Tripped Up Ending

He is an oil glide 
On an information highway 
Attention intent on his rear view mirror 
Of his past
Missing out on the scenery of this 
Beautiful drive 
Never saying what he means 
Never meaning what he says 
Once must read between the crossing 
Of his lanes 
Capturing his life through the lens
Of his camera
Never present in the moment 
It is all a push and pull 
Stop
Go 
Stop 
Pivot 
Swing and a miss
Never going with the flow 
We could have had a beautiful road
Trip never-ending 
Instead he was just a tripped up 
Ending 
In the middle of my week.  

I Want to Tell You That I Love You..

I want to tell you that I love you. But you would not understand. It would frighten you into thinking that it means I want to cage you and slap it with labels of ownership. But I love you and that is not what it means. You think I don’t even like you at times. And I suppose you are right. But it does not mean that I do not love you for I love you with all my might.

You should know that I do because I cook for you. I’m Sicilian and love is all about the food. This is how I care for you. I am not filling you with food; I am filling you with my passion, my love my heart.

You should know that I love you because I am constantly touching you. You should know that I love you when my head dips and I look up at you through lowered lashes and my inner thoughts of desire lift up the one corner of my mouth.

You should know that I love you because I keep your pictures in my phone. I repeatedly look at it throughout the day and butterflies light up my stomach. And I tell you how much it makes my day to see you in that distant way.

You should know I love you when I expose my vulnerability to you. When I express my sadness and level of stress and you hear it in my voice that I am not myself and you know that nothing is perfect and you rush to find the words to make everything okay for me. This is how I know you love me even when you do not think it is true or ever could be.

You should know that I love you when I listen to you without interruption while I chop vegetables. I am biting my tongue all the while. I want to fix things for you, but I know that it is more important to listen to what you are trying to tell me without directly telling me.

You know I love you when I am honest with you. When I am blunt and it hurts too much to hear. But most of all you know I love you when I die inside knowing that I hurt your feelings. And I did die because I acted carelessly. And though I’ve apologized a thousand times I will apologize a thousand more because I would never want to hurt you.

You know I love you because I am thankful for you being in my life. You know I love you when I am okay with your opinion that is so different and wrong and beautiful at the same time.

I want to tell you that I love you, but you would not understand. I do not want to cage you and slap you with labels. My love is not that kind. My love is to liberate and educate and learn and have fun. My love is serious and magic all at the same time. My love is to celebrate that I am for you and you are for me and the difference between is where we are free. I want you to love me but I do not think that you can I do not think that you do, but just know that the only thing that matters is that I love you.

To Love A Serious Girl

I saw this today and I wanted to share. You see I'm a Serious Girl. I'm complicated and complex. And this fits me to a T. Happy Hour wasn't meant for me.

To Love A Serious Girl. {Poem}

Via Rebecca Lammersenon Jan 8, 2014

Warning: naughty language ahead!

She ain’t casual.

She’s serious in the fanciest of ways.

She means every word she says as she prays.

She ain’t a liar, the opposite in fact.

She’s a truth sayer, a lie slayer.

She’ll find a way in, because love always does.

She’ll break you on purpose.

It’s okay to be nervous.

Her only demand?

Honesty without command.

She’ll fuck you with her questions

until,

 you cum with the answers you didn’t know you had.

She’s complicated, she’s always been.

You’ll never unravel her.

Don’t try, you can’t win.

She’s smart, not to be confused with sly.

Live twisted in her mystery until the day you die.

Don’t take her to happy hour,

unless you want to be there till closing.

Happy hour was created for those other girls—

The girls who look like women

and the women who act like girls and seem frozen.

She’s neither of those.

You’ll know it immediately too,

 if she’ll look at you.

It’s in her eyes.

They’ll conquer you. 

She’ll seem shy.

She’s not, just careful.

She knows what she’s capable of—

So, if she looks at you,

She chooses you.

Be grateful.

You’ll feel sexy.

Sexier than you’ve ever felt,

Cause you just saw yourself in those eyes,

you melt.  

It’s hard to look away after that.

Virginity you thought you lost, way back. 

She’ll swallow you, like the whale to Jonah. 

You’ll disappear as if she owns ya.

Your cock, your mind, your heart—

it will seem

You’re safer than you’ve ever been.

She’ll spit you out whole in the end. 

No need to be afraid,

she isn’t, 

Of any of it cause she’s already lived it.

Like she’s been inside you too.

To love a serious girl is what you need.

A muse she is indeed.

She’ll ravage you with inspiration.

Her passion is suffocatin’.

You’ll gasp for understandin’ for the rest of your life,

Cause you know—

The casual ones don’t compare,

not to her and that stare.

She ain’t them, they ain’t her

And boy,

you seriously ain’t nothin’ without her.

By Rebecca Lammersen