I look away

You caught me staring

at you, best thing I've seen all day

The looks, the smarts,

that smile, loving heart,

it's all there, tearing me apart.

Some say it's love

call it what you will

I can't put a name to it

But I"m falling head over heels

for that girl,

the shining gem,

the irridescent pearl

the one that sets my mind a awhirl

my heart a flutter

and my senses, they swirl

And all from looking, staring, gawking

It's fascinatinon, admiration, not even close to stalking

It's that sensation

but so much more

when there's contact,

a fleeting touch

our fingers meet

our shoulders brush

a new door, opens

a new life, a new light

sends me soaring, gliding

flying to a new height

with just that touch

and sometimes its too much

but only because

you must feel the same way

the signs are there, i see them each day

at least, that's what your friends say

It's the idea that we're there

already together, but it's not fair

because it's not true

I don't, despite how much i want it,

have you

I'm weak, a pushover, shy

i'll call myself on it

i'm not the boldest, most intuitive guy

I don't make us click

it's one i don't know, that trick,

how to appraoch, be smooth,

be open, make a move,

that's where I need you

a first step, a little push

for this coward, this wuss,

to get what I want

just a piece of that star

that's you, so far

out of reach

but your light, your brightness,

your energetic rays

swoop down to play

with my mind, my heart, my sanity

is it vanity to think you want me too

as much as i want you?

yes......it is.......

i've seen the future, just us, maybe a kid

our whole life, together

i want YOU,

I'll fight through the inevitable bad weather

to keep you

but it's getting you

now....i just don't know how

to get you,

right now THAT girl, the ONE girl

to be MY girl....forever?

There are times when comfort is everything: from rearranging the furniture so the remote isn’t out of reach, to going shopping in our pajamas. We just decide that function and aesthetic appeal should be thrown out the window and traded in for coziness. It seems our entire body needs to be as relaxed as possible, our environment completely stress-free. It’s times like these that “comfort foods” really make a difference. They keep the “I’m-not-getting-off-my-butt-for-anything-unless-it’s-really-good” theme going. This type of food varies with many people. It could be chicken soup, or double fudge ice cream, but it makes one feel like there’s no place they’d rather be than right where they’re at, eating that food.

There’s a food that does this for me, and it can’t be bought, packaged, or sold. It doesn’t even taste the same when I eat it at my own house, when I’ve made it myself. This singular taste-bud tingler can only be found where comfort is king, and food is a royal feast every time it’s eaten. At my grandma and grandpa’s house, the fridge is a treasure trove and the stovetop a heated hearth of boiling goodness. This place is the only home for the single greatest comfort food out there, which is, simply put…warm rice and milk. The suspense had to be killing you, and to find out something so simple is what I was building up to might be disappointing, unless you’ve tried the rice.

The rice. That doesn’t seem fitting for something so delectable as this. Starting out as golden slivers, hard, miniscule grains, the rice is still just rice. Add water, a steamer, and some loving grandmotherly care, and a metamorphic change occurs. Like gravel, stony and gray, turning into a powdery fresh snow cover, the “rice” is now a billowy, slightly sticky, fluff of hominess. But it’s still incomplete. The 2% must still be waterfalled onto the mini-pillows, cool and opaquely white. Only when a scarce tip of rice is seen do you know there is enough dairy to do the dish justice. A two-minute venture into the microwave seems like an eternity, but when it’s done, the smell emanating from behind the tinted plastic shield is a reminder it was well worth the wait. The last step, the ice storm on my mountain of comfort, is to spoon heaps of sugar into the bowl and stir. Don’t forget the “Thanks Gramma, you’re the greatest!” and then dig in.

If you’re looking for comfort, and you’re tummy starts a-rumblin’, try my grandma’s warm milk and rice, and I promise, you won’t be disappointed.

is it really true?

or am i using you

plastering you over

the hole in my heart

with glue

is the void still there?

a pit, a nothingness,

a cavernous emptyness

or has it been replaced

that space

for love

have you merely filled it?

or by you has it been erased?

an inspiration

a vision, a literal scene

was given to me

what does it mean

nearby was its name

"filling the black hole of love"

it spoke of pain

and goodness

no blame

what's behind the name??

is love a hole

to be filled

at will, on a whim

or is the hole replaced, like i said

erased

instead in its place

is that love

a love to restore, not to be filled,

undying, real

forever, grow-old-with-me love

yes, that's what i speak of

but does it exist

or is it surreal, a mist

seemingly there

a quick touch, a kiss

of wholeness

a full heart

it's bliss

if only that void

that chasm, that crevasse

would be gone

only the past

that's the trouble

because it's impossible

illogical, demonic

insane

trying to fill

that black hole of love,

eventual vessel of joy

right now,

the cause of my pain

if memories were all that were left,

if there was pain behind the pane

if we still didn't have what i wish we had

if i had not yet gone insane

if you were still the one i knew so well

if i wasn't jailed under rain

if only that was all that was wrong

the light, could it shine again?

if apart is all we were destined to be

if it was you, if it was me

if the stormclouds stayed

if thunder was sound

If droplets poured

if floods covered the ground

if there was no mountain on this earth

if there was no place for warmth, for mirth

if all around was drowning in sorrow

if i had nothing to hope for tomorrow

but empty oceans, black and blue

even then, love,

i would be hoping for you.

If it helps those who read this, that were maybe confused by the meaning of the title or poem, let me explain. I tied my other poems into this, because this is probably the most encompassing poem out of the ones,posted or unposted, that i have written about this particular trial in my llife. It is the strandedness, the hopelessness i feel in finding a sanctuary from the proverbial rain. this poem is the helplessness, the inability to change destiny, the denial that fact is fact. when it comes to this love of mine, this person, this thing, this intangible, i feel that no matter how i go about finding it, i seem to end up flailing hopelessly about. I can only become enveloped by this liquid, by this bruise, this longing, that no matter how it's worded, is still drowning. But in my eyes there is always hope, so even when i have nothing, i have my love to hope for. I can look for the rainbow after the flood, so to speak, as my title implies. The question, though, is when will it stop raining?

i don't know

how i can show

with words

what's inside

nothing to hide

put on paper

now it's more

than just vapor

for better

or worse

it's personal verse

in a public space

a place

a home

to make myself known

tell me now

how

how

how am i doing

am i doing alright

should i tuck it away

out of everyone's sight

no

i'll show

it'll stay

every day

because pieces of me

although they're not free

should not have a price

oh writing

my vice

my shoulder

my boulder

never gone

lean upon

my text

one feeling

then the next

i can always

express

what i want

when i want

how i want

and it's there

a path

for my wrath

my rage

my happiness

just a page

in a book

that's my life

my proverbial knife

i can sharpen

and hone

my writing

alone

or for all

to bear

a witness to share

in writing

oh writing

oh writing

thank you

for being there

a glass

unbreakable glass

to hide a hurt

that will not pass

a pain behind the pane

a view

a scene

to see beyond 

the pouring rain

a light so close

but not to touch

to feel or hold

it's only cold

in the pain behind the pane

a want

a need?

to shatter

not heed

the rules 

to break

escape

the pain behind the pane

one second, two

is it you?

i see

i can touch

i can hold

be bold

show care

be there

no more pain behind the pane

a jolt

a bolt

awoken from the dream

i look

i glance

a glean

from the glass

the rope

the chain

that keeps

the pain behind the pane 

to mark those bygone times

to mark the moments that we shared

with your hand, in mine.

memories are all that are left

even though you're still here

despite how much I miss you

I'll never shed another tear.

Memories are all that are left

of what we had, and what could be

memories are all that are left

of what should still be you and me.

These Memories just keep hanging around

every time I think I've moved on

A year of love, laughter and hopeful happy ever afters

just won't get up and be gone.

These memories will stay forever

A genuine love is not forgotten

That's what we had, to me, a love,

a something, improbably begotten.

The memories are all that are left

to them I will hold dear

Everyday feels like an eternity gone

but you're near, forever, near.

I don't often write about this particular topic, partially because of everyone else's response to it when it occurred, and partially because remembering it in words can somethimes just plain suck. I hope that the response from others has changed of late, with the realization that neither they nor anyone else with the particular affinity for passing judgements on relationships, could possibly know the ins and outs of what really happened. To think that I am hinting at some type of soap opera would be true, but only because others made it so. Without the beguiling, laughing, mocking, and judgemental natures of outside parties, the issue is what the poem makes it, a true affection that cannot be rekindled. For those who know what I am referring to, I understand that your reaction is going to be somewhat of "how pathetic does this get?" But you never know what you think you know, and what you think you know cannot be of my emotions, because I will never let those out to be ridiculed against ever again. If you can apply the poem to your own life, in an ideal that now cannot be realized but could at one time, or in a connection that has been irreparably severed, then I am glad that I have helped in publishing some of your emotions that no one gets. Through putting these feelings into physical words, I have tried to help the world understand, though in ignorance, they probably never will.