plant yourself like a tree in my chest, root into my bones until there's nothing left dividing us

Nicotine*

I could hold your hand
through the hottest weather
(Your magnetic pull never
fails to draw me in),
I could stick to your chest
the same way my
sweat soaked hair sticks
to the back of my neck.
I could pillow fight my way
through sadness with you,
even though that's exhausting
with only a small, stand up fan
as the source of cold air
on a 40 degree day.

My feet were sore in the end
but it was worth every second I
got to walk besides you,
even when it felt like my feet
could not possibly
take another step.
And I love that eager, anticipating
look on your face as you searched
for your favourite collection of cars,
and I hope I am enough to wipe off
that look of disappointment
and sadness I saw cross your face
when you didn't find any.

The train rides are my favourite -
places where you can squeeze
my hand harder for
no apparent reason,
places where you can pull me in
for a tighter embrace,
the place where I could have
had a small nap
but instead kept myself awake
by counting the
freckles on your arm;
24 and more.

Stop crying, you poor, stubborn girl

Why do you think he is so special
When he took the most delicate parts of you
And decided they were ordinary?

Why do you think he is an angel
If he can sleep at night knowing
How heavy your heart feels?

Why do you think he was the one
If he did not have the patience to stay?

You will find that true love surpasses all barriers

So do not be upset that you have lost him
If he was destiny, he would have stayed

Because nothing can get in the way of destiny
Not even stubborn little girls like you

Tonight,
I am more lonely
than the moon
in a starless sky.
Why,
is it so easy
for me to pour
my heart
into a little poem,
than it is for
me to tell you
how I really feel.
Maybe,
like the moon,
I go through phases,
and you,
like the sun,
are constant,
bright,
and always
burning.

I want you to talk to me.
not with dumb, one-line responses.
Give me effort.
Give me something to talk about.

I want you to talk to me.
Not with a "how u doin"
Give me a statement.
Give me a question to answer.

To he honest, I don't know why I'm asking for so much
when your poetry proves you can only give me little.