#aspiring poets

“Have you looked at this world?” she parried. Her demeanor was calm. Her question, rhetorical. Her gaze, fixed upon the forever expanding horizon that lay infinitely out there before us. As impressive as I knew the landscape to be, for whatever reason just then, I could not take my eyes off her. And with the slightest hint of a wry grin, she smiled through her answer. “I romanticize to stay alive.”

- d.c.

“It’s not enough to

have you

in mere

stolen moments

that are

too

few

and

far

between.

I do not wish

to dip

my toes

into that

in which

I cannot

freely

wade.”

- d.c.

“Do I love him

more than I love

how much he loves me?”

- d.c.

“was it lust for him

or love for the way

you saw yourself in his eyes?”

- d.c.

“I can make peace

(I think)

with the way things are

and might always be

and I will try not to want more

(of you)”

- d.c.

“we locked into each other’s line of vision

and neither of us could deny

how the possibility of that life,

for a mere second,

broadcasted upon our lighted retinas

like a dusty, old movie projector

flickering awake

a private viewing for just us two

misbehaving strangers

sat on opposite sides of a

red velvet theatre

staring at the same panoramic screen

playing a fabricated fiction

of tempting what-ifs

and could-bes

i won’t hold it against you

if you choose not to acknowledge it aloud;

i was just as terrified to open my mouth

but as we stared,

our eyes conversed

and they disclosed

everything.”

- d.c.