4:10 AM - 10/29/14

I just want to know who you're fucking with.
Who do you argue over nothing with?
Who isn't doing enough?
Who's dropping the ball, fumbling,
So I can scoop you up?
Let me know.
Give me the word,
And it's on.
Just like that.
Never been one to be pressed for a woman,
But your greatness is an undeniable fact.
It's so clear to me...like I was made to see it.
It hurts me to see you behave like you're defeated.
Tired of a man promising changes that don't come
A man that hears your love calling, but won't run
A man that won't put in the work, but wants the fun.
I'd never put down another man to uplift myself,
But the situation speaks for itself;
You can do better.
We can make it happen whenever.
Even if you need time to detach your feelings,
That's cool.
I'm no fool;
I know a woman worth waiting for when I see her.
The type to make a man stop and think:
"Have I found the missing link?"
Yeah...that's you.
Wanted. Desired.
I won't chase behind you,
But, I'd love to take you higher.
Let's build something.
I know he isn't really your man,
So pay that no mind.
We'll just go out and have a good time.
I'm looking forward to it;
You've been on my mind.
Can't wait to make you mine.

-A. Lewis

Still. - 10/27/14

...ain't shit changed.
The same flowers come back
After each time it rains.
Your roots lie deep;
A garden sewn that I can't seem to reap.
It's just so beautiful to see...
But it's a terrible place for my thoughts to be.
It's amazing how reminiscing creates a gentle breeze,
Causing the flowers to sway back and forth,
A peaceful view of something much more troublesome:
Missing something I never really had.
This happens every time.
I say I won't get sucked in,
But the fragrance takes my mind,
And the view leaves me blind.
I stand amid the flowers,
And I fall in. I'm all in.
I begin the task of tending,
Pretending like I don't know the ending,
Like I'm not losing time dreaming of winning,
Like my heart isn't breaking...
When it's over backwards that I'm bending.
I rationalize it as a labor of love;
Putting in work for a bountiful yield.
Yet, when it's all said and done,
I'm standing alone in an empty field.
See...
The sunshine always fades away.
You come around with a few things to say,
Only to become distant, disappear,
Leave my skies grey.
The flowers wilt and eventually die.
I cry. Ask myself why.
Rain pours as I seek to extricate the roots,
And I get caught up as I try.
I don't want to stop caring,
But it always feels like you do,
When it comes to having a place in my life.
...and being hurt isn't cool.
Neither is feeling like a fool.
So I recover, resetting my heart and mind.
Moving forward is a function of forgiveness and time.
Maybe you're afraid of commitment,
Afraid of something real. Afraid of how you feel.
Or just not ready to admit it to yourself.
In any case, I'm ready to tell you to find someone else.
However, before I escape your grasp,
You come back and shine.
Radiant; familiar; warm.
That light I've always seen in you.
That light I can never say "no" to.
...ain't shit changed.
The same flowers come back
After each time it rains.
Your roots lie so deep.
A garden sewn that I just can't reap...
Joy, brought, that I just can't keep.

-A. Lewis

Loose Change and Crumbs - 10/22/14

Loose change and crumbs.
That's all that's left.
Even though I'm sitting here mad at you,
I'm disgusted at myself.
Laid my heart out like a sofa,
A cushioned place just for you and your love...
And all you did was wear it out.
Left me with nothing but loose change and crumbs,
Struggling to clean up a mess of self-doubt.
I gave everything I had.
All of it.
In the beginning, it seemed like it was worth it.
You reclined from time to time,
But it always felt like you kept my feelings in mind.
There was reciprocity, but it was tainted by inequality.
You had your place in my heart,
Yet I was always a visitor in yours;
Seeking space, a place,
A spot I could call my own.
Meanwhile, for you,
I turned my house into a home.
I was even willing to invite you in,
Just so you could relax alone...
Escaping your world to chill in mine.
As we indulged in each other...
Well, you indulged in me.
Anything I gave, you devoured.
Cleaning up your messes became tedious;
From meditating for a few minutes,
To crying on the phone for hours.
In bouts with self-doubt,
I blamed myself, so I offered you more.
Gave all of my value,
Just to, ironically, become love-poor.
Hundreds of hope;
Fifties of faith;
Twenties of trust;
Tens of truth;
Fives of fight; yes, I fought for us.
Ones of oneness...
Had me checking my balance in many ways.
When I should've been considering it for myself,
I offered you my last:
Change.
With nothing left to give,
Everything stayed the same.
You didn't offer anything,
But got upset when you no longer stood to gain.
So after having your fill of my body,
Feasting on my love,
And sustaining yourself with my hearty soul,
You got up and walked away.
The remnants...they stay.
I search through the cushions to find them.
Pieces of the best of me...
Relics of the rest of me...
Loose change and crumbs.
That's all that's left.
Even though I'm mad about how you treated me,
I'm disgusted by how I treated myself.

-A. Lewis

Late Night Drafts - 10/11/14

You know I'm a writer, right?
Well, let me be creative...
Pen a story of passion,
Written by tongue.
From deliberate to frivolous,
Strokes of the utensil
Create words that manifest.
The majority are vulgar,
But that's simply your translation.
I'm encouraged by your exhortations,
Even if they are profane exclamations.
Your nerve system is a blank tablet;
I'm only filling it with sensation,
Stimulating synapses with each stanza.
Your body writhes as pages turn;
Anticipation builds for the climax.
A tale of desire draws near completion;
Words become mere sounds,
Onomatopoeias abound.
Now authoring in cursive,
The pen swirls passionately around.
Pages turning,
Muscles tightening and hips churning,
And then...
I drown.

-A. Lewis

4:19 AM - 10/10/14

Your image swims in pools of words I'll never say to you...
In lakes of possibilities I'll never explore,
In oceans of feelings I'll never share.
It's not that I don't want you to know,
Nor am I afraid of hearing you say no.
I just fear the places we could go.
You'd have the keys to me
Long before learning how I like to be handled,
Before knowing where I want to be,
Before acknowledging how I want to get there,
Before appreciating how I got to where I am.
That is a recipe for certain disaster.
A rapt mind and a pleased body will belie the soul.
Even if you stimulate my mind
And satisfy my flesh,
Will you be willing to explore the labyrinths within me?
Will you desire to help scabs become scars?
Will you insist on uplifting me
When my thoughts become most cumbersome?
I'm not trying to be let down.
I don't expect the world of you,
But I see you have the potential to give that much.
If I hold you to that and you don't deliver,
Whose disappointment is it?
Yours for not being who you could be?
Or mine for believing in who I thought you should be?
That's a quandary that too many young people get lost in.
So, your image swims in a pool of words I'll never say to you,
In lakes of possibilities I'll never explore,
In oceans of feelings I'll never share.

-A. Lewis

6:45 AM - 9/26/14

The Sun approaches,
Rising with each passing minute.
Dew accumulates on still grass;
Quietude blankets all.
I sit here with time on my hands,
Words on my heart,
And you on my mind...
A story I've told a thousand times.
Never close enough to acquire,
Never too far away to desire,
Yet always more than wonderful enough to be admired.
The tale can be hopeful,
Filled with optimism and such;
Or it can be morose and melancholy,
When my feelings become too much.
Either way it goes,
Before Ra ascends to morning glory,
"The Ongoing Saga of Missing You"
Is my bedtime story.
Funny thing is,
The story has yet to end.
Maybe one day you'll piece my heart back together,
Or Father Time will be pressed into slowly making it mend.
As for now,
My thoughts have worn me out and tucked me in.
Good night, and good morning.

-A. Lewis

6 AM - 8/5/14

When our thoughts are quietest,
We hear echoes of the past.
Some are pleasant
Others are like broken glass.

This space between late and early
It is the playground of emotions.
Silent reflection on good times
Memories of pain that cause commotions.

The world seems to be at a standstill
While our heads spin away.
Dreaming in real-time
As night fades into day.

One must set,
As the other is to rise.
Hurt lingers like waning darkness;
Happiness filters in like sunlight in dim skies.

Hands align on clocks
Six is now the time.
When the morning is born
The night echoes in the mind.


-A. Lewis

Inclement - 7/26/14

Time heals all wounds,
So the heartbroken simply have to stay strong and wait...
But what of the heartbreakers?
What is our fate?
Regret sets like the Sun.
Sadness rises like the Moon.
Alternating like night and day,
Leaving only the hope that peace will arrive soon.
Thoughts are much more like big, dark clouds.
Storms of contemplation rule.
Every "I wonder" rumbles like thunder,
While "maybes" and "what-ifs" pour vehemently.
Concern strikes like lightning,
Quick and intense.
It all happened despite decisions made with good intents.
What's right?
What's best?
Questions with no clear-cut answers.
...answers I surely won't find in this weather.
There aren't enough sandbags in the world,
Not enough levies in life,
To repel, or even restrain, a flood of doubts.
As water levels rise,
I can't help but be reminded of half-full eyes,
Welling with emotions swept around by the forces of nature.
Father Time will be responsible for your recuperation.
Karma will be responsible for my remuneration.
I'd give my last bit of sanity to give you the first sign of peace,
To put all of the pieces back together.
Instead, I'll watch you do it all,
Through the melancholy rainfall
Of this weather.

The Unsaid - 7/24/14

Do the words we leave unspoken
Scream in our minds?
Do they
Whisper in our hearts?
Or do they
Echo in our souls?
Where do they go?
Perhaps they fall in fields filled with memories?
Maybe that is a fortuitous fate.
When the past is recalled,
They show up, not a moment too late,
Accompanying images with intimate words
That once held appropriate weight,
But are now so heavy that they feel slurred.
Do we shackle these thoughts?
Trap them in our dark places
Because of the light that they once brought?
Hold them down...
Do anything to slow them down...
Because they remind us of what we once sought?
Ah, we drown them, right?
Night after night,
Dark liquor or white.
Intoxicate these ideas so they never seem stable enough to trust?
Or do we submerge them just to save them,
Playing hero to see how much they mean to us?
If we knew where they went,
What would it really mean?
Remnants of sentiments...
Would it be like visiting a crime scene?
Or maybe more like a morgue?
A collection of once warm and meaningful statements,
Now cold, lifeless, and stored...
Do the words we leave unspoken
Scream in our minds?
Do they
Whisper in our hearts?
Or do they
Echo in our souls?
Where do they go?
...do we really want to know?
Or are we asking just for show?

-A. Lewis

Ghosts - 7/21/14

What is it that speaks to you...
That sneaks to you,
In the middle of the night?
Who's visiting you?
What remnants are reanimated?
Does your recollection rile you up?
Or do you wish to relinquish it all?
We all have ghosts.
Emotions that never truly fade.
Feelings that leave, only to return...
Seeking to plague the places they once stayed.
Lit only by the moon,
They glow dimly;
Memorable relics of forgotten times.
Never haunting,
They simply stop by to remind us
That the past is never that far behind us.

-A. Lewis

Dawning - 6/21/14

What happens when the person you adore
Enjoys what's given and pre-orders what's in store?
Does it mean as much when the person wants more?
Or is it just as nice when you've been implored?

The little things can become big deals.
Relationships can progress to mountain biking from the rose-colored big wheels.
It's amazing to see the ups and downs of two people consistently relating,
When conversations can go from doting to aggravating.
Wide eyes can start to squint,
Once-blurred flaws now appear in clear focus, as though under microscopic lens.

Personalities wax and wane,
Tides of emotions ebb and flow.
Arguments can tax and strain,
While discussions heal and offer ways to grow.

Sex creates connections of the soul,
Blinding the mind and binding bodies.
It can be a very deep level of bonding,
Or the last thread keeping both parties from absconding.

Love is often extolled,
Both in verse and in song,
But what often isn't told,
Is the work it takes to keep it moving right along.
Yes, beauty springs forth when love happens,
The prettiest pastures proliferating in our hearts.
However, grass doesn't remain green on its own.
In order for the grass not to seem greener on any other side,
It's imperative to take care of home.

Growth, respect, affection, and interest.
Maintain them all, and encourage more.
Be too creative to get bored,
And too involved for the other to feel ignored.
That way, whether it's random or implored,
You'll always have plenty in store for the person you adore.

-A. Lewis

The Quarter-life - 6/4/14

Thoughts of the quarter-life.
Working hard to avoid that "may I take your order" life,
Working hard to live that "beyond the border" life.
Life isn't worth living if it isn't beyond borders, right?
That's in reference to the comfort zone.
We're all trying to step out of it,
Yet we're trying to feel at home.
Working hard to set up a future,
Yet trying to enjoy our youth before it's gone.
Trying.
A word that comes up often.
Paying it forward without having what it's costing.
To cope,
We shell out cake just to taste the frosting.
See...
We all have goals and dreams,
But reality can be a bit much.
While we're trying to figure out what it all means,
We tend to end up a bit out of touch...
And that's when we come back to Earth.
Spending our very last on "first things first."
Feels like building an empire out of pennies.
A tiresome task of tremendous tedium.
If there are truly many ways to achieve success,
Struggle seems to be the most common medium.
No one's complaining though.
Not when we have instagram days,
Twitter nights,
And tumblr mornings.
Commenting, liking, reblogging, and tweeting.
Socially involved and aware.
To post is to live, to share is to care.
We vent, we laugh.
We pass around images of things we can't have.
We discuss net worth, we discuss rap.
We skate around being cash-strapped,
Encumbered by student loans,
Blaring reality TV and hip-hop over the groans,
Call it "griping" when someone moans,
Although it's a travesty that mainly debt is what our generation owns.
Such is the quarter-life.
The "although I have two degrees, may I take your order" life.
The "I need good vibes, so I'm a movie and music hoarder" life.
Rambling until four in the AM.
Thinking of dream positions and how no one would pay them.
Meditating on obstacles to our success and how to slay them.
Contemplating life decisions and party attendance.
Relationships teetering because of dependence and persistence,
Friendships swaying because of distance and insistence,
Dating seems to be a mix of maybes and misfits.
Everything seems to be happening all at once,
Happening quickly.
Yet progress is moving both slowly and gently.
Still making moves intently.
In an age where digital and instant are the new waves,
We know there's more to life.
We may be the last to be about that "brick and mortar" life.
Much love to us all,
As we live through the quarter-life.

-A. Lewis

One Last Thought Before Sleep - 5/1/14

I lay my head on pillows stuffed with memories. As my body begins to relax, my mind ramps up its energies. Eyes close to reveal the stunning scenery of surreal sentiments, surroundings shaped by shows of affection. Such recollection is never unwelcome, but at this time, it's an esteemed guest. My night has drawn to a close, but my heart is open. It spills across my soul...staining the draining spirit that now seeps out and creeps into the night. The stars glimmer and gleam as the dream machine projects brilliant images of bae, while the mind bustles and beams with the sort of enthralled glow that could coat the moon in gold for all the world to see. It's a light that shines deeply in the dark corners of the mind, illuminating the places where nightmares and jitters could walk their dim paces and rear their grim faces. Traces of consciousness fade seamlessly into the slumber, coaxed by your ethereal presence -- ever-so-slightly. Nightly. You are the last thing to cross my mind; the first sign of a good night's sleep. A role that was not given. A role I didn't know I was missing. A role I hope you keep.

-A. Lewis

The Professor - 4/18/13

Professor.

I thought myself to be a professor of love,

As in: someone professing it to another.

You were the professor, however.

Teaching a young brother. 

Showing me things...

Holding a mirror to my flaws,

Filing down my claws with constant applause,

Positivity parrying my negative propensities with nary a pause.

Never straying from staying down for the cause. 

Committed to growth.

Unyielding, unrelenting.

From having fun to venting,

Giving love, showing love,

Teaching love, knowing love,

All without dissenting. 

True presence of the something I'd been missing.

Just as open to talk, as you are to stop and listen.

Professor.

I thought myself to be a professor of love,

As in: someone professing it to the world.

Her? 

Why yes, that's my girl. 

Boasting loudly, proudly.
Writing odes and such,
Feeling a certain way and saying as much,
Putting it out there for the world to see.
Telling the world how happy you made me.
However...you said far more with no words.
Expressions coming from a great place with great haste.
Speaking directly to the soul.

Anthologies of affection told through your actions;

Library of love in your heart.

Apparent from the start.

Rather than put on for the world, 

You focused on playing your part.
A leading lady destined to be a star.
Type of lover desired near and far,
Forever giving effort above and beyond par.
All because you love with everything you are.

Professor. 

I thought myself to be a professor of love,

As in, someone professing it to you.

Expressing feelings that were true...

Feelings that came from a place deeper than I knew.

Similes? I had a slew.

Metaphors too. 

However,

Not even a plethora of poetry could describe it. 

The delighted, excited, ignited, incited.

It was an unexpected occurrence...

And I didn't know how to make it flourish,

How to fuel it. 

You did though, 

And you did it so effortlessly that I felt foolish. 

Saw love, saw how it illuminates what the truth is.

Professor. 

I thought myself to be a professor of love,

As in: someone that really knew about it. 

However, 

I became a student of yours,

And there was nothing I could do about it.
To tell the truth about it,
I don't know what I'd do without it.

The fire you lit still burns,

A sign of true lessons, life lessons, learned.
I appreciate her for making me better.

Bless her, the Professor. 

-A. Lewis

Of Dreams, at Dawn - 4/2/14

Where do the dreams go? The ambitions we form in adolescence...the anticipation of adulthood...how do they get lost in translation? Do they die from suffocation? There is pressure to succeed, to accomplish as much as possible; to matriculate, graduate, assimilate, participate, innovate, generate. Start a family, buy a home, renovate. Just don't be a degenerate. Is that too much to heap on ideas that are innocent? Innocuous ideas of an imaginative mind, suffocated by the expectations of society; deemed immature and irresponsible by incontinent individuals incapable of achieving intimate introspection. Is that what happens, or is there more to it? Do the dreams disappear? Fading out of perspective as the "real world" becomes a very clear picture in the meantime? Does Father Time wrest those ideas away from us to clear our minds of clutter, or is he stealing from us the very thoughts that make our hopes flutter? It sometimes seems that we never had them to begin with...there are times when they're so far out of reach that it seems that we've lost touch with the fabric of reality. However, that very same feeling can be as comforting as wool, a warm reminder that success will require a rise to the occasion. Everyone needs some form of motivation. Dreams seem to ripen quickly, yet rot very slowly. They can be hard to pick when there's a lot to choose from, and indecision leads to poor commitments, which can leave us feeling lowly. Others expect us to act boldly, yet when actions don't pan out, they criticize coldly. Is it inaction that results in plans becoming moldy? Discarding dreams after a duration of indistinct determination can be demeaning, despite never being too confident in one direction, but universally leaning. It seems that dreams yearn for interpretation while we search for meaning. Maybe if we understood our desires, we'd learn about ourselves. Instead, we go out looking for ways to define who we are. Cruising around, wasting the gas in the tank. Diving for a ship that never sank. The ambitions we form in adolescence...the anticipation of adulthood...how do they get lost in translation? They get lost when we presume a transition to be a transformation. We attempt to change so that we may grow, not knowing that change is meant to be the result of growth. Providence finds those who remain true to themselves from the start. Where do the dreams go? Should they slip from our minds, they live on in our hearts, always insuring that our inspiration and dedication are never too far apart.

-A. Lewis

5 AM - 2/11/14

I could go into great detail,
But I'd rather keep it simple.
You are perfectly ridiculous.
An amalgamation of awkward and amazing.
Much like 5 AM,
I don't know where you came from.
Seems like a place that knew of my needs.
I've always been the type to give flowers,
But you also inspire me to tend to my weeds.
You even remind me to plant more seeds.
Special is the person that both instills and intrigues.
You leave the impression of a blessing,
Making a mark by leaving a mess
In the feelings I've tried to keep cleanest.
Your intuition is the keenest,
And when it comes to putting a smile on my face,
You're an accidental genius.
Much like 5 AM,
I didn't expect you at all; you showed up.
But as sure as the sun shall soon rise,
You quickly became a light in my sky.
And while the stars are still out,
You are the twinkle in my eyes.
This time of morning reminds me of you...
The unexpected that caresses the creative and collected.
I could go into great detail,
But I'd rather keep it simple.
You are perfectly ridiculous.
An amalgamation of awkward and amazing.
I don't know where you came from.
I didn't expect you at all; you showed up.
Much like 5 AM.

-A. Lewis

Untitled - 1/31/14

Hearts cuddled together like bodies, sharing energy. Minds reaching synergy as our bodies meet endlessly. Intricacies of our intimacy... Desires light fires that require ample attention. Mentions of them cause sweat to gather on the skin, physical reactions to the ethereal attraction. These moments, despite the incalescent heat, are frozen in time; endless periods of oblivious minds that see nothing beyond what they feel. Should we ever question if this is real...we won't. The legitimacy of our intimacy is up to us. What we create in these seconds, these minutes, these hours...it's all ours. Unique. Forever unfinished, even when we feel it's complete, for there's always another chance for such a romance...and never shall any of them compete. Every memory fights for itself, but never against another. It is borne out of drawing together time, its father, and space, its mother. Opportunity is the third dimension, with motive being the fourth. When all are present, it's quite natural to feel the direction and stay the course. Not a thing is forced, although wills are imposed. We both want to ravish one another, so we strive for our goals. Paying diligent attention to what pleases instantly; giving determined effort to please intensely. The ultimacy of our intimacy. Hearts cuddled together like bodies, sharing energy. Minds reaching synergy as our bodies meet endlessly.

-A. Lewis