This Makes Me Want To Write.

These are the words that you stole from me, the day when you decided that stealing was cool and smoking doesn't cause cancer. You must have forgotten that cancer sucks, and you must have forgotten that I would get my words back. 

There's no such things as playing nice.

Egos get in the way, music is played too loud, fences keep the neighbors out.

I forgot to tell you that her eyes used to be candles, but candles melt. If you get the picture.

One time I got a postcard from Italy. I put it in a box. It's sitting under my bed. I have a hard time looking at something I love so much but have never met. 

Its July and I'm happy because it was 70 degrees today.

I'm not happy because now I don't know where to call home.

Airplanes aren't giving me answers lately. 

The tide always goes out and I want to be lost in blue.

-K 

Love poem or end-of-love poem?

It's the quiet ones. 

It's the quiet touch.

It's the quiet smile.

It's the quite breath on her lips.

It's the quiet way that he over laps his toes when hes nervous.

It's quiet why she looks at the bruise on her leg.

It's the quiet way that he watches her look at the bruise on her leg.

It's the quiet was that sun leaves the room.

It's the quiet way that eyes meet.

It's the quiet way that time moves.

It's the quiet way that the smile is gone from that freckled face.

It's the quiet way that you get older.

It's the quiet way that he runs his fingers through his hair instead of on her back.

It's the quiet way that the dust rolls in.

It's a quiet way.

-K