The girl who fell in love

This is about the girl who fell in love with the moon.
Resting against the cold glass window at night
To get a glimpse of the light on the side she laid eyes on
And wondered about the darkness she would never get to see.
This is about the girl who fell in love with the stars.
Watching them sparkle and shoot across the sky.
She shed a tear knowing these stars were long diminished
And wondered if she as well would leave such a lasting mark.
This is about the girl who fell in love with the rain.
Falling fast asleep to the quiet drops on the pavement
With colors forming through the heavy mist,
And wondered if she could ever be as beautiful as a rainbow.
This is about the girl who fell in love with the ocean.
Sinking her toes in the sand while breathing the salty air,
Noticing the fish swimming easily through the blue water
And wondered if she could glide through life the same way.
This is about the girl who fell in love with the sun.
Lying in the swaying grass, feeling a soft breeze on her cheeks
Only to be shaded by the birds flying free under the light
And she wondered if she could one day be as free.
This is about the girl who fell in love with solitude.
Curled up with the dusty pages of her favorite book
Reading of the lover's who share their lives together,
And wondered if one day she might share her solitude.
This is about the girl who fell in love with you.
With the way your body wrapped around hers,
How you could command a room with the warmth of your smile
And she wondered if one day she could call you hers.
This is about the girl who fell in love with too many things.
Realizing none of them would ever be hers,
Knowing she had no one to share them with.
And she wondered if she would always feel so alone.

 -Danielle Frederick

When it comes to...

I'm not the optimist.
I'm an artist,
struggling
but not starving,
not for nourishment
anyway.

People tell me
I'm a good kisser,
but I think to myself:
shouldn't all poets be?

You don't like poetry, you say.
Too unsatisfying.
But I feel you overindulge
every time my lips touch yours.

So I bet you'd know a good poem
next time you read one.
It's not unlike a great kiss:
blissful, ephemeral, satisfying,
like the start of a great journey,
the perfect metaphor
for love.

The best I've ever known

I've only known you
for about as long as
it will take me
to finish this second
cup of coffee
and cigarette number four.

Only four and
it's already sunrise!
This is the start
of something new, exciting, longing, yet

I can't help but wonder
if I will twist you
the way I broke
the thermostat last winter
manipulatively
out of curiosity
(I only wanted to see
how high the heat would go!)

or worse yet,
if you will drop me
clumsily like I did
my precious iphone,
at the movies
relaxed from your fingertips
constantly parting the hair
on my head.

I don't know you,
and you certainly
do not know me.
You see the mannequin
I dress up and put
on display, but he
does not speak of the ganja
in my nightstand, the erotica
on my hard drive,
these scribbles of cynicism.

Of course,
I'll continue to think
of you, ideally
as much as you'll think
of me,
and we'll invent fun facts
about one another for
sharing with our friends 'round
the table with drinks before our bitter
truths reveal themselves
like 17-year cicadas
digging their way to
freedom

and we'll try not to
be too disappointed like
the tired waitress I left a dollar
with my number on it
or a lousy poem
bestowed with breath,
cruelly made self-aware.