We are always planning for it-
yearning for it.
Saying things will be better-
in the future,
but what is the future, really?
The next day? The next moment?
The future is what we make of it.
Stop waiting for tomorrow-
for it may never come.
Live your life <3

I am a ******* human being-
not some project to be worked on,
tweaked or fixed.
I have learned to love myself.
Flaws, scars, mistakes in all.
If you don't like who I am-
do me a favour and leave.
That's more useful than you trying to fix me.

Thank you.
Thank you for helping me through every panic attack.
Thank you for holding me close when I started to shake,
for never walking away...
even when I told you to.
Even when I cried, "it would be easier for you"
You just told me that you didn't want easy,
and that you were here to stay.

Thank you for understanding that some days I just wanted to be left alone.
You always seemed to know that it would wear off and all I would want for hours on end would be to hold you close.
Thank you for understanding that even in my moments of blind rage,
you were never really the target of such hate.

You helped build me up, and stood by as I fought my demons.
Reminded me that they didn't make me any less of a wonderful person.
You will always be my safe harbor,
regardless how many miles I travel.

There are men in this world that agree with your jokes.
Men that believe women have too many rights.
Men that believe women are too dumb to have the right to vote.
There are still men who believe that I should thank god for my large ******* as my husband will be happy. As if they were created for my husband's pleasure.
Men that believe my ****** should also belong to my husband. And that I should take cat calls as compliments because hey "that guy wants to sleep with me."
There are even men out there that believe I shouldnt be talking public speaking classes and should be spending my time in home ec because we all know "a woman's place is the kitchen." And that I shouldn't be pursuing a law degree when all I really want is an MRS.
Well I believe a woman's place is in the "house" and the Senate. And I used to think you were there fighting beside me, not across from me.
Now- you're egging on the movement to take my rights away.
That's why your sexist jokes aren't funny.

Don't get me wrong,
the mushy- gushy, shy tender first moments of love are important.
But too many people have spent their lives writing about it.
Comparing the beginning of love to:
budding flowers,
sunrise,
summer,
the list goes on and on.
I say this not to be critical, as I too have spent hours writing about first encounters, and awkward yet tender first kisses and the beginning of love stories.
But I will spare you another poem about the honeymoon phase.

Society teaches us that "love" is always romantic and it's not real if it doesn't look and feel like a Nicholas Sparks novel.
If we aren't feeling butterflies and being swept off our feet, then it isn't worth our time.
Or, that our partner is wrong for us, if these attributes should fade over time.

However, I have learned that society's version of love, is the version that sells, it's embellished to attract the masses.
At the end of the day sometimes all love is,
someone who checks up on you,
someone who asks about your day and is genuinely interested.
It's the person who has your back through thick and thin,
who would never abandon you because they are angry or disappointed in you.

It's time we as a society look a bit deeper than the surface of such a complex emotion and understand that love isn't always about blushing and stealing kisses in the dark.
It's also about having a hand to hold, when you feel like it's you against the world.
It's time we let the honeymoon phase become a perk, but not the definition of love.

They say when you stand in front of an ocean,
the person you think about is the one you love.
But I see you, and her, and them.
I see you moving on,
I don't see you fighting for this..
I see you off in college, making "college mistakes"
girls with names you won't remember a year from now.
And I see me,
still stuck on you.

There is not enough ***** in the world
to help me forget the feeling of your skin on mine.
The burn in my throat is nothing
compared to the sting in my heart.
The innocent kisses,
are the ones that hurt the worst.

I think that there will be some people you never lose feelings for.
Not completely anyway.
Regardless of the circumstances, that spark remains year after year.
Like one of those candles that reforms from the melted wax.
Always ready to be relight-
just waiting to see if that spark burns bright enough again to warrant a second chance.

He is loyal, my god is he loyal, to a fault really.
Don't abuse this quality like I did.
Don't push his buttons and test him limits needlessly,
yes he will stay. Even after you yell and scream,
don't.
He does have a temper. Sometimes it is scary.
Don't match his anger with yours.
Just sit him down and help him calm down.
He will apologize profusely for scaring you.
His anger turns to fear quickly,
it is a delicate scenario.
Be patient with him,
I may have taught him how to love,
but I also left scars.
He is idealistic, he will plan a future with you,
if you're anything like me, it will be before you're ready,
just be honest with him about it.
The worst thing you can do is shut him out,
be honest with him and you will get honesty in return.
Most of all, love him.
Love him hard, and with everything you have,
because he deserves that.

It's been so long now.
The anger is gone-
we talk-in passing- just a simple "hello"
nothing serious, nothing about the past.
Maybe it still hurts too much, or maybe-
you simply don't care anymore.
But I can't help but think-

What if we just met at the wrong time?
What if we did make things work down the line?
I smile for you and tell you things are going well-
you have her- and I him.
Yet I still find myself wondering "what if?"
If I run into you a year from now-
will that spark still be there?
At least then this heart ache would be worth it.

I started smoking thinking I could burn you out of my throat, but now I watch the smoke coil and float. I'd never understood the phrase "gone up in smoke", but now it makes total sense. Here one moment gone the next, without a trace. We caught like a flame and went out just a quickly. Our romance was a slow burning candle, that one swift blow burned out. It's been a year and the smell of your cologne makes me look around the room for you. Even though I know you are no where to be found. A candle with a burnt out wick, wont relight no matter how hard you try, you just get burned.

I self harm the way some people play the lotto.
Not every day, or even once a week,
but when I end up on a winning streak
I can't stop.
I keep feeling like one of these days I'll get lucky.

I still hope for the best for you even though there is no future for us.
Not anymore, you made your choice, and I made mine.
Still miss you sometimes though- there are a lot of memories here.
Someone will crack an old joke from years ago, or comment on how long my hair has gotten,
(I haven’t cut it since that time you said you liked my short hair)
Here’s to hoping we both find our missing puzzle piece someday soon,
the longer it takes, the more I start to think it’s still you.

At 18 I made the mistake of telling you I had the heart of a poet.
That the way to my heart was through written word.
You only smiled and took it as a challenge.
The next two years were filled with both romantic and sensual gestures, in written  word.
I fell in love with the fact you were in love with me.
Well, if I have the heart of a poet you have the soul of a writer
and the world you created for us on paper, was better than any fantasy novel I have ever read.

At 20 I can still see your writings, declarations of love that you swore would last forever,
but I can no longer see myself as the heroine in your story.
I read your words and I see her living out my fantasy.
Do you write for her, as you did for me?
For her sake, I hope not.
So she doesn’t end up like me, reading and re-reading your words, trying to find the disaster and warning signs in your perfect world that you created for the two of us.
While you're busy becoming the writer of a different love story.

We sit in class and "learn"
We "learn" how to write a paper,
or how to calculate the distance from the sun,
or that "datum" -is the singular of data.

But we never learn how to pull ourselves off the floor,
or how to write a resume to pay off those college loans,
or how to simply love yourself.

Fill my head with mindless facts and I will regurgitate them back to you.
Tell me to love myself, be my self, and be financially secure,
only then will I stare blankly at you and say
"How?"

It’s almost 5 am.
I remember the weeks I stayed up this late just to talk to you.
To hear your voice, and see your smile.
Crazy how a few bad mistakes and bad timing change your world.
Regardless, today I’m not staying up for you.
I’m staying up for someone far more special.
Me.
I’m staying up to watch the night to turn to day.
To watch the blackest night, turn into my favorite shade of purple, before turning pink and yellow, and finally breaking into a blue sky.
To remind myself even my worst day is only 24 hours long, and that the night will always turn to day.
As a reminder- that I can tackle whatever is thrown my way.
All by myself.

How odd a feeling,
unrequited love;
it’s a lot like a switch in some respects.
Some days- it’s all butterflies and sunshine,
other days a hurricane of sadness because I’ll never have you.
But lately, the switch has been stuck in the middle,
as I don’t feel giddy and high off love, nor do I feel sad.
I think I’m finally getting to the point where,
if you were to come back, I could love you again,
but your absence does not haunt me anymore

I used to have to light up
to help our memories go up in smoke.
Inhale and exhale until I could calm down and see straight.
Even if that meant I went through half a pack.

Now, in my worst moments- he calls.
Unknowing of the savior he has become.
It has become second nature-
to accept the end-
without a cigarette
mostly because it is hard to smoke when I'm too busy laughing.

The mere thought of your smile still lights up my day.
2. I still have the necklaces you bought me.
3. I regret throwing Rex away.
4. I still sit around waiting for you to text me.
5. When you don't - I resist the urge to text you...everyday.
6. It's been almost a year and I still can't listen to "our" song.
7. Even my dad misses you.
8. I've thought about you while in bed with other guys.
9. My friends think you are hotter than my new boyfriend.
10. Even the friends who disliked you- like you more than him.
11. Some days I still accidentally call you my boyfriend-
instead of my ex.
12. I think I still love you.

There is an urgency in his kisses-
I've never experienced before.
A determination in his smile-
As he pulls me close.
A need I can only describe as longing-
As he wraps his arms around me.
His embrace is a drug and I'm hooked.

Maybe this isn't love.
Maybe it's just a case of dependency,
It may be selfish,
But most adicts are.
Call it what you want,
All I know is your touch is what I need.

I tend to run when I am not reassured that people want me to stay. Normally this isn’t an issue with us- you were always there as a reminder that I was loved and needed just the way I was. But the situation has changed, you remind her of this fact first and me secondly- if you get around to it- and lately you’ve been forgetting. So I feel that it is time to jump ship, and I’m terrified that this time you won’t even notice me fleeing through the exit.

I am not indecisive,
I am cautious.
I am not anti- social,
I am selective.
I am not rude,
I am blunt.
I am not a *****,
I am healing.

Yesterday we talked about your ideas on the Multiverse theory and how the universe’s on either side of us are similar to the world we live in and as you go further away from our universe things get more and more different. Some days I want to move to one of those universes on either side of us because it feels like my heart has been switched with one from another universe. The universe where this worked out.
Now I’m not saying I want you back or even that I still love you. I’m just saying that your theory is wrong because the matter is fluid it isn’t absorbed when it comes into contact with our universe. I know this because some days because I have the heart of the version of me who ends up with you.

"Fight for the things you want in life."
"Don't be afraid to climb that ladder."
"Don't give up on your dreams."

These are the things I was taught as a kid.

But, none of them prepared me for losing you.

The rules change when it concerns love.

"Stop fighting for someone who isn't there."
"Move on, you are only hurting yourself."
"There are other fish in the sea."

I know all the lines, read all the "get over him quick" books,
but I'm still stuck in the don't give up mentality I was taught as a kid.
I want to run up to you, and whisper "I love you"
I know it won't change a thing,
but I wish it would.

I "moved on".
Dated a great guy who respects me, understands me, cherishes me.
Never lets me go to bed angry, always communicates with me
(something you ****** at)
Yet his love isn't enough.

Maybe first loves never die,
and maybe that's my problem.
Or maybe I'm just a dreamer who never learned to get her head out of the clouds.

I let you break me

I've been out of therapy for over 2 years.
As far as my parents are concerned-
my self hatred was just a blimp.
A spot in my seemingly perfect high school career.
I pulled over a 4.0 so I must be okay.
She got a boyfriend.
She got healthy.
She must love herself now.
Little do they know-
my pulse still quickens at the mere thought,
of tearing into my own flesh.
My body pumps with adrenaline if I don't automatically push the idea away.
Sorry mom.
Sorry dad.
I'm not really all that better.
Just better at lying.

I once met a boy born on Valentines’ Day.
A boy with love practically built in his veins.
But after 3 years of an on again off again heart wrenching relationship, he told me falling in love with me was the worst decision he had ever made.
As if you choose who you fall in love with.
I once met a boy born near Valentines’ Day.
A boy who was more timid than the one before him in some ways.
A boy who may have not had love blazing through his veins
but a boy who had plenty of love in his heart,
and after 2 years of fighting and making up and fighting and making up, together we still stand. better than ever. closer than ever.
He still tells me loves me every night before we sleep,
and most importantly after 2 years of being together he still tells me that falling in love with me was the best thing that ever happened to him.
Falling in love isn't a choice, but that doesn't make it any less real or magical.

You call when you are lonely
and I come running.
More than willing-
to fill your days with laughter and light.
Only you don't call when the sun is in the sky.
You call when she is fast asleep,
and you need a play thing.

The porcelain doll on the shelf-
the toy you pick up-
as if you remind yourself you are still in possession of it.
That your doll has not grown a brain of it's own-
and fled to a place where she is not set on a shelf.

I refuse to be that doll anymore.
I refuse to be the drunken texts and phone calls-
where you slur "baby, I miss you."
I am not your doll.
I am not your fix to a lonely night.
**I am my own person.

Head: (bold)
Heart: (Italics)

He's moved on.
He doesn't mean that.
Hell I've moved on.
He is your sun and stars
It wasn't working.
He makes you happy.
We were fighting
Think of all the good memories.
yelling such hateful things-
The way you felt curled up-in his arms-
things we didn't mean.
safe from the hatred of the world.
He's too immature.
You two can fix this.
The love is gone*

(Can't fix what isn't broken)
Can't change the *past
Yet the battle rages on.