Holograms of the Sea

Sometimes,

my hands almost burn with

the need to put words

in an order

that makes sense to me.

The absolute need to make

poetry.

To create what I can,

to craft something

from the rubble and ruins

that the world offers,

to blend it seamlessly

with the small moments of

unmistakable beauty

mother earth lets us glimpse.

Sometimes

it's all I can do,

it's all I want to do.

I have no greater passion than this one.

And it frustrates me so

when I can't get it right.

When I seize up and

the thoughts fail.

It tries to consume me

like tongues of

the most tempting flames.

-------------------------------

Sometimes

you're all I want.

Sometimes

it's simply the thought

of being able to say

small words.

To be able to say nothing at all.

To be able to look at you

and smile at you

and have it not be weird.

Sometimes

I get really jealous

for no reason.

And sometimes,

I just get tired

of this.

But more than anything else,

I am irreconcilably

in love with/for/and by you.

Love is weird.

And yes.

I am pretty sure this

is what is commonly accepted as

"love."

Please don't tell me otherwise.

My mind is made up.