I'm addicted to you.
When I'm not with you,
I struggle to breathe,
Clawing at my throat for some godawful relief.

I do whatever I can to get this artificial high,
But nothing compares to you.
I romanticized everything,
The way you walked
to the way you breathed to the way you kissed me every time
like you needed me
as much as I did you.

When I got close though,
When you finally let me through,
I realized after that high,
You left me in a trench of a low
And the taste of chemicals
In my mouth.

Keep your head down,
Don't attract attention to yourself.

Be polite, but not too nice to that stranger in a bar in midtown,
He might mistake it for flirtation and try to buy you one off a shelf,
Maybe mix something in a drink.

Don't be a **** and don't be a bore,
And swallow your fear
Of the man on the subway who sized you up and winked.

While the world may stand and jeer,
You must work twice as hard,
Thrice, even, to be thought of
As just as good.

Which is why you ought to keep
Your guard,
And never give an excuse to show Emotions, lest everything you Worked for be written off as
"It's that time of month."

The word is an agitated shade of red, that hides and lurks beneath subdued greys and darker blues. Anger sneaks up behind you, churning and festering with every word spoken until
Snap!
And everything you were concealing is done and gone and out.
It’s out in the open and yet you wish you could take it all back inside

Because the dangerous thing about anger isn’t the slamming doors or the screaming fits,
It’s the broken hinges and hoarse voices,
The words you will never be able to take back,
And the regret that fills every part of your being.

You remind me of Chai tea.

You're warm, and sweet, and you make me want to curl up with you on a rainy day, tangled in bedsheets and watching the rain pitter patter on the window, in my pajamas and my hair piled up atop my head, listening to soft music that speak of lazy love and croon of kisses.

You make me think of tan sweaters and unrecognizable spices, alluding to all the mystery I don't know and want to know, devouring you like I would a good book on a crisp autumn day. You make me want to take a road trip to a forest where the fog comes meandering in, and I sit in the backseat, talking about life-to me, to you, or my non-metaphorical, quite literal, tea.

You make me want to slow down, and sit in a coffee shop and work on a book, or admire the chipped mug that you came in.

You remind me of Chai tea, and all that we could be.

I will write
Until my fingers bleed
And the angels beg me to stop

If you're going to be a child,
Then put me down.
I am not a toy, much less yours.
So go on,
play games with someone else.

Why should you limit yourself to being just pretty?
Don't be just pretty.

Be a storm, beautiful, dark, intelligence flashing across your eyes like lightning and a voice as loud as thunder. Be a storm and never be silent.

Be a forest, rooted, wise, strong and unmovable in the force of opposition and yet a dancer in the wind. Be a forest, and loyal to your land.

Be the ocean, glittering, mysterious, captivating thousands of hearts and countless lives in your allure. Be the ocean, and be ruthless.

Be nature. I guarantee nothing will get you farther.

I really, really don’t want to be beautiful.

I want to make people tremble.

I want to walk into a room and turn people’s heads- not because I’m pretty, but because I walked in with such confidence that people go “****.”

I want the wrong people to be scared by me, and the right people to take me as a challenge, but I want everyone to be intimidated by me.

I want to be the woman no one dares **** with.

I want to be compared to Cleopatra- not in terms of how pretty or symmetrical her face was, but because she seduces men into her bed with her mind and intellect.

I want to be compared to powerful and unstoppable forces of nature, where they aren’t powerful Because of their beauty, but beautiful because of their power.

So this is why I get insulted when you call me pretty before you call me smart.

Its odd
Odd that no one has told her
her laugh is like a summer breeze
Odd
That no one has told him
his smile is reminiscent of diamonds
Odd
that no one told them
they didnt have to be one or the other
Odd
that no one
has told you
you
are
beautiful
in ways that convince you
Odd
But Sad

Darling,
That smile
Is supernatural.
You
      Can
             Lure
                  Men
                To
        Their

Deaths

With a single look

Do you ever have memories that are just so nice and tranquil that they stick in the back of your mind forever?
Nine years old, and I’m wearing an all purple ensemble because I haven’t quite grasped the concept of matching clothes yet. I’m twirling around in the park. There was a lot of rain so the field Im twirling around in is covered in dandelions. I’m giggling because I’m dizzy, and then I fall down and fluff from older dandelions flutter around my face as I lay there, laughing, the sun touching everything and I feel golden and sun kissed and everything’s alright.

I’m 14 years old, and I’m laying on a 30 year old banana yellow surfboard that’s been patched up a few too many times. I’ve paddled out farther than the rest of the families on the beach and all is quiet except for the gentle lapping of the water. The deep blue water is broken up by patches of white from where the sun hits the small waves. I run my hands over them and watch the ripples disturb the already present patterns.

I’m 15, and my best friend and I are scream singing shamelessly to a rap song in her car. The windows are down and the wind is blowing both of our hair around everywhere. It’s 6:00 in the afternoon and the August light is starting to turn golden. We’re both laughing and smiling at the clever verses and the distasteful words. My lips are sticky from the mint chocolate chip ice cream I just ate, and my friends eyes are wild and mischievous. I couldn’t care less that school is starting in 5 days, because today is the epitome of summer and I’m having the time of my life.

I’m 16, and I walk out the front door at three in the morning. I’m wearing a hoodie and I’ve tucked my long hair into a beanie. The neon lights of the road reflect on the puddles and cast up brilliant yellow and orange splashes of color against the black of the asphalt. I walk and I walk until I find a high vantage point, where I can see the entire city and it’s twinkling lights and I sigh in contentment, taking my hair out from the beanie and relaxing my grip on the pepper spray because I finally feel safe and whole.

And even when I'm 40, 50, 60, 70,

I will never forget how it felt to be young,
And I will do my damndest to keep on feeling this type of way throughout life,
And make many more tranquil happy memories.

So.
You wanna be a grown up.
You wanna learn how the world works,
And what to do to make it like you.
Well kid, first things first
(And you're hearing it from a fellow kid)
(So don't take my word as gospel)
But the world won't bend to you.
It won't accommodate you.
It won't care.
It's unyielding,
And, debatably,
Unforgiving.
(Depressing, right?)
But, kid,
None of that'll matter.
You have to take a leap of faith.
Go forth and go to art school,
Go and join the military.
Cut all your hair off,
And wear what you **** well please.
Kiss who you want and when you want,
And flip off the "very fine people" at Charlottesville.
Verbally decimate your cheating ex,
And stand up for the bullied kid.
Rise up, shout,
Make sure your bruises and your battle scars are heard across the globe.
You'll make a difference.
After all, you don't have to be a Ghandi or a King to change the world.

You just gotta be you.