I opened my eyes to only see the void.
So I fill it up.
I fill it up with words, but not any words;
Poetry.

You hang low in my sky,
     like the moon before the morning—
          an intruder amongst the burning, beating,
               rising sun of my heart.

You make my tides roll,
     and you’re too hot to hold—
          blistering my fingertips
               and branding the melting core
                    of my soul.

Every night
before I go to bed,
I scroll through your pictures so that when I close my eyes,
I'll see you staring back at me.
And for the next few hours, I will live in a land where
you can hold me and still call me yours.
And every morning at 6:16 when I have only fourteen minutes left before I go,
I spend four of those minutes staring at myself in the mirror and wondering
how you did not see a flaw in me.
As my day goes on, the minutes pass slowly
as I try to pinpoint
the second I let you down.
I search the faces in the halls,
seeing which one looks most like yours
and admiring it for a fraction of a second
before I realize it's not yours.
I used to call you and we'd spend hours talking about nothing
but it was time worth spending if I got to hear your voice.
The way you said my name drove me crazy,
like it meant something more to you than any other person I'd met.
And you called me baby like I belonged to you.
Your laugh made me smile and I tried my hardest to make it never stop.
You hated when I did that.
Still your blond hair hits me every time.
It never gets old, looking at you.
I wish I'd told you more, how beautiful you are.
Your eyes are so blue,
I got lost in the them, searching for the clouds.
The way your lips curled into a smile made heat spread through my chest.
Every curve of your body made my heart swell and my fingers ache for your skin.
Sometimes I listen to the music I know you love and
I wonder what it meant to you to have these lyrics remind you of me.
And how it feels now, listening to songs that I know were written just for you.
But somewhere along the way I lost myself
and I lost you.
I watched the world tear at our limbs.
The words flew like bullets,
each one aimed straight for the heart.
But I know we didn't mean them, not really.
With each blow, we took a step back.
Now, when I reach out for you in my dreams,
you're not there.
And it burns.
And every time I get tired of life and feel like closing my eyes,
drifting off into oblivion,
I remember that it's just life and everyone's got their hell to deal with.
My smart little angel,
you're right.
Life. It *****.

Today*
I held your shaky hand in mine
and wondered
what it would be like to hold your heart.
And if we'd ever trust anyone again.
Today
your fingers touched my skin like I was something delicate
and your eyes scanned my body not like curiosity
but like patient admiration.
And today
someone told me the birthmark on my neck was cute
and I didn't correct them because that day was the most
alive
I've ever felt.

I see metaphors from broken hearts
and wish my heart would break into
something beautiful.
I spend my time making love to pen and paper
in hopes of producing
something acceptable.
I wait at my desk for hours,
crying and trying
to purge something useful out of me.
But no matter how hard I try,
no matter how much my fingers bleed
and my heart aches
I will never be a Poe, Hemingway or Dickinson.
I'm just a fragile little girl wearing her heart not on her sleeve but on paper.
Hoping,
praying,
that will be enough.

Her eyes as the rays from moonlit
Her hyacinth hair as the cottons of heaven
Just as the white lily crystal lake
she lies beautiful

I know you by heart
Even when you seem a lost page
In a gigantic history text book
I have dog-eared you
Only to return...