let me tell you about poetry

let me tell you about how the sunlight hits his eyes and his pupils dilate just enough for me to see my reflection lost in the pool of a mind full of everything but chlorine

let me tell you about the way his words electrify his touch so at one point i'm convinced i'm being struck by lightning, ready and waiting for the storm to come shortly after

let me tell you about how he likes his coffee black and about how he never seemed to learn the word bad, about how he in the most exposing hours of the night strips down to the bare minimum - his soul, about how he loses his thoughts and reverts back to old questions, about how he keeps practicing the art of deception over and over again just to prove to himself he's still got it

let me tell you about how he wears himself on his sleeve and about how i know that in the gaps between when we feel our heart beats in our throats and through our veins, we will never work out, about how he sees shades of blue but i see shades of pale, about how he's an open book but i was taught books are better kept closed, about how he's becoming my muse but the minute i start writing about them that signifies it's surely the end

let me tell you about mourning before it's begun and about the dark nights spent staying up examining self worth in a queen-sized bed with cigarette butts lining the window sills, about the beautiful agony created and the torturous goodbyes

let me tell you about standing on the edge of a cliff with only two options in front of you and having to ask yourself if it's worth the fall, about how you're so scared of being pushed no matter the promises, but how you know that no matter the spears beneath, his face is all you'd see every single moment your body was falling towards the earth, one step closer to oxygen and closer to death

it's been approximately a month and a half since i've had to stay up late studying for any sort of test or working on any sort of assignment, and i still have bags under my eyes.

i'm not talking about small bags that compliment your skin either, i'm talking about the deep bags that turn purple in the pale light of the kitchen lamp - bags that make people think you don't sleep at all.

i can only assume that the people who do not ask me about why i have such heavy bags under my somewhat empty eyes are the people who understand that there is a fine line between not being able to sleep and insomnia and they're treading on it like this kind of tightrope all the while holding more than just questions about the universe, but tons and tons of curiosity revolving around the idea of the end of our existence

i have also realized that there are so many ugly human beings in this world, so many inhumane practices, so many people who forget as a human race we are animals too subject to the natural rules of the world and there has been a voice in the back of my head constantly bickering me about animal cruelty and rights and wars and peace and death and life and i can't shut it off

maybe that's the cause of the two inch bags

what they didn't tell you is that you will soon give yourself away,
because every time you see this boy he takes the whole galaxy and
puts it in your pupils, the sparkles radiating from each look you give him.

you try to say his name with a serious face and just end up effortlessly smiling,
because he's the boy who can do that to you.

you can't call him a thief, but you know he stole some part of you that you won't
get back any time soon. and what's worse is that you can't hide how you feel anymore, because you give yourself away.

you turn each time he walks in the room, you look up with that galaxy hoping to
find him sailing through the constellations, you smile uncontrollably while he takes
invisible tape and seems to tape each side of your lips farther away from one another.

and with each step he takes towards you, you fall harder.

What to do when you don't know what to do anymore: a beginners guide to how to repair emotional impairment**

1. stop trying to force yourself to write romantic poetry and listen to romantic music like you used to and think about him when you write it [[i'm thinking of him now]]. the spark that you saw in his eye and the flame that burned through your chest and touched your heart is gone, don't try to start it again [[even though i want to]].

2. accept the fact that maybe that flame was never there to begin with [[but i thought it was]]

3. take every single **** moment you two have ever had, everything he has ever told you, all the memories [[and the hugs and smiles, the jokes and the laughter, the way you remember his eyes lighting up like lightning when you would make him laugh]] you keep replaying whenever you see his eyes even if it's just for a moment, all the stupid texts that he's sent you at one, two, three am about life, and try to get over them [[ignore that you've been trying so **** long already]]. don't shove them to the back of your mind because you're too scared to let go [[im scared]] and don't push them to the front of your mind so that you can just sulk over the fact that they are gone and ended and you two don't act like you used to around each other anymore [[but i wish we did]]

4. delete those songs that remind you of him [[but its all of them]] and get new one for new memories that are promised in the summer kissed air outside of your constrained bedroom that has heard all of your nightmares and seen all of your tears [[and all of the hatred]]  

5. try to move on [[but i cant]] and dont be afraid to let down the walls of your heart again. don't put your walls up to begin with anymore [[i thought he was different but he wasnt]] because you know that you have to be the strong, independent, beautiful girl everyone sees [[but i can't be her]] so that you can win over his heart with a single swift smile and eyes that gleam like the last summer sunset he saw

6. try to repiece your broken self and try to have fun [[im too damaged]] and smile in the mirror at yourself because in the end he does not matter to you anymore [[yes he does]] and so what if he is starting to forget you? you can forget him too [[but i cant]]. dont be lonely [[im so ******* lonely]] because you choose to just focus on him; allow yourself to be loved by every inch of someone else, from their golden soul to their golden heart [[who can love someone this broken?]]

7. stop with the "i'm fine's" and be honest [[lying with my smile is the best tool]] because he will listen [[when he wants to]]

and finally,

8. acknowledge that you are a [**]t, [pe]rfect, al[l]uring, [e]nthu[s]ia[s]tic girl

creativity exists only in uncluttered spaces in the left corner of my mind reserved for falling in love, being in love, or being depressed

i've tried to write ten thousand times but i've only been left with a disappointment staring back at me, writing the same metaphor in about two hundred poems finding out ways i can be more creative but pushing away the melody of the keys because when you have assignment after assignment after assignment keys don't feel like comfort anymore

nothing can replace pen on paper but my notebook is running out of pages reserved explicitly for just me and if i get a chance to write down something usually it's a name staring back at me, identity undetermined, point zero on a map that has the whole world on it but somehow feels empty

my body has taken me to tons of countries, through plane rides and train rides and busses and trams, and somehow i still can't figure out how to find a route that best communicates my emotions

when the muse plays hide and seek i spend most of my time seeking and never finding, it spends most of its time sulking in the shadow of mental health never once thinking to come out enough to string just one line of thoughts

you can't make a poem from zgrjblksabg;saeibgsgkrg

Let me get to know you inside and out; let me get to know your biggest fear and what type of soup you like, tell me more about how you like smoking at two am to clear your head, let me get inside your brain and not just your mouth

Speak to me more than just in body language, tell me stories of your childhood you never dared to repeat, relive the best memories with me in places so void of aging we're convinced we're timeless

Get to know my scars inside and out and let me keep my bandaids for as long as I need, kiss my bruises and tell me that getting up is a process and you'll be trying too, convince me that nails are meant to be broken and laughter is meant to sound hoarse because everything in life is messy and that's the beauty of it

Please, let me know that we're okay - speak louder than their words and look me in the eyes, don't tell me lies coated in beautiful letters, tell me truths so raw it'll burn your tongue and pierce my ears; tell me that we were meant to burn but burning alive never scared you, take my hand and lead me into a forest so dense I won't be able to find my way back and hide the flashlight, let my instincts guide me to you and for the love of god don't let go of my hand when I run back to you

Convince me I'm whole and let me show you you're broken, kiss me goodbye and let me teach you why hello is my favourite word, entangle me in kisses and let me be your oxygen when you're left breathless;

help me believe in 11:11 again

"I'm sorry"

"What for?"

*everything

You know it's bad when the bags under your eyes are not because of a lack of sleep, and you can no longer hide your pain because it takes it's weight out on your physical appearance.