.

page one
it starts with the wave of a hand
a simple introduction
'hi, what's your name?'
it starts with looking and seeing nothing but what is there
skin and bones and blemishes and human
it starts with feeling no cliche butterflies in your stomach
and no additional voice in your head
amongst the others
and no rapid pulse in your still-beating heart

page two
somewhere along the way the waves turn into inside jokes and small smiles
crinkles by the corners of eyes
and light chuckles
and glancing just a millisecond too long

page three
and, well, glancing just a million times too often

page four
and you write poems in attempts to make yourself believe
to drown yourself in denial
to avoid confronting the - nonexistent - blooming bud growing
sprouting from all angled corners
and cracking curves
and jagged edges of you

page five
spoiler: it doesn't work

page six
and it's strange because apart from seeing what is there you see more
or really you don't see what is there
you see what you want to be there

page seven
you see skin and bones and beauty and freckles and stars and constellations in eyes and ethereal -

page eight
perfection

page nine
except perfection doesn't exist
and what you see doesn't exist
it's just your unrealistic expectations piled up from miles and smiles of movies and books and manga and everything

page nine
and you know this

page nine
but it goes into one ear and out the other

page nine
and it doesn't stop you from claiming

page nine
you're in love

page ten
if love is just infatuation with a physical manifestation of your ideals without their consent
then i guess you're right

page eleven
there are butterflies bending, banging on you, begging to be released

you wonder when your definition of beauty became a name and a face
and you wonder when love became synonymous to pain

page twelve
the butterflies turn into birds and then bears and then freaking buildings
except these building are moving and apparently earthquake proof because you can't seem to break them down
instead the buildings are breaking you down

but the truth is no, no they aren't
don't you see?
you're breaking yourself down

how do you heal if you are both the poison and the antidote?

page thirteen
if only you could rewrite the story
but how could you?
how do you rip the pages
how do you erase the sickeningly sweet
slow stabs slicing through your spine every time a smile is sent your way
how do you mute the thudding in your brain telling you that this could never be
how do you ignore the extra echoes in your head yelling at you to get yourself together

how do you get yourself together?

page fourteen
you've been asking so many questions lately
but you know the answer to all of them

page fifteen
there's a small voice
a minuscule, malevolent voice whispering maybe
whispering maybe and perhaps and potentially
maybe you're not the only one who wants to hold on just a little longer

page sixteen
but see
it's funny how the story starts with two people and now it's just one person with an overactive imagination
illustrating a person as something more
something better

page seventeen
but you're not creative enough to keep your illusion for too long
and soon you start to see less of what you want to be there and more of what is there
skin and bones and blemishes
and human

human

page eighteen
human is ugly and human is cruel and human is wretched
but human is somewhat
beautiful
in its ugliness
and human is raw in all its dishonestly
and human is real
even if you made it out not to be

page nineteen
you will never truly now human
you will never truly know anyone or anything that isn't a figment of your imagination
but it's enough

page twenty
it starts with seeing nothing but what is there
skin and bones and blemishes
and human
and then it ends
the story ends somewhere
anywhere really
but it ends

He pushes me away
But pulls me right back in when he wants something
He wants to see a little skin
I gave him what he wanted foolishly thinking the boy who wanted to see me naked also wanted me as a person
I play the game waiting for someone to win
We're just going in circles
He wants my body and I want to be loved
He wants to mess around and I want someone to stay in my life
We're like fire and gasoline
I let him go trying to end this silly game once and for all
But he slithers his way back in my life
And I let him stay
I know he will never love me
I can't make him love me
He only loves my body

He
Sat by the riverbank
He
Laughed like cold water
He
Brought to me, the ocean

He...
Where the current runs
behind, beneath
The undertow
Of his eyes
drowning Me

He
Left the scent of good-
Bye Before he’d
leave
As the scent of autumn
Promises winter
And barren, silent trees

My oars
set to the waves
To the phantom of
My sea
The wreck was me
Picking up every shell
Listening
for the sound
Of your feet
the waves
in your eyes
Returning for me
I wait with the moon
For your tides
Green is the color
Of the setting
Of my dreams
As they drifted away
In your
castaway-eyes


And I
Knew better
And you
Spoke plainly
And I
Heard nothing
Of the truth
That you
Gave me
But your voice-
It’s remaining
And your eyes
Are engraving
Their colors
on my canvas heart
like your initials
in my ****** bark
That leaves a wound
to die or scar
beneath its message

What does this mean?
What does it mean to trend?
Do I make an impact?
Do I make a difference?

The empty poems
The ones that mean nothing
Trend

The passionate ones
The ones that mean everything
Trend

Why?
Why do they trend?
What makes them loved?
Do I make a difference?

Why do I inspire you?
Why do I move you?
I don't understand
I really don't understand

all i remember is that first sip,
the rest, of course, is a blur.
i don't remember tripping over thin air,
or being here but not being all there.
i tried to drink you away,
to forget the taste of your lips,
i craved more and more,
even though i wasn't supposed to be doing this.
i tried to dance you away,
to forget the weight of your bones,
i danced all night long,
it did nothing for me, though.
because i saw your face and heard your voice,
i thought of your body and thought of your noise.
we were perfectly imperfect,
and yet i took every drink,
every drug,
every song,
every opportunity,
to forget how much you mean to me.
i kissed a different set of lips,
and still tasted you,
i held a different body between my hips,
but still screamed like it was you.
i knew texting you was a bad idea but i still did it anyways,
and what you said next made everything in my body freeze.
"i'm sorry for everything,
i'm sorry i ever dated you.
i'm sorry for the bruises and broken bones,
i'm sorry i ever got attached to you."
that's when i finally craved the feeling,
of alcohol running in my veins.
it burned my throat a little,
but i relished in the pain.
i still remember the thought,
nothing that good could ever go bad,
the night was a blur,
and everyone around me was constantly sad.
i wondered why,
why do these things in life bring us all down,
i taught them of love,
and hoped you'd come around.
i told them our story,
and pretended i'd have you again,
i'm sorry for what we've been through,
but only sorry for everything at the end.
because the beginning was great,
i'm not a saint,
but i believed in you, in us and everything we've been through,
i believed in love and lust and complete trust,
i've been places,
you have too,
next time just promise,
you'll take me with you.