I wanted to tell her that I liked her
That I thought she was very pretty and I was happy when we were alone together
But I couldn't
I could never find the right words
I wanted to confess my feelings in an eloquent way, with beautiful words spoken gracefully in a romantic setting
A cathedral with her face stained in glass and my body on a cross
Anything less would be inappropriate
Laughable

She is so strange and gorgeous and bright that speaking to her normally feels surreal
Her presence in my field of vision seems unnatural compared the mundane surrounding
It makes her almost spectral
When I touch her I expect she'll shimmer and disappear and, in a way, leave me feeling relieved

The very fact of her existence terrifies me
If something as beautiful as her can exist, something equally monstrous must also be lurking somewhere, in the dark
A counterweight to her majesty
The possibility is terrifying
And if that monster does exist, I think that, probably,
it's lurking in me

stop apologizing
stop apologizing for being yourself
stop apologizing for being sad sometimes
stop apologizing for the way you look
or act
or talk
or kiss
so look at me
up
blue to blue
and tell me you're not sorry.
not sorry for who you are
unapologetic in your beauty where hair falls on shoulders
next to a freckled face that resembles my vision of true art
you
you are what happens when the moon rises above the horizon
pushing and pulling the tides
like heart strings
mine stings at your absence.
the moon is not sorry.
it simply is
as you should be.
fractured during times but pieced together in the sky when together with the sun
it mimes to us
without words moving the planet ever so slightly
lightly kiss me under it
and stop
breathe.
stop apologizing.
be who you are.
bold, beautiful, smart, ****, cheeky, funny, loving, warm
these words and more, in my own mental dictionary have your face plastered permanently next to them
and so i understand these words not by definition
but by example.
but by you.

I play my favorite song and i grab my pen
I wanna empty my chaotic head

Words frisk around words. Thoughts scream to be heard. Memories weep to be replayed. Dreams stir to be noticed.

So many colors to choose from. So many blues, so many reds. Too much black and too much purple. But my page remains as white as snow.

The contradictions are embedded everywhere. I cannot tell where the storm is headed anymore. What is it that im feeling, and what is it that im forcing myself to feel?

I lean back and i let the lopsided waves of my head wash away all the pretty words i had summoned. And once again, i am left with incomplete sentences and empty words.

Artists minds
Have fragile souls
The delicate way
We pen our words
Shows our vulnerability

We bare our scars
Triumphs
Hopes and dreams
To heal the pain
Of our wounded hearts

We must create
For our own understanding
Self-discovery
To process the turmoil
And calm our fears and anxiety

Tattooing our thoughts
On our readers minds
Letting each person who reads
Carry a piece of the pain with them
Until there is none left