Feelings

You have no etiquette
No frown lines
And no tears
Streaming down
Your
Beautiful
Face.

I hear
The inside of
Your lungs
And they're screaming
To be left alone,
To let go,
To escape.

I see
The first
smile line
Being born
On the face
Of a newborn child.

I smell
Unwashed bodies
Crammed into a box
On wheels, turning around
Along infinite roads
Of desire and destination.

I feel
The tips of your
Learned fingertips
Tracing down
And twirling around
The crevasses
Of my empty hands.

I speak,
Or at least I try.
I cannot speak,
All I can do is move
An inch farther away
From familiarity.

Childhood

And your lips whispered "don't move, please..."
Do you have etiquette?
No, I definitely do not.
Knots and ties, and everyone dies.
Someday, someday?
I don't remember, I can't seem to find it.
It's not like we were innocent,
But we were never bad.
Only the best of bad, and we never slowed down.

Flutter down between my lips, rest there a while
And utter what I had meant to said.
I hear him out there,
I hear him crying,
"It wasn't lost, it was always there.
Why couldn't you see it?
Where did you go?"

I still recall the days of our youth:
Two months ago, fresh and anew,
Flickering again, as if it were only yesterday
That our lips first touched,
That our fingertips traced each other's outlines.

You thought that everyone had the ability
to be a superhero.
And I replied that the only superhero I needed
Was right in front of me.

The crazy little children inside of us
Snickered and giggled away
As they toyed with our emotions
And pulled away at our souls.

Nobody ever fully grows up inside,
Something always remains there,
A child version of us,
Doing something stupid
For our very own sake.

So, child, carry me around,
And I promise to never tell anyone
About the feelings
You once made me show.