Raw. Vulnerable. Honest.
You remind me to exhale the crumbling pieces.
It doesn’t matter the canyon width of longing
Or the tumultuous curve of bending roads.
No matter for ego or dreams to come to fruition
You are messy art work, the fun, soul ablazing kind.
And I hate how angry you get at times
Or worse, that I actually think your anger is justified.
I want days to soar for you, to have soft, chuckling eyes
To decipher your deep hurts as patches of frost and nothing more.
And I hate how lonely I can feel your bones rustle with some cold truths.
But you could never be
Cold to me.
You help this crazy, babbling soul
Remember what its like to thrive
In a relentlessly, dying