She (Edited)

"You, poet,
What is your muse?"

She,
She is the snow falling through the lamplight
As night curls around the world.
She is soft bubble
Of the sliver of a stream
As it winks down a mountain.
She is beloved pair of Irish eyes.
She is a slender pair of musician's hands.
She is the lowest note of joy,
The highest keen of sorrow,
And all the notes in-between I can never hit.
She is the prickling sting on my ears
As the cold grows too powerful
Even as she wraps me in the warmth
Of every hug I've ever known.

My muse is Life;
For one day,
She'll be Death.

Crazy Like Armor

Wear your crazy like armor
And no one can ever hurt you.
Use it as a shield
To keep everyone else away.
Because if you already have them
Pushed back,
When the others stop their
tap-tap-tapping
On your fragile shell
And pull back,
It won't hurt so much.

Should you go
tap-tap-tapping
on someone else's door,
Just remember their crazy
Probably doesn't look like yours.

Wear your crazy like armor.
Everyone else already is.

Tastes

If you fall in love with
And lose
Someone with the same tastes
As you,
Who shows you places
You come to love,
When they are gone
You'll stand where
Once your tongue held joy
And all you will taste of
Is ashes and blood.

Don't treat a girl as if she's special
Unless you really mean it.
She'll believe your actions
Over your words.
Unless you are truly interested,
Don't treat her different
Than any sister you've ever had.
She'll take every gesture
To heart and count them up.
She'll be confused, yes.
It's the gross flaw hiding
In "actions speak louder than words."
Don't lead her on,
Even by accident.
Watch your actions
And guard her heart.
She's trying to do the same,
Trying not to break hearts.
Please give her the same courtesy.

She always chooses the best music,
Music that reaches into my chest
And dances along with my heart.
My mood lifts and I feel amazing.
She is a badass
And I love it so much.

He's led me
On this roller coaster
For far too long.
Now I'm am
A bitter mess
Angrily writing
If only so that
I won't cry.

I'm carrying a mug of tea home.
I've definitely spilled some on my hands,
Even down my pant leg.
Sure,
It burns,
But there's something about the steam
And how it's curling up into the cold air.
Forget the pain.
The beauty was worth it.