiss

Lips, mouths, necks, hands

We figured t...

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Your skin like the yellow brick road,

and what is it that creates that rush of blush?

I’d love to shovel out your flesh or drill through your cheeks

to reach those autumn leaves,

that grow behind the golden weeds,

the red leaves that were never green.

No, never new, they never grew,

they stayed and they remained:

Dying, but never dead,

thriving, behind your face of ...

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This poem is an original piece using established names.  The names of all characters are taken from the Aztec religion, and all of the characters act in sympathy with their attributed and established forms.  The exception is the titular actor: Acamapichtli.  While Acamapichtli was the first ruler of the Aztecs, in this poem, he is not the same person, but only carries the same name.

The pi...

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