the look in your eyes is poetry enough because when I see them I don't see beauty or the galaxy but a lack of sleep and a constant desire

when your hands hold me I feel electrified, I feel like you're an open flame and I'm getting burned with every touch but if that's what burning alive feels like then I am no longer afraid to die

when you whisper in my ear you push away my hair and my neck already moved up, a constant muscle memory forming between your lips and the space rift under my right ear

when you roll your head back and drop the cigarette you make me feel like a queen because ****** nicotine cannot be better than this and your actions show it and I want to be the replacement for nicotine as long as we're together because that **** will **** you and I don't want you to die right now

**** baby I love you, but it's a new kind of love - it's a drop clothes stark naked kind of love, it's an animal love, it's a hand prints on body kind of love, it's a first we strip then we cuddle kind of love, it's a passionate kind of love, it's an I'll act like a child just so I can tease you kind of love, it's a I want to show the world you're mine kind of love,  it's the kind of love that is going to k i l l  m e

falling in love is easy, it's painless and effortless and it's a huge swoop and before you know it you're on the ground but you're with them and you don't care about anything else in the world except being with them and seeing them

falling out of love is hard, it's painful and takes a load of effort and it's gradual and no matter how hard you try a bit of them always remains in the memory file of your brain, rusting with the lock on it until one day you smell his cologne and that file opens and memories rush back, years later

falling in love with someone who doesn't love you as much as you love them is even harder, it's a hiatus of love and when you're with them you think that it'll be okay and they love you too but when you're away from them you realize they don't need you as much as you need them and maybe they're distancing themselves for their own benefit but you can't afford to bring that up to debate right now because god knows you don't want to lose what you already have

maybe the worst thing of all is waiting for it to end, being in love but knowing that one day you'll have your heart broken once again because the tides of the relationship have changed the current and now it's against you, pushing you away

and I'm avoiding the shower all day because your scent lingers in my hair and I don't want it to stop

have you ever taken a teabag out of water after its stayed there for a while, and it's drenched and soggy and not the same as the way you put it in? when I'm with you it's like that, it's like you're the water and I'm the teabag and I feel so full when I'm with you and I feel like everything I need is in front of me but when you leave I'm left with all the **** I carried to be with you and then some

when I look at the stars I realize that you're in the same city looking at the same ones too, and those were the same ones that were there when I cried and when we kissed and when I realized what it means for someone to find constellations on your body in places never before discovered, in a canvas of a sky that with every touch seems finger painted

god guys, love ******* *****, it's like a sour sweet candy but you taste the sour when you're away from them and the sweet when you're together and all the while you're wondering what candy they're having and if they ever turn back to sweet when you're apart or if they taste sour the whole way too and thoughts like that ****

it's like your old childhood blanket when you didn't want it to go in the washer and so your mom had to take it from you when you were asleep, but in this case it's a real tangible person who knows your secrets and the way to access all of you wholly completely and utterly and it's someone you can't handle being away from even when you see them hours before

they say that the affect of love on the body activates the same chemicals as ******* does and maybe that explains a lot about how I feel because addicted doesn't begin to describe it and i guess what I need is validation but I can't even validate my own actions let alone yours

I hope that I will see your lips, I hope we'll hug again, I hope you won't become a dream, and I hope that I'll learn to live even without you three miles away

I can't think of titles to these mindless poems anymore because this stream of consciousness isn't poetic it's just ugly and I want to say that I'm not in love but boy would I be lying if I said that because when his hands longer on my waist for longer than they need to and his face gets close to mine I swear to god I can feel my heart pound faster than it ever has and rationality jumps out the window along with all the walls built and if I told you I didn't miss him I'd be lying again because all I want to do is see him and he's all I think about and I want it to stop but it's the best feeling I've ever known and I'm willing to risk it all for him because he makes me feel safer than I've ever felt before and the comfort I've been searching for I've finally seemed to find wrapped in his arms and near his heart

I don't want this to end and if the world can reset at exactly midnight and turn all the numbers and mistakes of the day to a fresh start of zero I can reset everyday and start it with him because it's only then I know it'll be okay

when they broke my heart god knows the last thing I wanted was to remember how it felt because it takes a lot to make someone feel like they can't breathe even when they're not underwater, but even though I hated them in ways that only my heart understood, I don't really regret them

they all taught me pain but it was because of that pain that I could move on, because of that pain that I now know how it feels to be completely shattered and get when my best friend tells me no, today she doesn't feel like being quite alive

they taught me empathy and they taught me true love in the sense that it was because of all of their errors that I truly appreciated what was in front of me when the time came, and now I understand that the kind of man who stays with you even when you're going through hell and not the man who leaves you mid way is the kind of man who deserves to stay and maybe I'm scared to have my heart shattered again but I don't regret ever having it broken because at least I learned that only I can fix myself and that has made me stronger than ever before

yes it hurts. it's the greatest kind of pain I've known and I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but maybe it was for the better...

maybe learning to let go is all for the better

I'm so in love it hurts

I'm in love like I've never been before and it's like I'm on top of the highest mountain and even though my breathing is scarce and oxygen almost ceases to flow the view is amazing and I want to stay up here forever

I'm so in love I wish I could be with him forever, with him and coffee and pancakes and Sunday mornings and rain and jokes and memories

I wish I could see him whenever I want to and I wish I could hold him and never let go because letting go means saying goodbye and goodbyes **** me every time

I'm so in love I'm no longer scared, I just want him and everything he has to offer and I want to have the best two months of my life because he needs it and I need it

I'm so in love I involuntarily say "we" because it is we now, and I don't want to change that anymore

he told her he's changing through exasperated breath as if the whole world weighed down upon his words but he left her to find meaning in the ambiguity of his eyes

he told her he's changing but he didn't tell her whether it was for better or for worse, and like a rose whose petals reflect the crimson in her soul he started plucking her beautiful pieces away one by one

it was slow but soon she realized he took away her voice. he took away her confidence, he took away her beauty, he took away her heart, he took away her ability to control her emotions, he took away her happiness -- all the things she thought he gave her he took away and that really showed her who was in charge

her lungs filled with his world once and he warned her not to ever try something like that again because it would **** her but what she didn't say was he was already doing that, because with each conversation she suffocates a little bit more, until eventually the noose will be tied and her body will hang

he told her he's changing but it's clear to see it's somewhere away from her; he's going down the path of skinny girls and large *******, of cigarettes and alcohol, of past memories and old songs, of a world so far removed from her reality that she can never even dream of entering his stratosphere again

I can't believe I let myself fall so hard...



...*again

my love is a tug of war, a game for children aged five through ten

he's the boy and i'm the girl, he pulls too hard and i fall down, i get back up but he's giving up again, i use all of my energy to pull the ******* rope back towards me, get that ******* knot back past my line, win this game, make sure it doesn't win me again

i can't be a loser so i fight harder and harder, dig my heels into the ground just so i don't move, try to be stagnant, end up being dynamic, his love makes me weaker, i'm losing my grip

months later the knot has lost meaning and i forget what i'm fighting for

it's all so much brighter on the big screen: smoother, prettier, better

they look at each other with twilight in their eyes and a sparkle in their smile, making our worn out eyes and dull teeth look like a joke in comparison

they fight over the little things but in the end he comes back to her and she realizes her mistakes, they aren't stubborn like us, he isn't as resilient and i'm not as carefree

when i see them i realize the fault in our own love, when i see them i don't see any shattered glass or fragments of organs that used to be in you but were squeezed out because of how densely crushing your last love was

i don't see the drops of imaginary red dripping from their chests and suddenly it all makes sense

it works on the tv screen because they aren't broken like us
they don't cry themselves to sleep, they don't hold on to the past tighter than they hold on to themselves
they're characters and they're lines, they're stage directions and sure he may look at her in a way i only dream to be looked at but your brown eyes and worried brow are something i wouldn't trade in for a second

at the end of the day those are the movies and this is reality and when the lights turn back on i'm back to square one

no gleaming eyes, no defied gratitude, just me and you

He's the second one I've truly hurt and I realized now that I burn

I used to think that maybe it was them but it's really me who when touched charcoals their skin and makes them turn to ash

They don't want anything to do with me because I'm not like the others - I'm a light burning hotter than 98.7 and the shades of orange and blue and yellow fill my body so when they ask me to speak all that comes out is fire

My words sizzle on their skin and they turn away because no amount of water is going to spark out this flame

We are not bottles of beer that you can put your lips against once and then throw in a pile somewhere to rot away with all of the other garbage there. We are not so much of who you think we are. We are not just a fake smile and eyes too dark to see the sun even when it's the brightest it's ever been. We are not just objects you can use and leave after a great session of testosterone raising. We are most definitely not the love in your heart or the butterflies in your stomachs or the antidepressants you seem to need every night at the same time. We are human. We are us, we are broken and hurt and disheveled and confused and we have emotions too, don't ever confuse silence for acceptance and don't ever doubt that we don't care what you do. We're the silent kind, the kind that won't say much but will look at you and realize you've been through some ****. We're the observers from an ocean away, because you're so easy to read even computer pixels give you away. Don't you know news gets around?

i get it* okay? i know that you're tired, and i know that you want to give up, and i know i'm not worth it, and i know i'm causing you pain, and i know that deep down you don't want to be involved with me at all

i get it
my voice is not angelic, and the echoes of midnight tears and heartbreaks reverberate every time i open my mouth to tell you that i'm not okay, and i know that when you look at my face you wonder why someone who sounds so normal can look so drained, how my eyes seem so hollow, how the skin under my eyes has finally began to bloat instead of just caving in because my eyes are tired to keep looking at this reality

i get it and now is not the time for you to act sentimental and tell me through words that are strained and teeth that are clenched, eyes that are empty and hearts that are not full by the love that i've been trying to give, that you're okay and i didn't affect you at all

i know that this is not what you thought it would be and it breaks my heart to know that but i cannot change
you can pull my hand and force me to obey you but i will only go so far, because the inner workings of my mind are too **** strong to ever give up on me even if i'm ruining myself, and you cannot convince me that you will always stay because i know it's not true, and i know i can't support you either

we lean on each other partially until eventually we fall together, confused and depressed, nostalgic about a past that makes five months seem so distant, desiring something more but constantly being unfulfilled, constantly meeting a wall, constantly looking down, constantly not relying on one another, constantly counting down to a memory that is so unstable it won't happen

*i get it, this is it

midnight, one, two, three am things always turn downhill and you don't know what to listen to anymore because your brain says move on but your heart says she's in there somewhere waiting to take me back to old memories and broken dreams. you take a sip of your wine thinking about the intricate details of the universe and how every single constellation in the sky cannot begin to describe all of the beauties of the mysteries outside of your town, and meanwhile you talk to her hoping that maybe you'll see that light shine as bright as it once did for you. you told her once that no one is okay and everyone has their own problems, but you try to hide yours in times when you cannot afford to, and you don't know she's behind the screen crying because she knows when you talk to her it isn't you speaking to her, it's hormones speaking to her, it's you speaking to a body, it's you speaking to a mind that is not the same as the one before her. when you tell her your problems you rarely mention more than a sentence because distancing yourself is something you've learned how to do through repeated mistakes but what you think you know is that she's being honest when really there are walls and pain behind her heart. oh she can tell you lullabies and make it seem like she's another snow white fresh out of the woods, but life has taught her that there will be no prince in the end, and with every other time you reaffirm that statement her mask breaks once more - she's one step closer to cracking.

she walks out to her normal spot every morning waiting for the four wheeled vehicle that is supposed to take her to seven hours of hell and she looks at the stars and thinks how beautiful it is that humans are nothing. she does not think about the mysteries like you do, she thinks about how everyone is insignificant, how her life actions will not be remembered, how she as a human being will leave the world virtually un-impacted. to her, that is beauty. but to you, that is terrible. that is why you two will never truly work out.

when he tells you that he loves, tread carefully, because chances are he's saying it under exasperated breath drunk off the essence of nightlife

when he looks into your eyes and smiles, know that it is not because he cares more about you than anyone else - he just likes the view

when he tells you that you take priority over others, know that you shouldn't always believe him, because at the end of the day he's out partying and you aren't; he's drowning in liquor but you're drowning in tears

when he wants to be let in, make sure you have your lock secured, and make him find the **** key. no more handing it to him, no more thinking it'll be different this time, no more making excuses - this is your heart and you cannot just play around with it anymore, he needs to know that you are a forbidden fortress and in order to get inside he has to climb every **** brick that you have put up for him

make sure that he knows that this isn't a game and your heart is on the line - do not let him woo you back into this cycle of boom and depression because you were taught that's only for the economy and god knows you want to believe that

do not believe it when your heart tries to flutter out of your throat and do not let yourself write beautiful metaphors to him because he doesn't deserve it when all he's giving you is a stab wound in return

you can see the blood and you can feel the pain, do not believe it when he tells you it'll be okay

it's been four years since today and i haven't seen your face in longer than that

it wasn't a train wreck hearing that the coma you were in slipped from your grasp and you might not have even wanted to hold on to it; it was like someone taking your nightmares and placing them in reality

i wonder about where you are and what you're doing all the time and then i remember you told me you don't believe in a god and i realized that if we are the subject of our perceptions then there was no way you were anywhere but in the bottom of the earth with no air to breath through and with dirt encompassing all the inches of your body

i wish i understood back then what it took to go up and face your largest fears and all of your anger in the image of heaven found in that leather belt that was used so many times before, but i didn't get it and i don't think anyone really did and it was only when i understood what true pain feels like and when i figured out the delicate paths to madness and loneliness that i realized no one truly understood why you did it until we grew up

you weren't fourteen but your mind had the veins of someone much, much older than that and i will never forget the times when we were together because although they were few and far between they are enough to last a lifetime

the one thing that scares me is that oblivion is inevitable and this is not a john green book and i am not hazel grace and the fear in me pounds harder every day and i realize that one day i will look at the date as march second and not realize that it's the anniversary of your death and then one day someone else will look at the date i die and they won't realize anything either and if that is all we're meant to be, someone needs to explain what we're doing here

i miss you, man. i hope wherever you are it isn't half as bad as what you had to feel in the place full of the mirages of dreams. may you rest in paradise, in your coffin, in the blue skies, in the dirt.

3/2/2011 and still counting.

when the breath of your words hit my skin, it just makes my wounds bleed more

at first you think you have a band-aid and it will be okay and you aren't bleeding and then the wounds itch and you think they're starting to heal but really they're learning how to break the band-aid apart from your skin again

it's been a while since i've had a good cry and i'm glad you brought me back to that reality as i've been crying continuously in the past three hours and i know you can't ignore your own wounds either but did you really have to make me believe false promises in order to become a prize or trophy instead of just a human being?

Slowly she helps pick up the pieces that he left in front of her feet.*

He woke up later, went to sleep sooner, ate more, got rid of his old habits, found meaning in a sunset and saw life at every dawn, compared the necessary and the unnecessary and chose accordingly each time.

But as she fixed him, he was not fixing her

She was still filled with pain and regret and sadness and no matter how many pieces she leaves for him they just exponentially increase to infinity and eventually he gets tired of doing the work and decides when he is ready to leave her, alone and without love.

when your heart beats faster than it has ever beaten and your palms start sweating and you smile and you blush and you laugh and you wish that you were next to him but you know it's okay because the phone is something that has made you closer than ever and he tells you that he likes this and he tells you he likes that and you tell yourself you will just leave it at like but love seems to be rearing its head nearer and nearer and you want to say that you think about him all the time but you just say think about his smile because then you don't sound so crazy and he tells you you calm him down and you start to feel yourself falling even harder and the rocks are morphing into a blanket and the ground looks so comforting and falling has never been this fun

i've been stuck staring at my computer for approximately ten minutes telling myself i need to write but the words aren't coming onto the keyboard as fast as my brain thought they could

i'm being pulled in ten directions, my brain never ceases to think, think think think about time about distance about love about hate about depression about being shattered about how he can glue me back together about how two broken things don't make a whole about how nothing is going to change and everything is going to change about fear about happiness about trust about hate about hate about love about fear

i can't stop thinking and hoping i'll see the **** message pop up on my screen that says i understand how you feel i feel it too i don't know what's going on but i think i'm okay with it

but the way my heart is beating as i write this indicates that the doubt in me is larger than the amount of thinking i've been doing and lately i've realized being a pessimist and being a realist is the same thing and i don't know how to break that to even myself

They tell you when you grow up that you're this mass with cells and atoms and everything weighs something and that's your body, but I'm convinced that I'm made out of glass because there have been times I have physically felt myself shatter.

Maybe I'm not good at giving in but I was at one time and eventually they just told me my smile wasn't as bright and my eyes didn't shine like they used to and I took that as a sign to just go my own way and leave him alone and let them keep talking.

The thing about it is, they all start off with a I know how to fix you don't they? And you usually give them a chance because you never got one and why not let people feel better? But eventually you learn that no, they cannot fix you, because like glass, you cannot be put back together perfectly once you break.

And I wish more than anything things weren't like this but when you try to fix someone while being completely shattered it never turns out in a good way and I could tell him twenty times over but will he believe it when he sees me cry and wonders why I can't trust him? But what he doesn't know is I can't even trust myself anymore and I look for comfort in this abyss but there isn't any so I'm left to just jump on boulders hoping to god I won't slip.

i'm stuck between needing rest and never being able to sleep, and i scan the ceiling for some kind of answer from you but you aren't here and you can't help me and i hope that somewhere between the sips of beer or the air of cigarettes you ask yourself what you're doing and find an answer because i don't think i'll find one anytime soon

you can find me in the empty street of your local alley, hiding in the crevices of the broken pavement that has its **** together more than i do, and you can see me cowering in the corner of a party too loud for me to feel comforted, and you can see me fighting back tears after every single conversation and shout of you're stupid and you don't know what to do and how will you ever make it out alive

you can't see my hands tied behind my back and my mouth taped closed by the words that hit my throat and sting my ears and make my life seem worse than the world i thought it was, and you can't see my mind racing at hundreds of miles per hour hoping that there is a way out, that blood dissipates into water, that i'll be okay, and that i need to take every **** word out of my letters who reassure me that yes i am worth it and yes my mind and my freedom is all intact unharmed and not damaged

some days i feel broken, but not the mirror that shattered into seven years of bad luck. some days i feel broken like that little black duckling that never quite got it right or that baby bird with a broken wing who doesn't know where its mother is and who looks at everyone with eyes full of sympathy because every story is worth listening to unless its my own

and other days i just want it to stop, and i want to sleep, and i want to do nothing and enjoy the sheets of my bed and the comfort of my tv and the soft pillow that supports a head too tired to hold itself up because they do not judge me
          
        they do not tell me words that push through my armor and tear me *apart

I think I have finally found the culprit, the reason why we cannot let go as easily as we would like, why we romanticize the past, why we look into the mirror and wish we could rewind time. It goes by the name of sentimentality.

A slip of the memory and you're back to where you started from, your thoughts. Granted, thinking the past is better than it was is something even your most esteemed writers are guilty of. But perhaps our problem lies in the fact that we put too much human in humanity, too much sentiment into sentimentality. If we take it drip by drip, instead of one full shot, maybe we can detach ourselves like we've always wanted. But...perhaps not. I cannot look at a single star in my dreams without thinking that it isn't real because I would remember those moments, wouldn't I? And he cannot go a day without looking into the bottom of his glass remembering it was the same one she drank from, the same mirror she looked in, the same bed she slept in.

We cling for words hoping they will be enough but really nothing can ever fill the excessive emotion we put into our hearts, no words, no lyrics, no poems, no Christmas trees, no lights in your room, no fuzzy socks, no cocoa, no snow, not even an airplane ticket. What can help us is love, but what destroys is love, and we get thrown into a backwards whirlpool of thoughts until eventually we become sentimental to either the past, the present, or even the future. We either loath it or we reminisce or we cry but we never, never march up to the things, even the people, that we miss and say "excuse me, you ruined my life." Or, "excuse me, I wish I could erase your memory" or "excuse me" or even "***** you."

If you take the square root of sentimentality, at least in my life, somewhere along the way you will get falling for him, winter storms, and perfume. You'll find me walking down the road thinking that things can not get any better, or can not get any worse. Something tells me I'll find someone else there too, and I'll find summer weather or the leaves in the fall or starbucks drinks or that bar where you two met or a glove that you gave back to her or a text message that began it all. But I think the most important thing I'll get is humanity. Because for everyone walking on that path to sentimentality, they are all human. And we can't change human nature, can we?

I've always been one to talk about change as if I was immune to it and it would never happen to me, but looking back on it I realized that not only has it happened, but I feel so alienated from what I used to be that old pictures seem to be a stranger staring from the frame into my own eyes from a fog of the past that I can't seem to recollect

I have to learn to make it on my own out there in a world full of people that can tear me down more than pick me up and it's going to be a process not easily overcome and impossible to avoid but for some reason the fear inside me is starting to melt away at the thought that these worn out eyes can finally breath in the sunshine, or lack thereof, of another country

There was a question that asked how I feel I've changed since my Freshman year and all I could say was that my eyes have become ones that back then were not capable of seeing the reality I was living in everyday, but now they can see, and they take note, and they see those looks that you give them and they write down in their memory carved with the scraps of past ones that I should be invisible

I realized in two weeks that I mourn by not mourning, because I avoid crying now that it's all drained out of me, and with the death of a best friend, I haven't shed a true tear that was not under the influence of the fluids they were pumping in me through an IV system, and I don't know what's the matter with me, but I just focus on the happy happy happy because if I don't the world knows that will be the end of me

I'm sitting in the room I've been sitting in for over seven years writing about change. I never thought the day would come when it would be about myself, but it is, and here I am, and I have changed. I over think things, I question, I observe, I'm careless and careful and confused and lost and searching somewhere inside of me for where I'm going and who I'm going to be but the answers haven't come yet so I'm forced to be patient and wait for them as long as I need to because without a sense of self, I am no one.

let me tell you something about regret

let me tell you something about being saturated with your thoughts, about being completely above your thresh hold of absorption and trying to desperately figure out how you can get out of it

it's a delicate game between i hope he gets it and he never does, a fine line between texting him at 1am trying to apologize for what you've been doing wrong and realizing he's just a boy and he can't handle that

we cling unflinchingly to the memories of our past until eventually we are tunnel visioned by them, unable to move forward because they are the quicksand in our mind forcing us to stay

and let me tell you about trying to do texts at midnight drunk on the absence of sleep telling them that they surely understand, trying to get closure to the fact that no you are not the only one who feels like this, he feels it too, but it will always be about someone else  

and i could give you countless essays on replaying images of their tears, on wishing that you were never in a ******* hotel corridor spilling your heart out to stain your dress with red memories, red red dark red memories that will always stay there

or the time, perhaps, when you were not freezing because he was there next to you to heat you, because the sound that escaped his speakers were melodies that comforted the both of you through the tidal waves of something larger than you and something able to engulf you with a single blow

but let me tell you how it all ends, how you think you can never go back to the feeling of mistakes when you aren't making any, when you're stuck alone in this big world without talking to anyone because it only causes trouble doesn't it? but it always swings back around and there isn't a cure for it

i could write a million and one essays explaining how i have felt the past two years of my life, how from the moment my thighs were frailer than my wrists to the moment i couldn't fit back into my favourite pair of pants, from the time i first saw all of their brown eyes to the time i last saw them, from the awkward moments in the hall that are filled with void and anger and tension to the moments when i would beg to see them again for just a little bit more, but i have realized that i can never make you get it

the only way to get it is to experience it, and for those of you who understand what i'm talking about, try to get some sleep tonight, try to keep the memories out of your dreams

keep smiling, everybody needs a break sometimes*
keep smiling, everybody needs a break sometimes
keep smiling, everybody needs a break sometimes
keep smiling, everybody needs a break sometimes
*keep smiling, everybody needs a break sometimes

we've spent approximately three months talking about authors and analyzing works and mentioning things like the author cannot give the audience closure because he doesn't have it himself and all i can think about is how i'm the one who needs comfort in a room full of students but i'm not going to get it

old habits die hard, and now i'm the one with the broken mouth and the burnt tongue, the person whose voice has been taken away because i cannot say things that are pictures anymore and i just wish you would realize how much of a constant struggle it is having to think about your memory at least once

thinking back to when you cared is something that i just can't put into a metaphor; i can't put any of this into a metaphor. if i tried it would go something like the way you made me feel was somewhere between two brick walls that were just continuously closing and i used all my weight to keep them open but i kept growing weaker and you kept growing forceful and the minute the summer days came into full bloom i was completely broken

sometimes i look out my window and i am convinced i need to get away because it will be good for me, but how can i build myself up against a world full of you? you're a drop in the water of *******, and for some reason i can't talk to anyone anymore without feeling like they're apart of your ocean

i'm waiting with all of my heart for thanksgiving -- waiting for the moment when i find out whether or not i can leave, and until them i'm stuck. maybe you remind me of colors and of snow, maybe he reminds me of white cars and hot chocolate, and maybe the other one reminds me of chlorine and equations, but maybe i can escape them all

english teachers will tell you that an author does things on purpose but i disagree. words fall onto the page as effortlessly as water flows through a mountain, and it's just because of this that the beauty of a novel comes about. i've been throwing my own ideas on paper for over a year, and now my own pages are finally soaked with the memories of you that i don't know how to apply the pen to a piece of paper without throwing that paper away. everything begins with a dot but it's time to start writing -- if it's therapy for certain great writes, it can be therapy for me too

i need to stop being afraid.

the days pass by silently without giving me much time to turn around and watch them and when i sit inside my room i am once again greeted by that old, familiar chill of winter

teapots full of emotions are being boiled over a stove that is clearly not warm enough to warm my whole body, but it keeps on burning regardless, and i notice that no one thinks much of anything unless it concerns themselves

i get this chill when the nighttime slows down that things are going to end, that everyone is going to vanish like the snow that tries in vain each year to stay forever, but then my thoughts leave as fast as the warmth of spring

winter is that old friend that you love to see but hate to keep you company when he opens his mouth about the things that used to be, about how you used to look out your window and see him fall behind tears, sparkling eyes, and disappointments and trust me, i get enough headaches nowadays to block out those memories but i can't forget dates in december that shaped who i was in january

if there's a piece of advice i would give someone, someone full of loneliness and desolation, full of the contents of despair, enough so that they feel they could burst, that they feel no matter what they do there will always be a dead end, that feel that they don't even want to write the tragedies they think and experience down in a journal because god forbid someone would ever open it, so they just stay bottled up

if there's one piece of advice i would give to them, it would be let your thoughts pour out like the way old winter brings them back; one night, just cry and let it drain you from any more tears; let that old, hideous, beat down, torn, broken, revolting chill freeze your mind, so that you finally get a *break

It's 5 o'clock and my world seems bleak once again, surrounded by the same ecompassing shade of remorse that it was last year

It's five oclock and I think I've remembered the art of despising myself but most importantly someone else too because sometimes I forget good enough isn't possible

It's five o'clock and the shadows surrounding my room are that familiar kind of inviting - the kind that doesn't need make up and cheekbones and ediquette and good grades

It's five o'clock and I just want a ******* break for once in my life

The mind is such a beautiful thing to waste; such a terrible thing to keep.

it's that walk you didn't think you'd take, that memory lane that was just five minutes from your house with a car because you've timed it on his phone when your curfew was midnight

the house that once held confusion and comfort now just holds those rusting patterns in your brain of walking up the driveway and heading for the door that once memorized your hand print as much as his

maybe you can escape snow this winter

it's the way that the light strikes his face and the way that you see his new accessories in the foreign couch you once loved the color of because you're all alone in this world girl and nothing is going to change that

perhaps they all think you're anti social because you fade into the background more than they do, what's the point of being unique when i'm redefining the lines of the old and the new, stepping on the boundary of emotions to come back to where i've always been: an end

memory lane is not in my heart and not in my eyes, it's nowhere where i want to be because i'm too **** emotional to be able to handle it and i thought it was a good idea but chasing after butterflies is always a lost cause because they fly away and you're still here

the birds have never looked so dark, the sunny days so terrifying and i don't find the door to the basement anymore because no one is there to open it for me

the sound of music leaves his speakers the way they used to his gramophone but he's up to new technologies now and haven't you learned you're the old cd left in his bedroom to accumulate dust

they don't listen to the music you shared with them in the days when the world was covered in angel tears because they brought umbrellas and youre late to the **** party once again

***** your car because i keep seeing it everywhere and all the different shades just seem to remind me that everything is done and ***** your good taste in music that would convince me to add things to a playlist full of memories i can't make anymore

Here's to those nights that feel too off to be apart of you, but too you to be somebody else's
Here's to the broken dreams and the tears and the "I'll get over him this time"'s
Here's to the silent reminiscing of a mind we cannot control
Here's to all those things they didn't tell you just so you would enjoy growing up
Here's to the times you sprayed on perfume just for him
And here's to the times you would come home and want to scrub every smell that reminded you of him off
Here's a toast to the good times and the bad, to the wasted nights full of wonder, and to the cabinets full of fortunes that never come true

whether it's 57 or 47 i don't know because i got sidetracked and i guess that's good because for the first time in a long time i was able to be sidetracked from the idea of you
this summer was a necessity for me, not a want because i needed to get away from here and from all of those memories of every time i did something wrong and ******* up and although it hurt being in the same place twice for a total of seven hours it wasnt as bad as i thought
youre just a memory now and accepting that is no longer like drinking a teaspoon full of bitter medicine making me want to throw it up just to keep you as alive as i could
i held on to you like you were some kind of lifeboat but you arent and never were and never will be and now you want to float your way back into my life but i learned how to swim in the salty water of the black sea summers ago and i was reminded once again that im too good for your drowning savior
this is my 57th and last poem to you, because i realized that resigning writing about you is resigning the memory of you and it's finally time for that
no more thinking about the carpet burns on my hands and the stream of tears that would pour waterfalls onto my cheeks to ruin my makeup
no more looking back at the story i wrote just so i wouldnt forget the experience and no more wishing it had happened differently
no more walking down the hallway with a shallow hole in my chest where your bullet ripped right through it and no more looking like the walking dead because of you ((i can still look like it for old reasons though))
and it makes me sad that i never really realized all of this until after June, until after an unforgettable experience with my loved ones but thats what did it for me
the melody of the mountains and the songs the summer sang in perfect harmony
and i realized in the end of july, when i was in a car without makeup, with work clothes, my hair blowing in the wind of the rolled down windows of a old car, it was when i looked at the window mirror then, that i was smiling

i was smiling

its been over two months since ive cried about you and i plan to keep it that way, and so i wanted to say i bid you adieu

it was nice while it lasted but kids grow up like grass when you give them soil and emotions recover from withering once you give them water

and i? well, i finally decided to drink the water.

I want to dance with a stranger
I want to feel the melody of the music in the sway of my hips, his pace to match mine, faces close, body heat erupted into something larger; something intimate
I want someone to come up to me and make me feel like someone I never thought I could, beyond beautiful -- a Cinderella moment to take my slipper and lose it so he can come back and find me
I want a stolen dance, one that is never mentioned again, one that will be remembered for the rest of my life as a memory too sweet to be forgotten, too magical to be thrown away
I want him to have confidence, to come up to me and talk to me so that his mouth starts to form words of passion that follow the sheet music to my heart, words that make me question everything, words that draw me in so that I can melt into him

You told me once that you're on this website but that you remain hidden underneath a username so mysterious even I wouldn't be able to figure it out and it's nights like these I wish I could because it's easier to talk trough a computer, through poetry, than it is to tell you it

Have you ever felt you've made a mistake long ago and has your throat ever clogged up at the thought of it? I miss sitting in your car listening to frank ocean and I miss missing you and sitting on you and knowing you inside and out, upside down and right side up

I miss seeing the sympathy in your eyes when I would talk to you and the way you would wear your hat just because I liked it and I miss winter hiking and photoing and I miss telling myself that you would never change and I miss that missed opportunity when I was in your sweatshirt and you weren't with her yet

As much as I hate the past sometimes, I ******* miss it, too.

Don't hold onto texts like that lost hope you once had and expect that time will defy all of it's laws just to go back for you and let you rethink all of your decisions, because it simply won't

Don't try cramming all your emotions in the three minutes before your eyes seem to stop seeing the world because you'll end up feeling disappointed and crying instead of dozing off, and you'll be left to hear the cars in the streets and the snores from the balconies and wonder why you're the one with a problem

Don't tell yourself anyone is worth any of you because you're a tarnished diamond and they aren't easily found. Let someone take their time to polish you back up, to give you another reason to shine

Enjoy the moments that happen around you when you're in the car with your parents who have grown old right before your eyes and feel like a kid again, shouting lyrics to the old classic rock songs you knew by heart as a child

Stop worrying about an end. Know that endings happen and that's just a life cycle, and there is nothing you can do to stop time

Don't regret every action you make because not everything was a mistake when you first did it so what makes it a mistake now?

And again it is just one of those nights, where the heart grieves for what the mind cannot fathom.

True love is not looking at someone and seeing no flaws, but in looking at someone, seeing their flaws, and *accepting them

my heart's pounding in my chest because of the fear i have
the fear i've always had
and i don't know what it is and i don't know what to call it
but all i know is that it's a disease and it doesn't seem to stop
because when i look into their eyes with longing over and over again
they begin to do the same
but my eyes shield over with these walls and as easily as i fall for people i hardly know
i cannot get myself to fall for someone who knows me
who wants to know me...
and ive bitten beating hearts full of desire and ive stared into the eyes of lust and have glistened in the sunlight of dancing hands
but ive never felt love
ive never felt the need for someone as their need for me and i either always aim too high or too low and miss the target where we should have met in between
im confused and im disgusted and i dont know what to do anymore
they knock at the door of approval and i slam the door of fear

At the beginning of every relationship and every new love or old love renewed, it's hard to accept that you'll never be their reality. It's hard to accept that life isn't like the movies and that the pretty girl can't get what she wants this time because she has love to compete with. It's hard to accept that sometimes memories rush through your head at the speed of water rushing down niagra falls but you have to learn how to either accept it or not give a **** about it anymore because those people aren't going to pick up the broken pieces of your own puzzle and put you back together again. They'll look at the picture on the box and decide that the pieces are already assembled, without opening the box itself. That's just the way it is.