I do not like this phase of a heart break.

When you purposely avoid love songs,
Or sometimes you play them just to make yourself feel like your hearts still pounding.

When the person you loved and hid from every waking soul is brought into a conversation.
Or when he isn't.

When you see other lovers who have made it years without the cruel hand of fate ripping their love from them.
Or when you see they haven't.

When you notice him writing you smaller, casual messages when they use to be breathtaking and beautiful.
Or when he doesn't write at all.

When I ask you if I am pushing you away and you say no.

"Alright, happy birthday! Text me later tonight?"

"Will do"

When every hidden goodbye ends with those two words. And my broken, belittled heart.

(i. r.)

A flawless red curve of
Seductive lips
Your bold tongue
On the cusp of mine
I savor your words
Reckless declarations
Breathed down my throat
Slashing my soul
A wound that won’t heal
Exposed to the memory of
*******
Memories that make it my ruin
The way you wrenched my heart
Racked my mind
Molested my soul
The desolation you left me with
When you were done

I look for Pink
To comfort and inspire
My emotional essence
You will see if you
Look into my eyes.

She's dark, yet
moonlight glows
inside her soft-eyes
& despite her
tragic-aura,
I still want
her blackness,
to taste her magic,
to kiss
the devil inside her.

We never say, "I love you."
The words always get stuck somewhere between our hearts and our tongues. Forcing us to swallow our affection, and replace the phrases that seem so hard to say with words that are much easier to get out.

Instead of "I miss you." we say "*******."
The distance makes us distraught, as we toss knives at the one person we never want to push away.

Instead of "I trust you." we ask each other to check our phones, because there's nothing on there I don't want her to see.

Instead of "I need you." we look at colleges together.
The idea of leaving each other is so implausible that we spend our time designing our future apartment. Each draft has one shared detail- a wooden bunk bed, so we can fall asleep to the sound of the other's breathing, the reassurance that we  will never have to be alone. The reassurance that I will never have to live without my other half.

We never say, "I love you."
We do not need to.
We say it with every sarcastic comment, every inside joke, shared memory, favorite song, every inhale, and every exhale.

I miss you.
I trust you.
I need you.

We never say, "I love you."
Either that, or we never stop saying it.

I used to believe in destiny
I used to believe in fate
I thought I'd end up at just the right place
And everything would just be great

I used to believe in honesty
In speaking up for what you believe
I thought people would value the truth
I didn't think that they would leave

I used to believe in people
That deep down everyone is good
That's why violence, cruelty, and abuse
Were things that I never understood.

If there is good in everyone
Do people just choose the bad?
Do they decide that life is more fun
When your goal is to make others sad?

If being honest is always best
Then why does it create drama?
Arguments, attacks, and insults...
Why not save ourselves the trauma?

If there is really some higher plan
Why do so many people end up falling flat
People are bullied, abused, homeless
Tell me, what kind of master plan is that?

I used to believe in destiny
Maybe I was just naive
I used to believe in the good
Now I don't know what I believe.

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

Sitting in silence, in her gold gilded cage
Filled with wistful wonder
With doors left open, fears are assuaged
Neither bound nor torn asunder

Yet broken wings cannot take flight
Even if she chose to try
Alone in a cage with no one in sight
She can't sing, but silently cries

Born to be loved in deep adoration
Her heart, won over with words
Consumed to ash in conflagration
A bird with no song to be heard