windfallI would gather allthe seven seas for you.for me, you would notspare a raindrop.
the only letter I've ever wanted to burni.if you want to give someone the silent treatment,the first step is shutting up.ii.things made much more sensewhen I was younger.I thought there was one path,each choice a stepping stone upon it.in reality there are a million roadsintertwined like rope.I got lostandsomehowI chose you.iii.promises are easily broken.I knew that,but it still hurtspending friday nightshivering in the rain,choking on cannabis perfumein a dirt parking lotyour face never graced.and I hoped against hopeyou might appear,but I wasted my wishingon ungrateful you.aborted love,you died before taking your first breath.iv.I took a chanceand I should've known better.you can give somebody all you haveand nothing can stop them fromthrowing it away.you've made this bed,now lie in it.you slit this suture,you're the goddamn reasonI gave up on the month of april,and soon enough you'll fall on your own bladelike some drunken samurai.v.if you want
you stoleyou are smoke,blackened feathers,and I forgethow the mockingbirdused to sing.please,I forgethow to miss someone.you left warm spots in me,familiar dents and puckersnow empty.nothing holds my eyes in place.they roll from one end of my skullto the other,rattling.I don't want to seea world without you in it.you let this place hollow outand dry like infinite droughts.youlet meburn.the years age me,and I don't know who I amanymore.I only remember you,but I forget that you are gone.
I know you, I love youWe fall in love with the microscopic, rough-edged details of people. We crave the knowledge of our lovers, crave to know them the way nobody else can. In a way, these idiosyncrasies become our own personal gift, a sliver of our favorite person preserved within ourselves.You love the way he licks his lips twice before saying something important, exactly twice, like he’s counting out two seconds to reclaim his composure.You love how her fingertips smell like turpentine and lavender when she finishes a painting because she doesn’t stop until her brushes are clean, and then she spends too much time trying to scrub her hands fresh.You love how he sometimes mouths the lyrics to songs under his breath, just loud enough to be audible over the radio, and you love the way he smiles and blushes and stutters when you notice him doing so.You love her expression when she reads, shifting and flowing like a hundred butterflies in response to the words on the page; you love the frantic
hometown bluesthey say home is where the heart is,but they never claimed it had to be beating.if this town is all there is to living,then I'm dead,and these dusty dirt roadsare my sad little gravestones.there's a harsh winter wind.I'm breathing,but it's the same air I've inhaledsince I first opened mysurgical steel eye to the world.remember the pale pink dressI wore to our senior prom?you held meunder the fuzzy yellow confetti light.I loved you because you were so gentle,and when I fell apart,you were the only person who knewI could fix myself on my own.you twirled me like I mattered,because you knew that one day I would die.you forgot that you would, too.you are wrought iron starlight,my crooked grey dove.you live in the sidewalk cracks,moaning my name as Icautiously step over the gorges.my mother calls, from time to time.I've learned to let the phone ringbecause her voice is not the one I want to hear.she's too tepid, unsure.she's the link strangling me,pinning me t
kryptonite kidi."I'll be batman,and you can be my robin,"you said with a smile.(it's just like youto want to play the hero.you speak when someone pulls the string on your back:you have all the right words.)ii.when I was a little girl,I wished I could be a superhero.all I needed was a radioactive spider,or hidden powersor super soldier serum.I grew up in pursuit of these,and became an adult when I realizedthat I'd never find them.I miss the days when I believed all I needed was a cape to save the world.iii.I knew you weren't the onebecause somehow I still wanted a hero,somehow I still believed they existed:one person who could rescue the cityall in a day's work.I knew you had the frameworkbut not the heart,a branchless treewith no roots.iv.sometimes I stand on the edge,wishing I could flybut knowing I never will.I think it's enough to pretend I'll learn how one day.(in other words,I'm not your sidekick.)
never become a writeri.never become a writer.you will become a perfectionist,picking life apartwith a magpie's eye,hunting for the beautiful bits until you can make yourselfa sparkling thronein the center of a junkyard.ii.you will write when you're sad.you will write when you're happy.whenever you feel something,you will vomit the emotion outinto some sort of literature.when you're finished,you'll be emptyand surrounded by pages and pages of everything you once were.iii.you will try to make pain sound delicious,painting over the ragged woundswith pink paintand candy-coat lies.you will learnhow to decorate graveyards.everyone will play in them,but you alone will see the headstones.iv.if you fall in love,you will turn your love into a poem,and you will always like your own wordsmore than you like the real person.you'll become so selfishyou'll disgust yourself,but you will not be ab
you have seven days to live.1.the news doesn't hurt:it's his eyes that hurt you,the glimmer of his pastcreeping in just likehis father used to creep inat three a.m.with a sin on his mindand rage on his hands.he waits for you to react,but you don'tbecause he's suddenly seven again,hiding bruiseswhile mommy criesin a ball on the couch.2.you think timeis a funny thing.people talk about itlike it is an object:"I need more time," they say,like they will go to the store laterand buy more.but you know that timeis more like an ocean wave,with an endlesspounding that continueslong after we greet the dirt,and we want more time,but time doesn't want us.3.he tries to force youinto his wrists,his ankles, his collarbone.he thinks that if heloves you enough,he can save you.you know that he can't,so you cut through himnight after night,searching for an exit.4.sometimes death scares you.you remind yourself thateverything ends,no matter how much you wantan infin
Morpheus Hexi.I am the moon walker,the black coffee athletein the star-dotted evening gown.I am young, but I feel old,like an antique withfresh paint.Sleep lives in my shadow,a morphine caregiverwith gentle hands,but I dare not fall into his arms.There is a sad knowledgein his eyesthat I do not trust.ii.You left me behind,but my pillow stillsmells like you,and now my bed feelslike a fucking coffinwithout you in it.iii.Nights like thismake me wonderwhat it feels like to die.It bothers me thatonly the dead know,and they refuse to share their secret.One day I will find outthe truth for myself,and that scares me.iv.Three a.m. teaches youhow to suffer quietly.Sleep pulls on my sleevelike a black-cloaked child.He tells me everything will be alright(but by morning, I knowhe will be gone, andI will be alone again).
This isn't the type of love that deserves poetryThis isn't the type of lovethat deserves poetry, Its loveborn out of an inabilityto survive alone,Its affectionborn from a necessityto believe in a lieI'll continue to whisperin your ear each night."I'll protect you"...A lie neither of us believeand neither of us disputefor fear of losing our only tetherto this decrepit existencethat we both fear so much...this love isn't romanticnor is it confrontationalits not comfortingnor is it disturbing,It's merely theresinking beside usin the sea of life ,that's gently drowning us,reminding us that togetherwe can almost breathe.
.i’ll spendmy wholelife playingdead sothat itleaves mewell alone
.death has a wayof assuring youthat he is youronly friend;he's the onlyone that willstay with youwhenever youreach the end
.you were life's newwork of art;small easel bonesand a blankcanvas of skinbut he ruined you over time,added the brushof a scaror two
.we are allstrayssearching forhomes ineach other
Cement HeartI built a wallaround my heart,and sworeI'd never let you inbut the more time thatI spend with you,allows the beatsto crackthe cement.
.you brokea heart,convincedthat there wassomething goodinside
.he stood on the shore,and told the sea he loved her;the jealous wind tore hisvoice in two
.did you ever stopto think, that maybe the starsare gazing at you
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed, a field of wild flowered- imperfections, sticky metaphors & an inability to speak. Love them anyway. Know that when they look at you they are noticing the little things.
NothingI heard someone sarcastically sputter,"You are what you eat."But hearing that sole sentenceallowed me to finally understandwhy I amwhat I am:Nothing.
What I Can't HaveI wanted wings To wrap me gently In such a wondrously beautiful embraceAmongst the stars and angelsSo I delicately ripped flightFrom the butterflies surrounding my windowIn the hopes they could fly me away.I wanted to feel loved To feel the doting heat Of a lovers breath on my neckAnd grasp on my heartSo I kissed the sunAnd held it ever so gentlyAgainst my breast tillIt burned me awayAnd I could reminisce in its loving burn.I wanted to be wholeWithout flaw Without ugly bones to trap my soulWithout a lifeSo desperately wantingEverything it could never have or beSo I embraced the seasSubmerged my entirety My being Letting its infinity ConsumeAll that would be left of me,Till I could only Wash among its waves
Wave goodbyeThe stars haven't faded;they aren’t yet dead.They’ll continue to burnand will never dieuntil you tear themfrom the sky.
InsomniacI am the sunand youare the moon:my tidal-wavetearsare controlledby youSo when it's 2amin the middle of the night,I know whyI can'tsleep tight.
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one. When she cries herself to sleep six out of seven nights a week you must say nothing. You must simply take her in your arms and kiss her gaunt, pale cheeks and wait for her to slumber at the sound of your heart.two. On the days where she wishes she were part of the stars, tell her no. Tell her that there are too many lights in the sky and that just one would be forgotten the moment you looked away from it. Tell her that she is perfect the way she is: completely human.three. Don't let her think about the scars that no one but her can see. If she says "I think I'm broken" smile like you know a secret and say, "No, you're mending." But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Blue-Eyed BoyI'd loveto go swimin yourocean blue eyes,but there'salwaysthat riskI will drown.
Life is a Study of ContrastIf not for the darkness,We wouldn’t know the differenceBetween a star and a ball of dust.Life is a study of contrast.We get dark,Not to fall apartBut to shine.
The Things I've LostI lost my sightIn a world Of ephemeral lightHiding a sea of glassWhich I willfully dived intoIn the hopes to grab the starsReflected in those mirrors.I lost my heartIn a fantasyOf perfected eternityGuising the struggles and painWhich are wrought From such delusionAnd ignoranceOf true hardened love.I lost my soulIn a frozen hellFrom which I've lost the right to leave.My demons tie me downAnd I hold them closeFor they're the only thingsWhich bring me warmth.And I live In this silent tortureOf my own selfish designIn the hopes These things I've lostWill one day be returned to me.
lost my voice.I wrote "I love you"in the sand at the beach.The tide swallowed the wordsand drowned thembefore I could speak.