My best friend has superpowers. She’ll go outside and strip off her clothes and show herself to every person passing by. She screams too loud and loves too hard and feels everything. She’ll hold you and lift you up and make sure you feel everything too. You’d want to wear her words on your feet everyday because they make you feel taller. They never go out of style and they never bore you. The things she says are the things you couldn’t.

There are so many types of beautiful and my best friend's the best one. She’s the kind of person you can’t control. The more you try to settle her flames, the bigger her fire grows. She is a bursting flame.
Sometimes my best friend is a candle. She feels too bright and burns herself up to give others light. I feel she should dance in her own spotlight. I feel others should warm their hands by her bonfire, but they should not steal her light. I wish I could let those who do burn.

My best friend is the kind of person that doesn’t catch herself when she falls. She falls and relishes in it. She lives for the fall, loves the thrill of it.

My best friend unzips every part of you. She opens you up and holds your insides and keeps them warm. You wish she wouldn’t zip you back up. You wish she’d take you with her and tell you stories about the stars in her mother’s eyes and the way her boyfriend always gives her what she wants. She always gets what she wants.

My best friend is the best storyteller. Her stories make your eyes flutter. You can’t help but smile because her vocabulary is too large for this world and I drown in it. She is never a ******* step to climb. She is your knight in shining armor, the apple of your eye. Your first choice. She gets you places.

My best friend is free. She has too much soul to be hung up on a person or a thing. She loves herself too much. She can’t possibly love anything or anyone else more.

My best friend taught me not to make homes out of people. “Doing so will leave you homesick and sad”, she said. I didn’t listen to her and found she was right. Missing arms that cannot hold roofs, hearts with shaky foundations.
She taught me people like us weren’t made to be pretty. “You were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky.” We are the sun, she and I.

My best friend is the crazy kind of crazy. The kind of crazy people laugh about. The kind of crazy people try not to fall in love with. It takes some time, but falling in love with my best friend is inevitable. I’m glad her kind of crazy exists.  

I can’t help but feel that I don’t have this kind of crazy. I feel like everyone’s a little insane and we all walk around with this armor of sanity, and she’s just able to cast it off completely. I’d almost like to join her and run around the city and scream as loud as my ears can hear. I’d like to let everyone know how much I love and appreciate myself, even if it comes out as braggy. I would love to be able to bear myself completely naked without hesitation and without second thoughts. I wish I were as terrifying and strange and beautiful.

My best friend’s heart bleeds sometimes. Sometimes, she breaks her fingers because she doesn’t like the way she touches life. She was born with glass bones and paper skin. Whenever the sun doesn’t rise for her, she crashes and she questions her magic. She tells me it’s an illusion.
My best friend is never an illusion.

I believe that when my best friend is gone, she will leave everything behind. I don’t believe that she will ever need someone to teach her to set her heart free. I hope she will find enough fire in her soul to do that all by herself.

My best friend will never be alone, though.

She was big blue eyes & tangled hair & pulling me everywhere she went. I was happy though. I'm not complaining. Everything was an adventure with her. She liked flowers more than jewelry so birthdays were always easy. & her favorite thing to do  was explore. We spent more time in abandoned buildings than we did on actual dates. The freckles that were sprinkled across her nose showed up best in the sunlight. I always thought she looked prettiest like that. Concentrating with that nose all crinkled up, her knotted hair blowing in the wind. She was always chewing on her right thumbnail. It was always the right hand. I don't really know why she chose that finger, but I think it says a lot about her. It's sad that this is only a memory, but then again it's not. Now whenever I'm asked what beautiful is, I won't have to struggle for an answer.

sleep with me
in the most innocent sense of the word.
lay by my side
and envelop me
in the sanctuary of your arms.

let me leech your heat
and bury my face into your chest.
run your fingers down my spine
and whisper sweet nothings into my hair.

play with my hair
and hold me close.
sing softly to me
as my eyelids droop.

take me with you
into the dream land
where love is easy
and i can kiss you without interruption.

wake me up with butterfly kisses
and morning breath that smells sweet to me.
kiss me on the nose before you get out of bed
and tell me you'll see me tonight.

i'll lay by myself
in a bed that's cold now
and count the seconds
until i get to sleep with you again.

I've always told you to look at the moon dear, and ******* a kiss when you see it, because chances are, I've done the same for you. I've always found this small comfort in knowing no matter how far fate may drag us apart, we'll always share the same sky.
There are many moons in this solar system we live in, but ours is a special moon. You and I have always looked at the same side of it; I’ll always kiss the same side of the moon as you will, my dear.

Being a writer
Is not a part-time job,
Like being a nurse
Or a teacher:
Where clocking in
And out
Is as simple
As lifting and putting down
A pen.

No,
Writers have words
Flowing though their veins;
Poignant thoughts and emotions
Shape and reshape themselves
Into poems in the writer's mind
Almost by instinct.

But
Do not be fooled:
The writer's world
Is no paradise:
Thoughts tug at our brains
In the middle of the night,
Like a child pulling
At its mother's coat
Beckoning us to the page
Where finally we free the thoughts
That have been held captive.

And finally with sleepy,
Satisfied eyes,
We place the final fullstop
On our latest masterpiece
.

We're Passively going with the flow
With the resonating notion
That "maybe I should be  
more like me
And less like you "

But nobody allows it
And it takes a faith
That you won't find in church
'Cause even Christians love you
Only to change you

So Destroy the subliminal slavery
And this we'll begin to see:
That Conformists will be lost
And Indiviuals will be Free

They will flourish
From every end of the earth
Doing whatever it is they desire
Without transgressing what is right.

This would be our souls' freedom
But we're outnumbered by them,
Them that are afraid of being free
Knowing well they'd really be lost.