My Punctuation.

The curve of her smile is

a parenthesis, capping the
most beautiful of words.

Her eyes are a colon,
making space for a list
of unmentionable sights.

Her lips are shattered 
commas, placing breath
within soliloquies of sadness.

She is a letter well-written,
passed between lovers bathed
in feelings that taste of peaches.

Achievement unlocked.

   

Goal achieved.

Don't tell me.

A lie.

Honestly, I hold in a lot. When I'm upset, I don't like to tell anyone. Not even the one who made me that way, and especially not the ones who care enough to ask me why. And no matter how much anyone asks, the answer will be, "I'm fine." Even if it's not true.

Priorities.

Bruised.

Torn.

Used.

Worn. 

Putting what she thought should be first,

but seeing other things slipping away.

This.

That.

If only.
You.

Odds seems against this.

The decisions, the ones she had to make.

Frus.

Vexed.

Crust.

Taxed. 

I wish you knew.

Of these heart's aches.

No one wants to be alone in this game.

Beauty.

 

 

 

Tomas Skoloudik

 

Love Surplus.

So much love this heart contains,

Yet no where, no soul want gain.

What oh what shall I do with you?

Puppy wonder

     

Get busy then.

     

Office Halloween.

Til the end of me.

   

What are words.

   

Remember what you said?

I do. With heart-felt emotions at that.

A little piece of art.

When an artist wants to show you their art

or a writer wants you to read what they’ve written,

it’s quite often an expression of trust.

Because a poem or a story or a painting are often things that come from the heart;

little pieces of the artists themselves,

and if they’re willing to share it with you,

you should appreciate it. :) 

May I take your hand?

 

Holding hands may seem like an innocent gesture, but they show more than a simple interlocking of fingers. Your hands are one of the most essential parts of your body: you build with them, feed with them, hold with them, touch with them, fight with them; they are the tools of the human body. To take a hold of another’s hand is to break from living individually. It is to link yourself to another being, to momentarily entwine your life with anothers, to promise, for a moment, that you need not face the world alone. More simple, more aesthetically naive than other forms of affection, i.e kissing, hugging, etc., the act of holding hands is often trivialized in its true implications.