It's not that I don't like you.
It's just that the last boy I kissed left a bitter taste on my lips and I can't seem to get it off.
It's not that I don't like you.
it's just that I swear to god I can feel his hands on my hips while yours barely make an indent.
It's not that I don't like you.
It's just that he made confetti out of my heart and I've convinced myself I'm not worthy of the help you're willing to offer.
It's not that I don't like you, it's just that I can still taste him and nothing else seems to matter.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
You cross my mind sometimes still
but you don't flood my thoughts.
I dont think about you in the
"it hurts to hear your name"
kind of way anymore
I think about you when it's late on Saturday
and you aren't laying in my bed
picking my brain
and then I think,
maybe that's a good thing.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
my fingers are like matches
because everything I touch turns to ash.
I swear my intentions are golden
and my goals are pure.
but I can’t seem to keep from burning bridges
and speaking singed words.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
"You're a control freak" you yell at me.
When all I am looking for is some sort of consistency
you're right though, I only like what i can't control
maybe that's why I have good grade, but maybe that is also why I stick my fingers down my throat
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
You're the first boy I ever told the truth to about my scar
and you planted a sweet kiss on my self hatred.
you're a hand holder and I only ever felt his hands around my neck
I felt uncomfortable when you called be beautiful with my clothes on
and that my dear is why I left.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
They say that the body recreates itself every six months.
So in six months I will be clean and my skin will not remember your touch.
But until then, all I can think about is the way your lips felt on mine and how I never had an addictive personality until I met you.
How you were my nicotine and now my teeth are so ******* yellow.
And in all my attempts to rub myself raw, I lost most of myself in the process.
And now I am just held together by dry skin and ****** poetry.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
I am not sure why I keep on picking roses even though I know they have thorns.
I hold onto matches too long, and kiss too many boys.
Because the truth is I can’t feel anything at all.
They say you’re most alive with a broken heart, but I was never one for irony.
I used to want to tell you everything and now I can only seem to talk about the weather.
I desperately want affection but I flinch at everyone’s attempt to get to know me.
I am scared that I will forget you, but I cut my hair so there was less of me you had touched.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
I regret you more than the 21 year old I kissed
and the six cups of coffee I had before bed
I regret you more than the cut on my hand
and the color of my hair
You were another one of my desperate attempts of wanting to feel
something
but now I would rather go back to feeling nothing at all
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
So go ahead.
One more time.
Whisper sweet nothings into my ear ;
and tell me how badly you want me.
Wrap your arms around me again
and look at me with lust,
while I look at you with feelings.
I was your temporary affection,
but you were my permanent affliction.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC